#but they will most likely fuck up my finances way worse than expected

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What the fuck is a PBM?

TOMORROW (Sept 24), I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

Terminal-stage capitalism owes its long senescence to its many defensive mechanisms, and it's only by defeating these that we can put it out of its misery. "The Shield of Boringness" is one of the necrocapitalist's most effective defenses, so it behooves us to attack it head-on.

The Shield of Boringness is Dana Claire's extremely useful term for anything so dull that you simply can't hold any conception of it in your mind for any length of time. In the finance sector, they call this "MEGO," which stands for "My Eyes Glaze Over," a term of art for financial arrangements made so performatively complex that only the most exquisitely melted brain-geniuses can hope to unravel their spaghetti logic. The rest of us are meant to simply heft those thick, dense prospectuses in two hands, shrug, and assume, "a pile of shit this big must have a pony under it."

MEGO and its Shield of Boringness are key to all of terminal-stage capitalism's stupidest scams. Cloaking obvious swindles in a lot of complex language and Byzantine payment schemes can make them seem respectable just long enough for the scammers to relieve you of all your inconvenient cash and assets, though, eventually, you're bound to notice that something is missing.

If you spent the years leading up to the Great Financial Crisis baffled by "CDOs," "synthetic CDOs," "ARMs" and other swindler nonsense, you experienced the Shield of Boringness. If you bet your house and/or your retirement savings on these things, you experienced MEGO. If, after the bubble popped, you finally came to understand that these "exotic financial instruments" were just scams, you experienced Stein's Law ("anything that can't go forever eventually stops"). If today you no longer remember what a CDO is, you are once again experiencing the Shield of Boringness.

As bad as 2008 was, it wasn't even close to the end of terminal stage capitalism. The market has soldiered on, with complex swindles like carbon offset trading, metaverse, cryptocurrency, financialized solar installation, and (of course) AI. In addition to these new swindles, we're still playing the hits, finding new ways to make the worst scams of the 2000s even worse.

That brings me to the American health industry, and the absurdly complex, ridiculously corrupt Pharmacy Benefit Managers (PBMs), a pathology that has only metastasized since 2008.

On at least 20 separate occasions, I have taken it upon myself to figure out how the PBM swindle works, and nevertheless, every time they come up, I have to go back and figure it out again, because PBMs have the most powerful Shield of Boringness out of the whole Monster Manual of terminal-stage capitalism's trash mobs.

PBMs are back in the news because the FTC is now suing the largest of these for their role in ripping off diabetics with sky-high insulin prices. This has kicked off a fresh round of "what the fuck is a PBM, anyway?" explainers of extremely variable quality. Unsurprisingly, the best of these comes from Matt Stoller:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/monopoly-round-up-lina-khan-pharma

Stoller starts by pointing out that Americans have a proud tradition of getting phucked by pharma companies. As far back as the 1950s, Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver was holding hearings on the scams that pharma companies were using to ensure that Americans paid more for their pills than virtually anyone else in the world.

But since the 2010s, Americans have found themselves paying eye-popping, sky-high, ridiculous drug prices. Eli Lilly's Humolog insulin sold for $21 in 1999; by 2017, the price was $274 – a 1,200% increase! This isn't your grampa's price gouging!

Where do these absurd prices come from? The story starts in the 2000s, when the GW Bush administration encouraged health insurers to create "high deductible" plans, where patients were expected to pay out of pocket for receiving care, until they hit a multi-thousand-dollar threshold, and then their insurance would kick in. Along with "co-pays" and other junk fees, these deductibles were called "cost sharing," and they were sold as a way to prevent the "abuse" of the health care system.

The economists who crafted terminal-stage capitalism's intellectual rationalizations claimed the reason Americans paid so much more for health care than their socialized-medicine using cousins in the rest of the world had nothing to do with the fact that America treats health as a source of profits, while the rest of the world treats health as a human right.

No, the actual root of America's health industry's problems was the moral defects of Americans. Because insured Americans could just go see the doctor whenever they felt like it, they had no incentive to minimize their use of the system. Any time one of these unhinged hypochondriacs got a little sniffle, they could treat themselves to a doctor's visit, enjoying those waiting-room magazines and the pleasure of arranging a sick day with HR, without bearing any of the true costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/27/the-doctrine-of-moral-hazard/

"Cost sharing" was supposed to create "skin in the game" for every insured American, creating a little pain-point that stung you every time you thought about treating yourself to a luxurious doctor's visit. Now, these payments bit hardest on the poorest workers, because if you're making minimum wage, at $10 co-pay hurts a lot more than it does if you're making six figures. What's more, VPs and the C-suite were offered "gold-plated" plans with low/no deductibles or co-pays, because executives understand the value of a dollar in the way that mere working slobs can't ever hope to comprehend. They can be trusted to only use the doctor when it's truly warranted.

So now you have these high-deductible plans creeping into every workplace. Then along comes Obama and the Affordable Care Act, a compromise that maintains health care as a for-profit enterprise (still not a human right!) but seeks to create universal coverage by requiring every American to buy a plan, requiring insurers to offer plans to every American, and uses public money to subsidize the for-profit health industry to glue it together.

Predictably, the cheapest insurance offered on the Obamacare exchanges – and ultimately, by employers – had sky-high deductibles and co-pays. That way, insurers could pocket a fat public subsidy, offer an "insurance" plan that was cheap enough for even the most marginally employed people to afford, but still offer no coverage until their customers had spent thousands of dollars out-of-pocket in a given year.

That's the background: GWB created high-deductible plans, Obama supercharged them. Keep that in your mind as we go through the MEGO procedures of the PBM sector.

Your insurer has a list of drugs they'll cover, called the "formulary." The formulary also specifies how much the insurance company is willing to pay your pharmacist for these drugs. Creating the formulary and paying pharmacies for dispensing drugs is a lot of tedious work, and insurance outsources this to third parties, called – wait for it – Pharmacy Benefits Managers.

The prices in the formulary the PBM prepares for your insurance company are called the "list prices." These are meant to represent the "sticker price" of the drug, what a pharmacist would charge you if you wandered in off the street with no insurance, but somehow in possession of a valid prescription.

But, as Stoller writes, these "list prices" aren't actually ever charged to anyone. The list price is like the "full price" on the pricetags at a discount furniture place where everything is always "on sale" at 50% off – and whose semi-disposable sofas and balsa-wood dining room chairs are never actually sold at full price.

One theoretical advantage of a PBM is that it can get lower prices because it bargains for all the people in a given insurer's plan. If you're the pharma giant Sanofi and you want your Lantus insulin to be available to any of the people who must use OptumRX's formulary, you have to convince OptumRX to include you in that formulary.

OptumRX – like all PBMs – demands "rebates" from pharma companies if they want to be included in the formulary. On its face, this is similar to the practices of, say, NICE – the UK agency that bargains for medicine on behalf of the NHS, which also bargains with pharma companies for access to everyone in the UK and gets very good deals as a result.

But OptumRX doesn't bargain for a lower list price. They bargain for a bigger rebate. That means that the "price" is still very high, but OptumRX ends up paying a tiny fraction of it, thanks to that rebate. In the OptumRX formulary, Lantus insulin lists for $403. But Sanofi, who make Lantus, rebate $339 of that to OptumRX, leaving just $64 for Lantus.

Here's where the scam hits. Your insurer charges you a deductible based on the list price – $404 – not on the $64 that OptumRX actually pays for your insulin. If you're in a high-deductible plan and you haven't met your cap yet, you're going to pay $404 for your insulin, even though the actual price for it is $64.

Now, you'd think that your insurer would put a stop to this. They chose the PBM, the PBM is ripping off their customers, so it's their job to smack the PBM around and make it cut this shit out. So why would the insurers tolerate this nonsense?

Here's why: the PBMs are divisions of the big health insurance companies. Unitedhealth owns OptumRx; Aetna owns Caremark, and Cigna owns Expressscripts. So it's not the PBM that's ripping you off, it's your own insurance company. They're not just making you pay for drugs that you're supposedly covered for – they're pocketing the deductible you pay for those drugs.

Now, there's one more entity with power over the PBM that you'd hope would step in on your behalf: your boss. After all, your employer is the entity that actually chooses the insurer and negotiates with them on your behalf. Your boss is in the driver's seat; you're just along for the ride.

It would be pretty funny if the answer to this was that the health insurance company bought your employer, too, and so your boss, the PBM and the insurer were all the same guy, busily swapping hats, paying for a call center full of tormented drones who each have three phones on their desks: one labeled "insurer"; the second, "PBM" and the final one "HR."

But no, the insurers haven't bought out the company you work for (yet). Rather, they've bought off your boss – they're sharing kickbacks with your employer for all the deductibles and co-pays you're being suckered into paying. There's so much money (your money) sloshing around in the PBM scamoverse that anytime someone might get in the way of you being ripped off, they just get cut in for a share of the loot.

That is how the PBM scam works: they're fronts for health insurers who exploit the existence of high-deductible plans in order to get huge kickbacks from pharma makers, and massive fees from you. They split the loot with your boss, whose payout goes up when you get screwed harder.

But wait, there's more! After all, Big Pharma isn't some kind of easily pushed-around weakling. They're big. Why don't they push back against these massive rebates? Because they can afford to pay bribes and smaller companies making cheaper drugs can't. Whether it's a little biotech upstart with a cheaper molecule, or a generics maker who's producing drugs at a fraction of the list price, they just don't have the giant cash reserves it takes to buy their way into the PBMs' formularies. Doubtless, the Big Pharma companies would prefer to pay smaller kickbacks, but from Big Pharma's perspective, the optimum amount of bribes extracted by a PBM isn't zero – far from it. For Big Pharma, the optimal number is one cent higher than "the maximum amount of bribes that a smaller company can afford."

The purpose of a system is what it does. The PBM system makes sure that Americans only have access to the most expensive drugs, and that they pay the highest possible prices for them, and this enriches both insurance companies and employers, while protecting the Big Pharma cartel from upstarts.

Which is why the FTC is suing the PBMs for price-fixing. As Stoller points out, they're using their powers under Section 5 of the FTC Act here, which allows them to shut down "unfair methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

The case will be adjudicated by an administrative law judge, in a process that's much faster than a federal court case. Once the FTC proves that the PBM scam is illegal when applied to insulin, they'll have a much easier time attacking the scam when it comes to every other drug (the insulin scam has just about run its course, with federally mandated $35 insulin coming online, just as a generation of post-insulin diabetes treatments hit the market).

Obviously the PBMs aren't taking this lying down. Cigna/Expressscripts has actually sued the FTC for libel over the market study it conducted, in which the agency described in pitiless, factual detail how Cigna was ripping us all off. The case is being fought by a low-level Reagan-era monster named Rick Rule, whom Stoller characterizes as a guy who "hangs around in bars and picks up lonely multi-national corporations" (!!).

The libel claim is a nonstarter, but it's still wild. It's like one of those movies where they want to show you how bad the cockroaches are, so there's a bit where the exterminator shows up and the roaches form a chorus line and do a kind of Busby Berkeley number:

https://www.46brooklyn.com/news/2024-09-20-the-carlton-report

So here we are: the FTC has set out to euthanize some rentiers, ridding the world of a layer of useless economic middlemen whose sole reason for existing is to make pharmaceuticals as expensive as possible, by colluding with the pharma cartel, the insurance cartel and your boss. This conspiracy exists in plain sight, hidden by the Shield of Boringness. If I've done my job, you now understand how this MEGO scam works – and if you forget all that ten minutes later (as is likely, given the nature of MEGO), that's OK: just remember that this thing is a giant fucking scam, and if you ever need to refresh yourself on the details, you can always re-read this post.

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this month!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen

Image: Flying Logos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Over_$1,000,000_dollars_in_USD_$100_bill_stacks.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[maranull]

got bad news so I bough Hades II in retaliation ✌

[latenightgasstationwalk]

get this.

So, ever since my first day at school, I had been searching for an exit, I knew that the atmosphere and environment of any given classroom was simply not one I would excel or even coast in. Realizing at a very young age, that I was simply not built in a way where a typical, classroom setting education was even a possibility, I had an insane feeling overwhelm me when I’d think about the fact that this would be my life for the next 11 years. Which was more time than I had even been alive. And I had acknowledged, faced and overcame this reality YEARS before any adult in my life was even ready address it.

School was hell for me. Burning hot in my seat never able to sit still, fidgeting constantly and being made to feel a freak because of compulsions I could not control. All while completely incapable of making any lasting connections with kids my age because, to call my social skills “stunted” would be a lie, they did not exist. I was entirely on my own in this ever shrinking mental box of locked down possibilities. And the only release I could find at any given day, at any given time, was to act out in a way that I knew would provoke authority figures so that I could be removed from the class space. So that’s what I did, and I chased that feeling from age like 4 to 16. Always LOOKING for an opportunity to do something not only against the rules, but stuff that would make people invent new rules around my terrible actions, because the worse it was - the more likely I’d be removed from class. I never did anything to other students or teachers really (other than talk back and be a dick in general) I’d just do dumb, annoying Shit, and disrupt class. Not for attention or any reason other than I’d much rather light my entire body on fire than sit silently in a classroom

Fast forward to middle school I got expelled like 2 weeks before the end of 8th grade and sent to the kid jail I’ve talked about on here before, where I would spend the next 2 years, from the kid jail I went to an alternative high school. Needless to say things only got worse. I loved breaking rules. I learned very early on how easy it was to get away with stuff you shouldn’t do. But also how to reap the benefits of intentional misbehavior.

To this day, I am the only person I know who has been asked to stop coming to school, Like formally requested. Like “I can’t stop you from showing up, but this is pointless and a waste of everyone’s time, so maybe just don’t come back?“ and I was like r u srs??? Best walk home of my fucking life. I felt free for the first time since school started. Little did I know I was trading one prison for another. Complete with its own unique horrors and expectations. A prison called WORK.

Trying to break out of this one is next to impossible. I’ve been at it for years. While simple in theory, they’ve got a unique approach to this particular captive space, there’s actually a tangible reward for going.

A paycheck. Which if you aren’t aware, is a little rectangular piece paper that you take to a dystopian building in order to redeem the fruits of your labor, an arbitrary number that equates to your value as a human. The most difficult part of all of this is the fact that without increasing this number, you can’t eat or fund any kind of shelter to live in, so I’ve been sticking too it and biding my time trying to find cracks in the system, but they’ve got a pretty air tight hold on things as it turns out.

Getting the house, food, security and daily comfort without the currency stuff, that we insist on making so much more important than it is in practice, is almost impossible. It almost feels like it’s set up that way intentionally. Like they make it so you have to produce something of value to a person who makes waaaaaay more of those currency numbers than you do, just to live a somewhat decent life.

Not to mention the fact that if the slightest possible thing goes wrong, weather it be medical, financial or a family emergency, you’re more than likely fucked 10 ways to Sunday because no one has more than $20 the day before pay day. Add that to the fact that a huge portion of all your earnings get taken by the “government” whatever the fuck that is, which they use to commit atrocities around the globe, and if you don’t like it and don’t want to give them that money, they will put you in an actual prison, which from what I’ve heard, sucks.

I’ve considered diving into the freedom of not having one of these annoying ass jobs but prior to doing so I decided to prospect the lifestyle and talk to some people who were experts in not having them. And life is like, insanely hard for them, in ways I don’t think I could cope with. So when I decided that wasn’t an option I started looking at the people doing the job work stuff really well and tried to study their tactics. Turns out, it’s not all that hard to “climb the ladder” or whatever the fuck they call it. In fact most times just having good attendance will find you thrusted into a position of power that you didn’t even want. But the thing is, the only way to get more paper money stuff is almost always to take advantage of someone with less than you. I learned in practice, that I morally just cant do that.

So now I’m at a job where I work with a very small number of people, work with my hands silently and with no opportunities for advancement, only very thinly veiled pay bumps that are always an insult to the amount of work I actually do. And I must grovel to obtain them. All while working for a billionaire who owns multiple vacation homes that are probably bigger than the entire square footage of any apartment complex I’ve had the privilege of renting a one bedroom in. And now I live in a 10x7 room with my grandma, because even the apartment became too much to maintain financially.

And this is where I’m at until I figure out how to get out. Hiding a scowl with a smile. Sharpening knives in the dark. Waiting for the day I can lash out at whoever put us here. The moment I get shed my skin and expose my true nature to those who’ve wronged me. Waiting for the moment I get to bleed my oppressor. And I hope you get to do the same to yours.

💕Thanks for reading💕

[chim-chim1310]

https://www.tumblr.com/serendipitous-sky/723559546614890496/hi-i-think-two-things-can-exist-at-once-though?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/serendipitous-sky/723610096456892417/queer-jkshady-music-industry-anon-here-thanks?source=share

You probably read these posts already but they are some of the perfect examples when we say that most jikookers are losing the plot here. They're making theories that are aligned to jikook's everlasting love and kumbaya to make sense of why JK is doing and agreeing to all that shit.

That anon really made it look like JK is doing all that for him and jimin's future. What do you mean JK is just being a hero and making sacrifices for the two of them? So he's a saint now, and that makes it okay that Jimin is being suppressed? JK deserves the massive push but Jimin does not?? JK wants the company to fuck off and he has limited options???? WTFFFFFF????!! My brain is disintegrating, I can't. These people are romanticizing everything just so they can make the jikook ship sail and absolve JK from everything. Oh god forbid the good, innocent maknae can do no wrong. This is gross!!

The answers are perfect and insightful though. JK and JM can be queer and anything under the sun right now but I refuse to get behind that JK is doing all of this for his love for Jimin. Far from it. He's doing all of that for himself; for his goal of being a "giant pop star", and those are his own words. Coming out can hurt your career, yes but no one's forcing anyone as far as we know. SB and BPD did not even force JK to do Seven, he wanted it himself.

Jikookers seriously need to stop doing this. Not everything is about your ship. Stop disrespecting Jimin and making him just an accessory to your fantasies. And for goodness sake, STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR JK! Have some decency, people.

Yeah I read that. Some jikookers are really writing fan fictions at this point.

How the fuck can he do such things for love? How will it even work? How does jk, working with SB gonna make jimin and jungkook's future as a couple better? Like wtf? Like do these people use their brain or all their brain cells are wasted, imagining jk and jm having sex.

What do they think of jimin? Do they think jimin is some old-generation girl where every girl was expected to just depend on their husband for finances? Are they thinking of jimin like that now?

Like they're making it look like jimin doesn't have ambitions, goals, dreams, desires of his own. They think jimin is a doll, who's meant to sit there and look pretty for jungkook while the real man Jungkook goes to work and earns a living for them.

Jungkook saying yes to SB to get this out of the way so that he and jimin can he gay later. Like wtf? Are these people dumb or what? How do they even come up with such things?

Jungkook wants to be the 'giant pop star' and it's not even bad. What's worse is that he can't do it on his own. He needs SB to back him up and the dirty tricks that the company is using to get him to the top.

Being ambitious is a good trait but it looks good only when you achieve things on your own talent and hardwork. Anyone can pay their way to the top. What makes jk any different other than just selfish, greedy and fame hungry?

[covenofthearticulate]

Tbh I don't like Claudia that much after the insinuation that how easy it is to manipulate Louis. To me her humiliating treatment of Louis is worse than Lestat's slit throat. Granted she's not alone to share that opinion about Louis and he played his part in her tragic story too. But she has the attitude of shitting on the same plate she's eating from. A spoilt brat with hardly any redeeming character. She just knows how to play the "5 year old in body" card well.

For some reason, Louis also makes himself most susceptible to Claudia's emotional abuse, less like a parent and more like a brainwashed puppet. It makes him less believable to be someone running a plantation or handling the family finances. Maybe by standing up to her/disciplining her with a firm "NO" like a child (her weakest point), he will learn how not to be taken advantage of by people.

LMAO that is totally fair! I have a very love/hate relationship with Claudia as well for the same kinds of reasons. I think as a character she is absolutely fascinating! Like, we all talk about Louis being this symbol of melancholy and depression, but to me, Claudia has always been the heart of tragedy in IWTV. She really captures the essence of horror that drive's Anne Rice's vampirism, like yes all vampires are killers, but Claudia embodies horror beyond the blood and gore, she is a fucking terrifying case study of what it's like to be trapped inside your own body.

But you're right— Claudia is spoiled! She's bratty! She's manipulative and every bit as evil as Lestat raised her to be! She hated Louis and Lestat, for very good reasons. But again, I think even that smoldering hatred in her character earns some sympathy in my book because she doesn't know how to live any other way. She was raised as a vampire, she was never really human.

Also, like. In regards to her manipulating Louis: it obviously sucks for Louis, but from Claudia's perspective, it's a survival skill. She's not strong enough to physically defend herself, so she has to latch onto Louis to do her bidding for her, or at the very least protect her from Lestat.

In terms of "Louis also makes himself most susceptible to Claudia's emotional abuse" I don't think that's true! Did Claudia take advantage of his love for her? Sure. But you also have to remember...Louis felt utterly trapped with Lestat at the time, and also honestly I think part of him still felt so guilty for turning Claudia that he looked to her to punish him for it. It's not so black and white! Louis isn't the Poor Little Meow Meow people make him out to be! He has different motives of his own and I think it's unfair to blame everything entirely on Claudia taking advantage of him!

Idk man. in theory I agree, like, that girl gets on my damn nerves too. HOWEVER I don't think you can look at her actions without acknowledging the fact that 1. Claudia has literally 0 ties to the outside world and thus is dependent on Louis 2. She was raised to be manipulative and cruel, only she turned out much worse than anyone expected because she has 0 humanity in her.

[akiiyamashun]

tie.  for your muse to adjust an article of clothing on my muse. (she fixes his clothes or he hers doesn't matter haha either way one of them looks like a mess)

the system of touch . accepting

Stepping outside the police station felt like a strange return to the land of the living - although Akiyama had spent but one night behind bars while his involvement in the recent murder case investigated in Kamurocho was processed, it still had been a... Most enlightening experience. 

A single evening, alone in a provisional detention cell had been a frankly eye-opening occasion; the Japanese police was really not looking to improve their reputation or manners - for a moment there, if the loan shark hadn’t been sure he had nothing to do with the Ueno Seiwa thug shot in the head by Arai, he would have doubted it himself given the sheer intensity of the interrogation.

Fucking scary - Akiyama could only imagine what they did to those who, unlike him, lacked basic notions of their rights and the money to hire a good lawyer, should the worst come to pass. A joke, really - an organization created to protect the regular citizens and instead causing them harm more often than not.

But his thoughts were completely derailed when he saw a familiar redhead figure outside - the moneylender paused, hand carrying his jacket over a shoulder dropping the item completely and almost dragging the piece of clothing over the pavement while he walked over to Lyla to say hello. Her look was an interesting one - a mix of evident curiosity with a side of judgement for his choices, apparently.

“Lyla-chan - wasn’t expecting a welcome party. I wasn’t locked up for that long, was I? What day is it?” he joked as he approached, but the woman snickered, shaking her head. Lyla then wrinkled her nose, making a face at something before taking a couple of steps and working on his shirt, smoothing the fabric off any wrinkles.

“Nah, your head is good, just the one night. Sent Hana-chan home after she got you released and said I’d pick you up when they let you go. Poor thing looks like she hasn’t slept in a couple of years...” Lyla commented and Akiyama found himself nodding - if it hadn’t been for the precious statement of his secretary, the police might have been even worse with him. His thoughts, however, were interrupted with a sound of frustration from the redhead, “How many guys did you fight in there for a bunk bed? Your shirt looks like shit, can’t get this to look any better. Jacket,” she asked, hand outstretched to the loan shark and receiving the item from him.

“Huh... No one. I was alone, but their beds are not exactly the five-star hotel stuff, you know,” the moneylender offered with a chuckle, watching Lyla attempting to make a miracle out of his jacket before dropping it over his shoulders and groaning in a displeased manner that had Akiyama laughing at her lack of success. She stepped back and crossed her arms, apparently on the imminence of giving up.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s the best I can do. You’ll have to live with the used car salesman look for today - let’s go, I’m taking you for lunch, then sending the expense receipts to Sky Finance and locking you into your office,” Akiyama raised an eyebrow at the next steps - not that he minded paying for the meal or anything, but Lyla seemed to be on a mission. As if on a cue, she grinned and explained:

“I promised Hana-chan. She deserves a break and you’re a handful, Akiyama,” her grin at the end, however, was a fond one. The loan shark didn’t have the heart to argue - Lyla and Hana working together was not something he should mess with if he didn’t want to find himself back in jail... Or worse. These two ladies could easily turn his routine into pure, unaltered chaos if they so wished, and not necessarily of the fun kind.

“Aye, ma’am. Lead the way then - now you mentioned it, I wouldn’t mind some decent lunch. Prison’s food not great either, I think I had better grub when living in the streets. Really makes you think, huh.”

[leoprincess777]

♦ busting SYNASTRY MYTHS ♦

11th HOUSE SYNASTRY - THIS SYNASTRY DOESNT MEAN SOMEONE SEES YOU AS A FRIEND OR YOU ARE BETTER OFF AS FRIENDS, STOP REPEATING THIS SURFACE LEVEL SHIT YOU’VE BEEN EATING UP FROM MODERN ASTROLOGY POSTS. This is the house of wealth and gains, it’s the fullfillment of our desires and sudden profits. It’s an indicator of your sources of income and allies. So of course, you will have strong foundation with someone you have 11th house synastry with because it will be built on a ground of trust and support. Along with emotional connection, there’s also a mental connection that makes you share your secrets and ideas to them as you would do to a friend but that’s only one piece of the puzzle WHICH DOESN’T MEAN THAT YOU WILL BE GOOD FRIENDS (you can’t make that comment for any type of relationship in this synastry because if 11h is afflicted by malefics that will most likely bring a negative result which can make you enemies or drain one another’s life force lmao). More than anything, especially if you have your 7th house lord in your partner’s 11th house you will gain so much from them in so many ways including oppurtunities and finances and helping you achieve your earthly desires. They will be your ally and support, supporting you in your pursuits and opinions. It’s like a debate team with financial support lol. It can also indicate you will go back to university and complete your education or get a new degree after you get together with this person. Most of this also goes for 3rd house synastry.

5th HOUSE SYNASTRY - “This indicates a fleeting romance” FUCK NO. That’s one of the most trumped-up interpretations i’ve heard. You CAN’T predict the longevity of a relationship based on house overlays. Ever heard of Davison charts? Anyway, prominent 5th house is anohter EXCELLENT synastry. It often donates a relationship where you can discuss ANYTHING - your wildest thoughts, plans and experiences. Someone you jump from topic to topic. Very often the planet person is the “childlike” one which the house person adores and takes inspiration from. Planet person becomes a ball of joy and energy that makes the house person destress and cheer up, thought it can feel like an ‘overdose’ sometimes. Both parties become some sort of an energy source for each other. You play games together, indulge in fun activities, create things (can even be an invention) together. Even doing nothing and just talking to each other feels fun and full of laughter (unless there are some other placements disturbing this synastry). This is the synastry of never-ending honeymoon. A couple with rahu/mars in 5th house might have a son as the first child. If venus is there with the nodes, it might be a son with venusian qualities. You can also get more popular or lucky if you are with someone you have 5h overlay with. The house person also pushes you to focus on your studies more.

12th HOUSE SYNASTRY - There’s a lot of stigma around his house (8h as well) and people often fear it. Weeeeeell...It IS a karmic house so people you have this synastry with are likely to be karmic partners. HOWEVER, don’t take this to oH NO this is not my TWIN FLAME this is a KaRmiC pErson shit. Literally almost everyone is a karmic partner lmfao, there’s a difference between good and bad karma. This synastry can play out good or bad depending on your own individual karma with this person and how you are managing your life. You can look to Rahu/ketu & saturn to get more info on the karma and to see how it’ll play out. Basically the planet person becomes your escape especially if their sun/moon falls into your 12h. They can end up being your savior. There’s an undeniable theme of profound change that this synastry brings. It often leads you to liberation, through a path of restriction. You need to overthrow the restrictions the other person brings to achieve total liberation. This is often a part of the soul’s karma. A couple with this overlay often keeps a secluded relationship from their relatives (maybe even ghost their families lol) and tend to travel together. They often open up to each other surprisingly quickly about their past and traumas, though there’s a really odd distrust within the couple.

6th HOUSE SYNASTRY - People have a very poor understanding of the 6th house, it’s often condensed to ‘service’. 6h synastry is similar to 12h synastry as they are the same axis anyway, but the difference is 12h’s effects are more abstract meanwhile 6h’s effects are much more physical and can be observed on a practical level. The theme with this house is “either serve or die” and has a karmic tone to it too. It’s not often this dramatic tho lol but usually a couple with 6h synastry feel a deep sense of responsibility towards each other which can make it hard to leave even if it turns toxic. Planet person often triggers the house person’s instincts to ‘serve’ the planet person in one way or another - the house person may do random gestures, buy lots of gifts, support them every way possible etc. so in this way it’s a very cute and beneficial synastry, because they are very much involved in each other’s lives and make a visible impact. They often make one another’s daily routines change, so they can spend time better. Though, one of them can treat the other like an assistant or in worse case scenario, a slave. Think I’m a slave 4 U by Britney Spears lol. They can begin constantly demanding things and get mad when the other doesn’t live up to their expectations. They can also become a disciplinarian for the other (this can also apply to 10h synastry) 

OTHER NOTES ♥☺

If you have a mutual mars overlay with someone in 10th house (your mars in their 10h, theirs in your 10h) your aggressive energy as a couple will most likely be public. Meaning you are prone to have public arguments or fights. Alternatively you can also do illegal business or outlaw activities together, often involving some sort of violence or marsian quality.

If someone’s rahu falls into your 4th house, they will feel peace in our presence but they might drain the peace out of you, meaning they can emotionally and physically drain you, bring conflict and chaos into your life. It may become addictive in some cases. Rahu person will keep wanting more. If at the same time your rahu falls into a water house in their chart (so if ur rahu falls into their 4h,8h,12h houses) you will keep giving more and also find it addictive and hard to get out of. It will push you to surrender.

Rahu in 7th overlay indicates a pre-destined marriage/partnership

Moon in 1st or 2nd house is a very common overlay between soulmates and married couples. Moon in 2h is especially a very auspicious placement in terms of material wealth. The planet person often spoils the house person and knows EXACTLY what to get to the house person as a gift, they have a natural understanding of what the planet person would like and their needs (unless afflicted or outweighed by other malefics placements)

[personal experience] Gemini moon men always try to make me talk about myself so they can gather and store information about me, all the while i’m a sagittarius moon (so sidereal scorpio and in opposition to their moon) and i never reveal anything important or “deep” about myself - i can make myself look like i’m being vulnerable and intimate but when the conversation is over, they realize i didn’t reveal to them anything that is actually valuable and important SHDAIWHJGJGKJG which is why after some time...like in about 2 days they even start trying harder. One of them literally begged me to talk about myself and i think this is a good example of the synastry between this axis

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[mosswillow]

Your Mask - (Dark!Tony Stark x Reader).

Warnings! 18+ adult content, Non Con/dub con, kidnapping, smut, Dark!, blackmail.

AN - If you’re new here this is for a collection of Dark!Avenger one shots where the avengers one by one manipulate/kidnap the reader. You can read this fic alone or with the others. I think it’s best to read them in order if you want to read all of them but you do you. Here’s the masterlist for that.

...ok yeah also I said I was going to do bucky but as I started planning out his story I realized it needs to go after most of the others. I have outlines for everyone now and (as long as I don’t change anything) It will go Natasha, Sam, Thor, Bucky, Loki.

word count: 2.7k

Strength. It’s been a theme throughout your life. You had to be strong growing up when your parents divorced and your father left. You were strong in school, graduating top of your class while working nights and weekends to help support you and your mother. You had to be strong when your mother died and you were left alone freshman year of college.You were strong when you landed a high level position in finance after graduation. You’ve been strong every day since, being a leader, someone whose confidence radiates through their entire  being.

Sometimes though when it’s quiet and you’re alone in your thoughts you get tired. Tired of being strong, of fighting every second of every day to make it in a world that wants to pull you down. You’re tired of pretending because you know that underneath it all you’re not strong at all. You’ve put on this mask of strength and it’s carried your farther than you could ever dream. You know though that one day it will carry you too far and the mask will be knocked off, showing who you really are, just a scared little girl pretending to be someone she isn’t

---

You look at the dresses your assistant pulled for you, picking out a long red one with a slit up the thigh. You pair it with a red lipstick and simple diamond jewelry. It’s perfect, you’re perfect you think looking at yourself in the mirror. You tell yourself that you’re everything you need before heading out the door and to your waiting car.

Stark tower is decorated from top to bottom with beautiful icicle themed displays. While magnificent the decor feels formidable, almost a warning not to walk in. You can’t stay on top without attending things like this. You take a breath before walking through the crowd, making your way to the bar, and ordering a red wine. A little liquid courage always helps in these environments. You find an acquaintance and smile, reaching your hand out.

“John.”

“Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” he says sarcastically

“Hey now, I show up to these things sometimes,” You joke.

“It has been a long time, which reminds me that we need to get together and talk business. I won’t let you get out of it this time,” you continue.

“You got me, I’ll have my assistant contact yours to set up a meeting.” John laughs and waves his hand before walking away.

You keep up a cheerful disposition as you make your way through the crowd, networking. It’s what you’re best at and how you came out on top after graduation. You have a way about you, always able to lure people in to get what you want. You head to the bar to refill your wine not looking as you turn back to the crowd. You bump into someone and spill a drop of wine on their suit.

“Oh I’m sorry.”

The man turns and you immediately recognize him.

“Mr. Stark. I swear it was an accident.” You turn back to the bar and get a napkin, dabbing the small spot of wine. You don’t want to think about how much his suit cost.

He gives a genuine smile and reaches out, gently stroking your arm before grabbing the napkin from your hand.

“It’s ok, I don’t think we’ve met?”

“Oh yeah, I’m Y/N.”

“I’ve heard of you.” He says.

You’ve heard that Mr. Stark is a flirt but as you talk it feels like more than that. There’s a look in his eyes that screams sex and you can’t look away. You feel like he could swallow you whole just with a look. You want nothing more in this moment for that to happen. You want him and you’re accustomed to getting what you want.

Tony reaches out his hand and you mirror him, ready to follow him to his room when a cough comes from beside you. Captain America smiles wide at you and you drop your hand smiling back at him. To his right is a smiling woman, hanging on his arm.

“And who is this?”

“This is Y/N. She’s caught my attention,” Tony says, giving a small nod as he says your name.

“You can call me Steve,” Steve says, smiling even bigger.

The woman slowly loses her smile, looking back and forth between you and Tony.

“No, Tony don’t.”

Tony clenches his jaw and Steve Leans over and whispers something in the woman's ear.

“My wife is tired. I think we’re going to head up now,” Steve says abruptly.

You make eye contact with the woman and she gives you a sad smile before turning away. They walk off together hand and hand and you make a face at Tony.

“Is she ok?”

Tony shrugs.

“She’s always been super weird. Steve loves her though so I let it be.”

You nod and look at your watch.  

“Hey?” Tony says, pulling your attention back to him.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to see my room?”

“What are you implying?” you smile and he leans in.

“Sex?”

You laugh and follow him up to his room. He undoes his tie pulling it off and you slip your dress over your head and throw it on the floor, kicking your heels off. You pull Tony in for a kiss before knocking him onto the bed, peppering soft kisses over his chest. You move your hand down to his hardening cock, stroking it as it starts to throb. He pulls your face up and kisses you back. He nips at your shoulder as you line his dick up at your entrance and slide your body down slowly. You ride him, taking what you want. You feel an orgasm building, you’re so close. Tony slaps your thigh hard, bringing you out of the moment and you let out a whine, opening your eyes.  He flips you over and thrusts deep and hard into you. You push against him and him against you, rolling around the bed.  it’s the most passionate sex you’ve ever had and when it’s over you can’t help but spend several minutes repeating ‘what the fuck’ over and over again in your head. Finally, you get up and make your way to his bathroom, coming out several minutes later with an empty bladder and clean thighs. You pull your dress on and loof for The discarded red thong you had been wearing, ultimately deciding to just leave it, you can buy more.

“Where are you going?” Tony asks.

“Home,” you reply.

Tony’s face goes hard and he sits up in bed, crossing his arms.

“Oh, the sex was great sweety but that’s all it was. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You watch something happen in Tony, the gears in his brain twist and turn. A sinister smile washes over his face and he lounges back in his bed.

“Have a good evening Y/N, I’ll see you soon.” He says casually.

You leave quickly, calling a car to meet you on the street.

On monday you arrive to a stoic office. Everyone looks at you like you have two heads. Your chest tightens and you start feeling nauseous. You don’t even sit down before your assistant shows up in your office telling you of an emergency board meeting that you’re required to attend. You sit in the meeting as the board explains that they have to let you go.

“I just don’t understand, is it something I did?” you ask.

“We just want to go a different direction.” the CEO answers.

You pack your things and head home, spending no time feeling sorry for yourself. You prepare your resume and start calling all of your many contacts from all over the globe. Nobody wants to hire you or even give an interview. Some won’t even take your calls and you start getting frustrated.

“Stark blackballed you, I’m sorry.” Finally someone tells you.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah, just don’t tell anyone I told you ok?”

“Yeah of course.”

You hang up the phone and narrow your eyes. What an absolute asshole, you think. He ruined someones career because of sex. You stand up and storm over to Stark Tower demanding to be seen. Tony is obviously expecting you. He sits in his big office chair looking at you all smug and offers you a coffee. You don’t have the patience for whatever he’s doing and cut right to the chase.

“You blackballed me?”

Tony shrugs.

“I could go to the police,” you say.

“And say what? They won’t do anything to me, I’m a superhero and my wealth and influence is more than you could imagine.”

You want to punch him in the face, or maybe strangle him. If you had a pack of dogs you would definitely let them loose on him right now. Instead you raise your middle finger up and shout a very hostile string of vulgar insults before turning on your heel to storm out.

“I have a position available for you.” Tony says as you reach the door.

You turn back and cross your arms.

“Same salary you had before. Work here for a year and I’ll get you a job anywhere.”

“Why are you doing this? I don’t get your motivation.”

Tony taps his finger on his desk.

“I’ll send over the contract.”

It’s no use trying to get anything out of him and you know it. You go home and steam, pacing anxiously around your apartment and drinking. The contract arrives later in the evening and you look over it. The job is legitimate and good, actually better than your previous position. If he had just offered you the job you would have taken it but now, you shake your head,  Now there’s nowhere else for you to go. You sign the contract and send it back.

---

You arrive at work on monday and organize your desk. It’s a nice office with a big window and private bathroom. You can do one year, you’ve certainly done worse.

Tony wastes no time visiting your office. He drops off flowers and chocolates and sends you dirty messages. You ignore it, knowing that anything you do will just spur him on more. It all becomes worse when you’re forced to start bringing files to Tony's personal quarters. You take a breath and knock on his door. When he opens you shove the files at him and start walking away. Tony follows you out and stops you, shoving you against the wall. You make yourself tall, shoving him back.

“This is not ok Tony, you need to stop this weird obsessive behavior.”

“You like it, I know you do.”

He shoves you again and your head hits the wall. You cry out and a woman you don’t recognize appears from behind a corner. She wears an apron and carries a duster so you assume she’s a housekeeper.

“Is everything ok?” She asks.

“We’re fine, you can leave for the night.”

The woman looks back and forth between you and Tony. You give her a small nod and a big customer service smile and she nods back before disappearing around the corner.

“Seriously, this needs to stop or I walk.”

“You won’t find another job if you walk.”

“I have savings.”

Tony looks away and runs his hand through his hair.

“You win this round, I’ll stay away.”

He runs a finger down your cheek before stepping away.

“I’m patient.”

You visibly cringe. He’s patient? You don’t know what he even means by that. Does he think you’ll change your mind and come to him? You should walk right now. You can find a little house in the countryside and live a simple life. Your rational brain reminds you that he would follow you. There’s nowhere you can go outside of his influence. You glare at him and retreat, not looking back.

---

The next several weeks are quiet. Despite everything, you like your job. The people who

work for Stark are well paid and happy. If it wasn’t for Tony you would stay in the company indefinitely.

There’s no way you could anticipate what’s in the letter you get, so sweetly wrapped up like a present. You open it expecting the same sort of stuff Tony always sends. Maybe it’s tickets to a basketball game or a gift certificate for a massage with a flashy and inappropriate message attached, always with the inappropriate messages.

It’s not what you expect at all. You start shaking as you read every last bit and at the end you pick your phone up and call Tony.

“Come on up,” He says.

You stand at the elevator. You could turn around right now and leave, get all of your money and flee the country. You turn around and see a security guard looking at you. He holds a walky talky up to his mouth and waits. With a sigh, you press the button and go up. Tony waits for you on an empty floor, smiling wide.

“Don’t the avengers live here?”

“They’re out right now, it’s just you and me.”

He walks toward you and you back away a step for every one he takes. You eye the elevator.

“You won’t be leaving this floor for some time. If you behave we’ll see about you going back to work.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you whisper.

“Watching Steve with his girl just… I want that.”

“So ask someone on a date?”

“I want you.”

“Why?”

Tony finally reaches you, taking your chin and pulling it up.

“At first it was like a game that I wanted desperately to win. Now It’s love.”

You want to throw up. You look back at the papers in your hand. He thought of everything. He has a detailed background check and list of every single friend and family member. He knows all of your passwords. He has a month worth of pictures of the two of you that he’s already started leaking to the press. To everyone else it looks like you’ve already been in a relationship. Worst of all he has video of you in your office holding files and carrying them out of the office. He has an intricate outline of how he’s able to frame you and send you to prison if he wants.

“It wouldn’t be a very fun game if I didn’t give you at least a chance to win. In one year I’ll ask you if you want to leave and if you say yes I’ll let you go.”

He raises his arm up and lands a slap across your face.

“You’ll break in a week though.”

Tears fall from your eyes for the first time since your mother died. Tony gestures for you to come with him and you do, following him without argument. He pushes you onto his bed and removes your underwear, lifting your skirt up.

“Open up baby,” He says pushing against your legs.

Your legs shake as you open them. He gives your pussy a small slap before climbing on top of you and thrusting in. He holds you down as he takes you, eyeing your tear stained face posessively.

“Hey, don’t be sad princess.”

He reaches down to your clit and starts circling it, forcing your body to betray you. You cling to him as your orgasm washes over you and he in turn comes, filling you with so much cum it starts dripping out. You try to go to the bathroom but he grabs your hand and pulls you back to the bed.

“This time you’ll stay.”  

---

You’ve always been strong, you had to be. Your strength is what got you into this mess and you realize now, crying alone in Tony’s room, that your strength is not enough to get you out. The mask you wore for so long was just that, a mask, and now it’s been stolen and worn like a trophy by someone else. You know you’ll never get it back, that in one year Tony will ask you if you want to leave and you won’t have the strength to say yes.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan (Modern AU)

Ch Rating: T

Ch WC: 2169

AO3

Chapter 7

Another day at the office. Editing, emails and the ever elusive caller that enables equal opportunities for playing phone tag. A game Solas never enjoys participating in. The morning slides by and Varric is at his desk, twirling his keys around his finger.

“Lunch?”

Solas glances up and sighs. “I’m trying to get a hold of Seeker Pentaghast. Sera said she had more info on an agent that might have a lead on Crystal Red.”

“That sounds like a lot of maybes and probablys and a whole lot of I don’t give a fuck. You’re allowed to take a break and get some lunch.”

“What if they call while I’m away?”

“They can leave a message. Now let’s get out of here before we don’t have any time at all for food.”

Solas shoves back his chair and follows Varric. “I did pack a lunch today,” he mentions.

“Save it for tomorrow then. I’m craving some street tacos and there’s a truck just up the road. I’ll buy so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I am less concerned about finances and more concerned about getting food from a truck.”

“Ah, live a little Chuckles,” Varric says as he gives Solas a whack on the back.

“If living a little, as you say, means spending two days on the toilet. Perhaps I do not wish to live a little.”

“Well come with me and grab something else. I’m sure there’s something you’d find worthy of your tastes nearby.”

A half hour later and Solas is holding a taco that’s worth the regret he’ll experience from his future self. Some chipotle mayo dribbles down his chin and he swipes it away while pulling out his phone.

He checks his messages. One from Sarya and one from Veda. He taps on the one from Veda first.

Connor went home sick. Pick me up after school today?

He checks the time and swears. How did he not realize he took such a late lunch? She needs to be picked up right now. He dials her number as he stuffs his arms into his coat.

“Veda needs to be picked up,” he tells Varric as he shoves the remainder of his taco in his mouth.

“Got you covered,” Varric replies.

He mumbles a garbled, “thanks” then takes off down the street. Solas is just a block away from his car in the parking garage when she picks up.

“Hey papae!”

“Hello. I apologize. I just now saw your text. I will be late.”

“No worries. I can always watch the band practice until you get here.”

“I will be there soon.”

“Okie doke.”

He says he loves her and hangs up. Sprints the rest of the way down the street, half choking and wishing he’d at least drank some water but makes his way to his little car without incident. He hops inside. Starts it and zooms out of the garage. He’s speeding which has him checking his rear view mirror constantly. But of course, the city has a million stop lights and he hits every red one. He gets to her school later than he ever intended.

He parks, shoving his glasses all the way up his nose, and searches for Veda at the stadium. He spots her in the bleachers, chin resting in her hands and her copper braids coming undone in the breeze. He takes the stairs to meet her two at a time.

“I am so sorry to make you wait,” he says as he wraps her in his arms.

“Seriously, papae. It’s not a problem at all.”

“But what if it had rained? Or stormed like yesterday?”

“I would’ve just stayed inside. Besides, that didn’t happen.”

He sighs, berating himself a little internally. Then he walks with her back to the car. Slides in and clicks his seatbelt in place.

“What’s this?” Veda asks.

Solas glances over at her. She has Sarya’s camera in her hands. He hadn’t even noticed it there. He calmly says, “a camera.”

“Pssh, obviously. But I don’t remember you having a camera.”

“It’s a friend’s,” he says. “We went out for lunch and they must’ve left it.”

“Oh,” she says. “How was work today?” She’s still fiddling with the camera.

“It was work,” he says. Thankfully she easily dropped the subject. “Not much was accomplished.”

She gasps. “Your friend is so pretty. You’ve never mentioned her before. New coworker?”

“No. Just a new friend I met.”

“She looks familiar—and she’s a wonderful photographer. Maybe we should have her take some pictures of us. We haven’t updated our family photos since I was ten.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Veda. However, my friend is only visiting for a short while. I’m not sure there would be enough time to squeeze some family photos in.”

“Bummer. You look so happy around her.”

“I don’t always look happy?”

“You look a different kind of happy with her. It’s nice.”

He takes her words and holds them close to her chest. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yeah,” she says, then she unloads a multitude of stories. How one of her friends got their tooth knocked out by a basketball in gym. How she accidentally used Elvhen in her Tevene class and didn’t notice until the whole class was just staring at her.

“Did you feel embarrassed?” he asks as they pull into the garage.

“A little. But I mostly found it funny. The way the other kids looked so confused.”

“Does anyone treat you differently when you speak Elvhen?”

She shrugs. “There’s a couple of kids who say stupid things but I don’t hang around them.”

“Veda, I’m happy to speak with the administration if your having trouble with other students—“

“While I appreciate that, I can handle a couple of kids who are jerks.”

“Very well but if you ever—“

“I know.” She slings her backpack in her back then kisses his cheek. “Can I go to Varric’s house? I want to see the cats and hang out with Cole for a bit.”

“Yes, so long as you check with—“

“Already did.” She steps out of the car. “Going to drop my stuff off inside then I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you want to leave. I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. See you later, papae.”

Solas sighs. He’s glad she still talks to him and he still gets to see her but there’s also this tiny ache in his chest that misses her always being around the house. But he reminds himself that this is a good thing. It’s just new and he pulls out his phone to read his messages from Sarya.

Hey I’m going to try and stop by your work around 3:15 today.

I stopped by your work but you weren’t there. Saw Varric though! He introduced me to everyone and it was fun! I really like Sera. She’s hilarious! And Merrill was so sweet! Anyway, hopefully I’ll see you sometime soon. 😉

—

“I fold,” Sarya says, she takes a drag from her cigarillo. Then throws her cards face up on the table.

“Already?” Han asks. “What a shame.”

“Your mind must be elsewhere, Sarya. I’ve never known you to throw a game,” Vilanti says as she shows her cards.

Han takes the game and lets out a whoop as he gathers them all to shuffle.

“I still can’t believe Dallen just up and left us. Did he say anything to either of you? About his plans.”

Both of them shake their heads.

“It’s really odd.”

“I don’t know why you care. Easier to keep yourself from using him. Easier for him to be happy this way,” Han says.

“Ouch,” Vilanti grimaces, then gestures for all the cards to be handed over. She shuffles.

“I do agree with that actually. It’s just that most who move on from our happy little family tend to give us more of a notice. We didn’t get to give him a proper goodbye.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous here Sarya, but you were the only one who cared about the guy. Makes sense why he moved on.” Vilanti deals.

Sarya picks up her hand and stares straight through the cards. “That’s not true.”

“Basically,” Han argues. He draws a card.

“Sometimes you both are mean.”

“Not mean. Just honest,” Han says.

Vilanti draws. “On another note, I heard Makon made a new friend today.”

“What?” Sarya nearly drops her cards. “Our Makon? Makon—stoic, quiet, unsociable Makon?”

“Yep. Met her at the gas station. She was passing through on her way to Wycome and her motorcycle broke down. He fixed it up for her on the spot and they exchanged numbers I guess.”

“What the fuck?”

“Good for him,” Han says.

Sarya draws a card. “Yeah, seriously. I hope that works out.”

“Our next gig is in Wycome and he plans to see her then.”

“Was it love at first sight or something?” Sarya asks. She folds and picks her cigarillo back up. Her interest in cards declining by the second.

Vilanti shrugs and plays her cards, taking the game. “By the way he keeps talking about her, I’d say yes.”

“What’s her name,” Han asks, gathering all the cards into a pile.

“Athi. Athi Lavellan.”

“Another Lavellan huh?”

“Guess so. Maybe she’s related to you two,” Vilanti says.

“Doubt it. Or if she is, it’s very distant,” Han says.

In the distance they hear yelling and smashing bottles. They all exchange looks.

“Wonder who the hell set Deshanna off—“

“Let’s go see if we can smooth things over,” Han says with a sigh.

“You two can go. I’ll probably make things worse. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“That’s because you push his buttons. Definitely better for you to stay here,” Han tells her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Then she waves at them as they slip out the door and finishes off her cigarillo.

—

It’s dark and quiet and Sarya gazes longingly out the window at a small patch of stars. The only patch not hidden by the clouds. She sighs and startles at the sound of knocking. Straightening herself out, she rubs the redness from her elbows and opens the door.

“Solas,” she says it like she’s expecting him but she’s truly surprised. She steps out with him, shutting the door behind her.

“You forgot your camera,” he tells her, holding it out in his hands.

She takes it from him, hanging it around her neck. “Thank you. I should really start keeping better track of my things or you’re going to start thinking I’m trying to bait you or something.”

“I would bite every time,” he says, his hands clasped behind his back. There’s a certain sparkle in his eye and she can’t read him. But she knows she wants to kiss him. So without another thought, she stretches up on her toes and takes him by surprise. He is frigid and she panics, certain she has misstepped. After all, friends don’t kiss like that.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little out of breath. “I don’t know what…”

Her words are caught on the edge of his lips as he captures her mouth again. His kiss is unreserved but not what she’d call passionate. Like the kiss of a long time lover. A kiss of promise. Of commitment. Her mind screams at her to let go while simultaneously wishing and longing for more. His leg is pressed into her inner thigh and despite the chill of the air, she’s certain she is on fire. Her nails are in his shoulder, the camera even hurts just a little as it presses into her chest, and she doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it’s too late for regrets as he pushes her against the side of her trailer. One hand above her and the other in her hair. With each breath she steals between kisses, she studies his face. Memorizes it and stores it for always. Freckles for days and the tiniest scar above his brow. The only sign of his age lies in the lines of crows feet near the edges of his eyes and she tells herself to ask if he has a skincare routine. He certainly seems the type.

She studies his closed eyelids, there’s two freckles on the right and a singular small one on the left and she notices that there’s even some red in his brows and wonders if they’d have red headed babies.

She gasps then. Pulls away. Why in the hell is she thinking of babies?

“Perhaps I should…”

“Kiss me again,” she says to him. She won’t let one ridiculous thought ruin the moment. She knows that she’s falling for him. Too fast, too soon but she’s holding on for another day.

When they break apart she doesn’t want him to go. But it’s too much to ask him to stay. So she waves goodbye then clicks her camera, saving the image of him walking away.

[scuttling]

While You Were Sleeping (Okay, in a Coma)

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Derek Morgan & Latina Original Female Character Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid Word Count: 2,058 Chapters: 1 of ? WIP Tags: SFW so far, Sophie is not in the BAU, While You Were Sleeping (film) AU, Coffee shop, Unrequited love, Canon-typical violence, Slow burn

Summary: What happens when Derek Morgan, the man Sophie Cortes is secretly in love with, goes into a coma, and everyone around them mistakes her for his girlfriend? As if things weren't complicated enough, his boss is sweet, kind, incredibly handsome, and makes sure she's taken care of while Derek is in the hospital. Plus, she thinks one of Derek's coworkers is more secretly in love with him than she is. Feelings shift, but how does Sophie explain to the world that she fell for Aaron while Derek was sleeping, without hurting everyone she's come to care about?

Read on AO3 or read more below! The morning that changes Sophie Cortes’s life forever begins much like any other: she wakes up at 3 AM to her blaring alarm, slides out of bed with a groan, tugs off the oversized t-shirt she slept in and pulls on a sports bra and leggings to go for a run. She knows this makes her sound like a lunatic, but with her schedule, if she doesn’t exercise before the crack of dawn, it just doesn’t happen.

After her run, she goes home to shower and change, grabs her bag and drives to The Busy Bean, the coffee shop she co-owns with her best friend Jocelyn. Jocelyn is the brains of the operation, the one with all the great marketing ideas, the one who handles the finances and vendors and supply issues and makes sure everything is Fair Trade or else—Sophie bakes cookies and makes macchiatos, but everyone’s got their strong suits.

She loves the coffee shop more than anything, its bright brick walls and dark wood floors, the smell of fresh beans and sugar, the bustle of regular customers they get from being so near Quantico; most of them are serious suit types, always in a hurry, but some of them are sweet, take their time to say good morning, like Sophie’s favorite customer, Derek.

She knows Derek is a fed of some sort, even though he’s not usually in a suit. He has that air about him, like he’s powerful and capable, like he’s seen things, but he never fails to flash her a megawatt smile, to lean against the counter while she makes his mocha and ask her how her morning is going. She’s a little bit in love with him.

Jocelyn knows this, and always makes sure Sophie is the one to wait on him; when she calls Sophie out from the kitchen specifically because Derek’s there, she knows he knows, and she flushes, but he says she makes his drink better than anyone, always asks her for a cookie recommendation on Fridays so he can take a box to the office, so she thinks it might not be completely one sided. Maybe. Or he’s just a really, really sweet guy.

On the morning that changes her life forever, he’s still very sweet, but she also sees a side of him she’s never seen before.

Someone tries to rob them. The man walks right up to the counter, no mask, no nothing, and tells her to put all of the money from the register into a cookie box or he’ll pull out the gun he’s got in his pocket and blow her face off. Her first instinct is to be pissed about this, which she knows is really stupid. She takes a step back, looks at the guy like he’s an idiot, crosses her arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how hard we work for this money? We don’t sit around… playing video games in our mom’s basement, like you do, by the looks of it.” The guy is obviously not happy about this, slams his hands down on the counter, and Derek, who is two spots behind him, leans slightly out of line to get her attention.

“Sophie, is this guy bothering you?” Before she can answer, the guy turns to look at Derek; he takes one glance at his hot, strong physique, and then his gun and his badge thing, and books it out of the shop. Derek tears off after him, and Sophie can see this ending very badly, so she grabs Jocelyn, asks her to cover the register and tells her she’ll be right back.

She jogs outside, expecting to see Derek manhandling the dumbass robber, or at least still chasing after him; she does not expect to see Derek laying on the ground, bleeding out, a bullet wound in his stomach.

“Oh my god, Derek!” She skids to a halt next to him, pulls off her apron—it’s mostly clean, she thinks—and lifts up his shirt, presses it to the wound to stop the bleeding. “Are you okay? That’s dumb, you’re not okay, but can you hear me? Are you going to die?” He chuckles, and that makes her feel a little better, but then he coughs up blood, and that makes her feel much, much worse.

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket, calls 911, and just stays with him, talks to him about nothing and everything, until the police and paramedics arrive. At that point, he has passed out, looks drained and weak, so unlike the Derek she has come to know… and love. Fuck. If he dies because of something that happened at her shop…

“Excuse me, miss, but we need to get him on the stretcher,” an EMT says, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She backs off, knows he needs to be attended to, but she can’t leave him, she just can’t.

“Can I ride to the hospital with him? Please,” she asks the other tech, and she glances at her partner, who nods. Sophie sighs a breath of relief, sends a text to Jocelyn explaining what happened and that she’ll need to be out of the shop for the foreseeable future.

She notices that Derek’s phone has fallen off of his belt, and she picks it up, since the paramedics don’t seem interested. She absently decides to look through his recent contacts, to see if there’s someone she should inform of the accident: the last number he dialed belongs to someone named Hotch, and she vaguely remembers him mentioning the name before. It might be his boss, or something? He dials the number frequently, anyway, so she figures it’s worth a shot.

“Hotchner,” the man answers after two rings, and Sophie sighs, glad she got through to someone. Even if he’s not the person she should be contacting, he might know how to reach them.

“Uh, hello. I’m pretty sure you’re Derek’s boss, but even if you aren’t, you’re the last person he called, so… There’s been an accident. Derek’s been shot. We’re headed to the GWU Medical Center; I thought you would want to know.” She can hear the man moving some papers in the background, banging something around on his desk, maybe.

“We’re on the way; how bad is it? Is he conscious? What happened?” The paramedics signal for her to hop into the back of the ambulance, so she does, and she takes Derek’s limp hand. Her eyes well up with tears, and it feels real, now, that she has to relive it.

“There was someone trying to rob the coffee shop, and—and Derek went after him; he had a gun, and I guess he shot him. I mean, he obviously shot him. In the stomach. He’s not conscious; I don’t know how bad it is, but he was coughing up blood. Oh, god,” she breathes, voice shaky, and the man on the phone makes a soft sound of reassurance.

“It’s alright. He’s a very strong person, I promise you. He’ll be okay. You said you were headed to GWU Medical Center; are you with him now?”

“Yes. The paramedics let me ride with him. I can text you an update when we get there, his room number if he has one.” She can hear him talking to someone else in the background, but it only takes him a moment to answer.

“Please do. We’ll be there as quickly as we can. Thank you,…?” He pauses, clearly wondering who the hell she is.

“Oh, Sophie. Sophie Cortes.”

“Aaron Hotchner. Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”

The paramedics push Derek into the emergency room entrance, and Sophie follows behind, feeling anxious and out of place, and worried about his injury. They push the gurney through a set of double doors, and Sophie goes to follow, but a stern looking nurse in gold scrubs puts a hand in front of her, doesn’t even look up from her clipboard.

“You can’t go in there.” Sophie’s heart-rate jumps, and she shakes her head.

“I need to go in there, I need to make sure he’s okay. Please.”

“Are you family?” she asks, giving her a once-over; she clearly decides that Sophie is not family, and she doesn’t want to lie, anyway.

“No, I’m not family, but—”

“Like I said, you can’t go in there. Family only.” She moves her arm, waits like she dares Sophie to try, but she just sighs, sags against the wall, and the woman walks away.

“But you don’t understand,” Sophie says weakly, to herself. “I’m in love with him.” She brings up a hand to scrub at the tears forming in her eyes, and another nurse, one with blue scrubs and braids and a kind smile, rests a palm on her shoulder.

“Come with me.” Sophie looks up at her—she looks kind of like an angel, but it’s probably just the fluorescent lighting—and nods, follows.

She takes her through a staff only door, sneaks her into the OR hallway, where they can peer through a window at Derek, surrounded by doctors, surgeons, nurses. Sophie has only seen this kind of stuff on TV, so she doesn’t know how it’s going, but the nurse who brought her tells her to stay there for one second and bustles off.

It’s really scary to watch: there are bloody cloths being thrown around, and tubes and clamps and other medical devices she’s not sure the use for, but after a moment, she can see a doctor lift up a pair of surgical pliers, and there’s a bullet between the prongs. That’s a good sign, she’s pretty sure.

The nice nurse comes back, and she scares the shit out of Sophie when she puts a hand on her arm, making her jump a foot. She smiles apologetically, and Sophie returns it.

“I found out his room number, if you’d like to go sit and wait for him to be brought in. It's an ICU, so technically visiting hours haven’t started yet, but I can make an exception—for an hour, okay?” Sophie nods, wraps her hands around the nurse's wrists.

“Thank you so much. Really—I just need to know he’s okay,” she says, and the woman nods understandingly and takes her to room 104, where Derek will be placed after surgery.

She texts the number to Derek’s boss, takes a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She gets restless quickly, stands up, uses the bathroom sink to scrub at her hands, because they’re still stained with Derek’s blood. It’s quiet, eerily so, until suddenly it isn’t.

Derek is wheeled in on a bed by a couple of nurses; he looks a little better, all wrapped up in gauze, and they hook him to machines, displaying a steady heartbeat. She breathes a sigh of relief. He’s alright. He’s not dead. That’s incredible news. She takes his hand, wills herself not to cry, murmurs that she’s so happy he’s alive.

As soon as the nurses leave, a group of people who can only be Derek’s coworkers enter the room. There is a tall, serious looking man with dark hair and a dark suit; a woman with thick fringe, a kind face; an older guy with facial hair who looks worried and weary; a skinny guy who looks about the same as Sophie feels; a petite blonde woman with the bluest eyes Sophie’s ever seen; and another blonde woman with crimped hair and glossy lips who has absolutely been crying. They look at Sophie, and she stands, drops Derek’s hand.

“Um, hi, I’m—”

“Who are you?” a doctor says suddenly from behind the group. The kind nurse who let her see Derek is behind him. The serious looking man reaches into his pocket, flashes a badge with a no-nonsense expression.

“We’re with the FBI. We’re his coworkers.” He looks over at Sophie, and she takes a deep breath. Before she can explain who she is, the kind nurse steps around the doctor, flashes Sophie a smile.

“And she’s his girlfriend.”

Uh. What the fuck?

Derek’s coworkers exchange a look that says pretty much the same thing; the tall skinny one looks like his heart has been broken.

Sophie opens her mouth to correct that extremely incorrect assumption, but she can’t find the words, and then she passes out.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter 6- Last Christmas

Hi all! Sorry she took forever- I edited all by myself, so be gentle!

Plans change. Tickets do too, it seems. Harry's beautiful hope, his gift, it came in handy.

Not in the right way, the intended way. Not because she came to him, ran around the world or even an unfamiliar city with him. Those were dreamy ideas, when she wound up spending all of fall semester in Holmes Chapel. Those daydreams shaded the hospital walls and funeral home with sunny possibilities.

Her father had a heart attack and her mother a breakdown. It was too late, when her mother noticed he'd been out with the dog for too long and the dog was inside whining.

"I knew, in my gut. Day dawned wrong. And then never ended." She'd cried. Her mother had cried in her arms in a reversal Emma felt was way beyond her maturity level.

That hadnt been over the phone. Over the phone had only been muffled sobbing and her dad's name, "John."

Emma didn't call him John, but she could forgive her mother. It was up to her mother's good friend Di to share the news: Emma had always looked up to Di, she'd had some tragic marriage in her youth, and then decided god damned men weren't for her.

At the moment, Emma was of a similar mind.

Emma assumed she'd have a similar life to Di, had planned for it actually. Di had her own house, a thriving career as a solicitor and no children. A life like that, of her own, was Emma's dearest wish before she wished to be able to say yes to Harry.

Now she just wished her dad was still around.

There were so many plans to make, a funeral to finance and a mother to support, to put back together.

It's a wonder Emma wasn't an outright romantic, the way her parents had been, lifelong sweethearts. They still had moon eyes for each other until the very end, could be found holding hands on the couch often. Emma had come home unexpectedly early last year and found her mother sitting on the kitchen counter with her father between her legs making out like teenagers.

It was a lot to live up to.

Emma supposed it was why she kept all her heart eyes and love life in the closet and saved it all up to spend once a year. Just like an old lady's Christmas budget.

This year, she didn't think it would be happening. Harry must have had some rich person thing going on with the ticket, because the minute she decided that rather than ask her mom to buy her a ticket to get home, for the funeral, instead use the one she  had from Harry, he'd called. There was clear excitement in his voice, hot on the heels of her phone call to the airlines. It was August. He was set to embark soon, she'd just got back to Amsterdam. He must have thought she was gonna sneak in a cheeky visit.

"You're coming?"

"What?" She was so disoriented. Coming where? What was going on? Her brain was muffled with plans her feelings kept stumbling over at the knees like a trip wire.

"To see me? I got a notification you used the ticket?"

Her brain was muddled, like an egg in a hot pan, what? How did he do that? "No, Harry, umm I'm not coming. I don't even know where you are right now." She barely knew where she was.

"Whose fault is that?" There was a tiny edge to his voice that would cut her if she could even notice. "You could have answered my calls."

"Harry," she sighed, she had been avoiding him a bit. Mostly because she had an evergreen memory of his disappointed face when she told him going on tour was too much, that she simply didn't have the time. She was glad she couldn't see his face when she said the next bit. His voice was buoyant with hope, she was about to pop that balloon. "I need the ticket to go somewhere else." She couldn't bear to say it, was biting her lip hard not to think it, the liquid memory brimming anyway.

"Yeah, ok. Well, Happy Christmas I guess. See you in four months, maybe." The bitterness in his voice was like an old lemon and she didn't even have time to sweeten it with truth when his phone clicked off.

That made her resentful. How could this truth be sweet in any way? It got worse over time, the resentment just nestled among her other griefs.

Then he wouldn't answer her calls. She supposed that was giving her a taste of her own medicine and it was a quick wash down her throat with no water after the other jagged pill life had just forced down her throat.

And it didn't get better. Though, she had to scoff at herself for even having a square of heart for Harry to break leftover.

Break it did though, when she heard he had a new girlfriend, a blonde, a model, a French blonde model.

Of course.

Emma couldn't help but stalk her instagram. His was useless, ill used, so when she'd finished a day of running the house she'd been a child in while taking care of her grieving mother, she'd torture herself some more and watch stories where the beautiful blonde played in a pool, or made jokes, or showed the big mirror over her bed.

That one hurt most. She'd never seen Harry's bed, nor he hers. The little devil voice inside her head whisper shouted that he much preferred the one he was in now, with the mirror and the model to the tiny inn room they'd spent all their overnights in.

She didn't hear from him, and she never called to explain herself either. What would she say? My life fell apart and I needed your ticket, but it hurt to much to say it out loud and you were to much of an asshole to let me say it.

Harry wasn't an asshole, not really, he was hurt. Emma was stunned she had that power, though she had admitted to herself there was more between them than mistletoe kisses and holiday fucks.

She'd admitted it was more to her.

He acted like it was more to him, unless this was just a bruised ego. She didn't like to think that. Harry had every reason to have a giant head, figuratively to go with the oversized cranium he actually sported, but he'd never shown it. He was cocky at times, just enough to be sexy. All of that was a veneer over a sweet vulnerability that made everybody want to be around him, protect him, love him.

Did she love him?

No, she didn't think so, but given more time, the potential was there, like a rock at the top of a hill, all it would take was a push.

Which, time on tour with him would have been. If she could have went. Which she couldn't. She wanted to explain all of this to him as soon as she has the chance- which she would in 6 hours.

Her promises to herself were that she would not cry and that she would accept his new relationship. His real relationship. Emma would not try to touch him, or kiss him, or confess her almost love to him.

He was probably in love himself, from her internet stalks, she was halfway there, with both of them. Harry edged it out by being perfect in person. Camille, that was frenchies name, could only be half as perfect as Emma made her in her head.

"Do I wear the sweater?" She asked her reflection. She'd had to become her best friend the last six months. Emma might have called her mom her best friend, just based on time spent together, if their relationship was reciprocal, but at this turn of the road, she was supporting her mom as she grieved and got back to herself. Emma could see glimmers. She had hope.

She however wasn't sure she had hope for herself. Was she really contemplating wearing the sweater Harry gave her last Christmas to his mother's Christmas party? How pathetic was that? She was rolling her eyes at herself. He'd had a big year, and he bought lots of gifts, probably for his new girl, so her thinking he'd remember felt narcissistic.

Plus, it was her favorite, which mostly had nothing to do with the fact it was from Harry.

Emma really didn't want to go, but Gemma was expecting her. And she really needed to see her, have her support. They'd been texting, a lot. Gemma had heard about her dad and reached out. It was the only emotionally connection Emma really had, those texts, and she needed to see Gemma, honestly. Even if it meant seeing Harry.

She might have wanted to see Harry.

To explain, and maybe just to see him. Make sure he was happy, feel his warmth, steal him back.

No, that was unlikely. See if he was happy and wish him well.

She wore the sweater.

The house was cozy when she arrived, like it always was and it thawed her heart enough for it to ache a bit. For something new. Her heart ached a fair bit off and on, then went numb. It was the only way she'd survived lately. Emma knew she was putting off really feeling her major loss.

It was a strange pleasure to mourn something as minor as heartbreak.

The hug from Gemma made the trip through the snow and down memory lane worth it. And the people all around her and their laughter were invigorating.

The alcohol helped as well. Their house was pretty dry but had been especially when she started to notice her mom was unconsciously developing a bottle a day habit. When it wasn't there she didn't mention it though, so Emma didn't buy it, except for special occasions.

She was merry, and felt held. Her hand was in Gemma's. She'd stayed away from the back bathroom and the kitchen, even come in the front door.

Emma felt like she was getting away with it.

Harry wasn't there, with girlfriend in tow or not. So all her pontificating about checking on him was all for naught, and she was getting all the crosses. She certainly felt like today was a plus.

Until she heard a tone of elation issue from Anne's happy voice that only motherly joy could produce.

Harry was here.

"Fuck!" Came out of her mouth, and Gemma looked at her sharply.

"What?"

"Nothing, guess I'm jumpy, your mum's shout made me spill." Emma thought she shouted an excuse me while she hurried up the stairs to hide, find a place farthest away from Harry and his happiness. He might be alone, but if he was glowing like a brand, the way he did when they holed up together only slightly dimmed by their parting, now because of it, from some other lover, Emma couldn't stand it.

Plus, she thought she'd heard another name connected to his over her own rated r exclamation.

She was coming out of the bathroom. Emma had suppressed her tears ruthlessly and her bottom lip might bruise from the brutal teeth marks she employed. She'd have given herself some words in the mirror, affirmations helped, but what was she gonna say. "You're happy for him."

She wasn't. She was happy with him.

"Fuck this." Emma decided the only course of action was a straight line to her parents house. her mother's house, she mentally corrected and gave herself a more legitimate reason to cry than over a boy. Even if that boy was Harry Styles.

Who she barely stopped herself from running into as she kept her head down and rounded the bannister to head down the stairs.

"Jesus! You gave me a fright!" She dramatized and kept a hand over her heart and her tear stained face down.

"Emma." His voice was flat, and not cold, but the warmth that snuggled around her name was absent and she shivered. "I wondered if you'd be here." Not Hoped, she noted. "What are you doing up here? Don't your usually use the back bathroom?" There was just a bit of heat in that statement, but it didn't warm, it burned. Was he being mean, that wasn't like him? "Nice sweater." Ok, definitely mean.

Her face came up with that thought, it shocked her out of the sense of control she was exercising.

He did look hard, mean, for a moment, but soft around the edges like a melting popsicle when he caught her face.

"Are you crying?" His hand came up and he stopped it mid air before it wiped away her tear.

Emma felt her body lean into him and another tear slipped out when his warm palm and always chilly finger tips touched her cheek.

God she'd missed him! While she was bolstering her mother, she'd needed support. He was supportive, or would have been. But he wasn't taking her calls, and she couldn't bring herself to text, "my dad died". Then, it was such old news, she figured he'd have heard from Gemma.

He took his hand away like she was a hot cooktop.

He pushed his hair back off his forehead with the hand probably damp with her tears and bravely changed the subject. "How long you in town for this time? Jetting off to some climate refuge hotspot soon?"

Emma flinched. Oh- he didn't know.

"Un, no, I'm living here." She didn't elaborate, maybe saying it out loud was as hard as texting it. "I was actually just about to head home to check on my mum. The back bathroom was in use, and the cold makes me need to pee." What the fuck was she talking about, he didn't need that information.

His dimple pressed in just a bit and he went to say something, but Emma just couldn't. She couldn't look at him anymore, or tell him about why she lived there, or about the ticket he seemed to have been hurt enough to move on over. She definitely didn't want to see evidence of his movement, especially not his upgrade. "Anyway, nice to see you," the words shot out of her mouth, impresonal and true. "Bye Harry."

"Wait Emma!" She thought she heard, but she just kept going. She'd tell Gemma she was sick.

She nearly was when she saw Harry's girlfriend hugging her closest friend in the living room.

"Oh god."

Luckily, when she got home, her mum was awake and feeling chatty, not blue. Emma focused on her and the special she was watching. Let the warm sound of her mother's once common laughter wrap around her as a blanket. It was more comforting than a cup of tea.

She waited until later to cry herself to sleep.

The next day was Christmas- the first without her father. She dried her rightful tears before she saw her mom, though she would have had all the standing in the world for them and she felt better about them than those she's shed the night before. She knew though that her wet face would cause a cascade event, the first drop in a waterfall, so she dried them up.

They had traditions to get through.

And get through they did. They each wrapped a gift for her father that they left under the tree and held each other right before tucking into a late brunch and preparing a boozy and sweet laden Christmas dinner, Emma contributed the puddings.

They were very much her mother's favorite, and she broke out a scandi recipe she'd enjoyed the last several years.

She Skyped her university friends, they exchanged the small gifts she'd mailed them and them her. She missed them something awful. She missed school horribly, so much she even emailed her advisor. All of her heart hoped to return after the winter break.

Emma thought the feeling of missing something was a bit like a paper cut and losing your keys combined.

Harry called late Christmas Day, just a few minutes shy of Boxing Day. That more than stung, it was a gut punch, or a knife plunge, though she'd never had either.

Emma ignored the call from Harry. What was there to say?

Boxing Day, well, Emma wasn't much of a drinker, but it was basically a tenet of British culture to get obliterated while watching the queen.

For the last several years, Emma had been off her face on Harry. This year she chose savingnon blanc with her mum. Two days, then they'd go back to a dry house. Tradition was tradition, and she couldn't think about the one she'd started and ached all over for.

What a pale imitation of ecstasy drunkenness was, though she supposed they both left a hangover, a residue.

Her bed, when she begged off to it early was warm and fragrant, but it smelled all wrong. No sandalwood or black coffee, not even the mint she'd come to associated with the comfort of love, or something like it.

It was worse, because when she closed her eyes, having seen Harry's someone in person, she could see him snugged up to her, so cozy. It was in their place, their room at the Boat's Head.

It was over, Boxing Day, when she puked.

She had another missed call from Harry. 11:59 Her personal witching hour.

The next day was a little bit better, either because she had her literal hangover to tend, or because she'd ripped the bandaid off her hurt and let the wound air.

"Hiya!" Gemma's voice and face were bright, unlike the gray day.

"Hello." Emma smiled and her voice held it, she held onto it. "You're merry!"

"Yeah, I'm at the pub. Everybody is at the pub," she flashed the phone around so Emma could see the waving swaying people, "we wanted to get you outta the house, you made such an effective Irish exit the other day you've let your people down, we need to see your smile. You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." Emma thought about it, there was a pull to the pub. "Um, maybe I can swing over."

It only took a few minutes to throw on jeans and a jumper, not her former favorite. The walk was a little longer.

When she found them, her first comment was "Im not drinking!" Over a grimace.

"Too much wine with old Elizabeth, huh? " Gemma Laughed

"Yes! Did you know my mum has a long pour?" Emma shared with a laugh.

"No, but mine's gotten more heavy on the booze with me lately, they must like the new stages. Daughters as actual friends and drinking partners. Mum is thrilled!" Gemma grinned.  "So am I! Harry's a little jealous."

Emma tried to catch her grimace before it stomped across her face. Gemma kept talking and she thought she'd got away with it.

"He wants to be one of the girl's! He came down last night and mum, Camille and I were sharing wine and mum was showing her atrocious pictures. You'd think he'd be mad or embarrassed! He was like, 'Where's my glass?'" Gemma was staring at her while she chuckled.

Emma had less success not responding. Her face was a picture she was sure, a jealous one. And then she heard herself asking, "what's she like?" She gulped down the g word she almost voiced. "Camille?"

Gemma made a funny face, then looked at her again. "Um, she's silly and kinda quiet and I think she's worried my mom will care she's posed nude."

She wouldn't. That wasn't Anne's style. And if she did have an issue, she'd never voice it. She was really big on respecting her kids choices. Even some of the stupider ones Harry had made.

Was she ranked among those now?

"Why do you ask?" The gentleness in a Gemma's voice told Emma she knew more than she was saying.

Emma couldn't explain, she was still in such a tender state, like a fissured piece of glass, she knew she couldn't go over it. "I just hope Harry's happy."  It was the only true thing she could say.

And Gemma, bless her just looped her arm through Emma's and said like she was holding a cracked egg. "He is." She left it at that, before she stood, pulling Emma after her. "And we need another drink." Apparently Emma was drinking, she needed it.

They spent another couple hours at the pub and Emma walked home through the soft snow. Her nose was stuffy, and her eyes were leaking, and she was drunk. Least she realized she must be, cuz she was crying. She really hated crying.

She was still weeping under her breath when she got home and found Harry on her doorstoop.

"You're still here?" She boggled. She assumed he'd taken his girlfriend to his big London home Emma had never been to, since she wasn't ever his g word.

"Yeah." He rubbed his hands over his corduroy flares. She'd consider what that might mean, but the pants distracted her. Those were new, must be getting fashion influences from new places, mew people. Those pants were roomy for him. He looked good in them. He looked good, happy.

"Did you need something?" Seeing himwas ripping her guts out and she could barely keep more tears at bay. Her insides were dangerously close to the skin now, tender and exposed. She hoped the distance between them and the weather and, well, maybe his rose colored glasses brought on by loving some other girl, he wouldn't notice her crying.

Over him. At the moment.

"No, I, um," he swallowed. "I thought we might talk." He made those green eyes at her and she hated it. Cuz they were soft and for someone else these days.

"I think we've said it all."

"We haven't said anything, not really, in a year."

"Yeah, well actions over words mate." Good, she was angry. She tried to go around him, into her door. Out of the cold and this situation.

"Emma, wait." He caught her shoulders and her blood froze in her veins but her tears were hot on her cheeks. "I'mso sorry about your dad." He choked up too.

She looked at him and let hurt run down her face, didn't even bother trying to stiffen her upper lip. When he opened his arms, she went to him and cried in a way she really hadn't let herself, into the comfort of his scent, the hurt of his presence.

Emma wasn't sure how long she cried, they wound up siting on the cold stone bench when their knocking knees froze.

"S that why you used the ticket?" He whispered against her hair sometime later.

She nodded. Sniffed up her tears and his pain laced smell.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She shrugged.

"I would have understood. And I would have come, to be with you."

Her tears apparently hadn't run out. She knew that, but she was hurt, by his hurt and his expectation.

She looked up at him. Her lips were so close to his, the outer edge that felt so plush and lovely.

That was a Liberty she didn't have. Maybe never a right she had, like him just expecting her to drop her goals to go to him.

"Where's your girlfriend?" She said the word like the four letters it felt like it was to her.

"Um," he stumbled over the subject change . "She was tired."

"You tell her you were coming to see a girl you used to fuck?"

"What?" He looked at her with a frown and Emma supposed she was being mean, mean but honest. "Don't say it like that. That's not what we were about."

Emma quirked a brow at him. "No?"

"Listen, why are you being like this?" He swallowed and looked like the wronged party when he was the one who assumed the worst of her, then abandoned her, moved on, and showed up, she could only assume, to rub it in her face.

The last year had been the worst of her life, and he'd been part of that. Mostly his absence.

Whoever's fault that was.

"Look, I don't need your pity or your condolences. Or your forgiveness. You just assumed I was taking advantage of you like you didn't know me at all. Which I realized is true apart from knowing what I look like naked, right? Let's be honest Harry? Huh, I'm just the girl you used to fuck over break. Your Christmas bit of fun. Til you found your next model. Who you couldn't wait to come home and show off, right in my face. So if we were more, you're a heartless asshole." She was crying over him now, but half the tears at least were angry and her face must be bright red.

The kicked puppy look on his face was so genuine and felt so false to her she could scream. "Why would I even think you would care if I had a girlfriend or not? If anybody was just the person the other thought of as a holiday fling, it was you about me, Emma."  He huffed, took down the finger he'd stood up to point at her. "I tried for more, asked for more?"

"When?" He'd asked for more, how'd she miss that?

"What'd you think the ticket was for? That was me asking you for more, at least more time?"

"I don't have extra time." She countered. Emma supposed that was some mealy mouthed passive way of saying you wanted to spend time with a person at least.

"And I do?" He yelled that before taking a big breath and muttering sorry. "Listen, I know what you're about, and that you are very serious saving the world, but I'm just as busy as you, more, and I would have made time for you."

"Why?" She stood up into his space. "So I could just miss you more, fall more for you and not get to have you in any real way? To torture myself?" And there is was. Emma knew the ache of the first weeks without him, and she'd always counted their brief time together as worth it. Subjecting herself to more just seemed masochistic. "Have more time with you so I have to get over you all over again multiple times a year."

"Who says you would have had to get over me? We could have been together!" Both of their voices had escalated past the bounds of polite disagreement.

"Together in every way except literally?" She threw her hands out at her sides. "What's the point of that?"

"The point?" He huffed. "The point is that I wanted you and you wanted me, and we could have had each other, but you're too busy," he sneered, "and couldn't talk to me."

"I couldn't talk to anyone!" She screamed. "I was supposed to text you that my dad died and I needed to use the ticket that was supposed to be a gift but was more like a curse, to take care of my mom. That my dream was at best on hold while I made sure my mum could get out of bed?" He looked a little slapped. "While you were off what? Being a rockstar? Having a record breaking year? Moving on? Out of spite?!" She didn't want to think that, but she'd wondered. She knew she was giving herself to much credit. "Why you made sure to bring her to Holmes Chapel? You take her to the Boar's Head too? Or just fuck her in your mum's powder room?" The words were explosive, the cadence like charges lighting off each other. Emma felt like a powder keg.

He was shaking his head. "Stop it. No, no, I didn't move on, not until I thought you were done with me."

"Oh, when I needed you and you wouldn't answer my calls?"

He looked at the ground then. When his eyes came up , the lovely green of them was even more vibrant, due to the tears crowding around their ages. "Emma, I'm so sorry about that. I'll never forgive myself."

His sincerity softened her, though the anger she'd wrapped around herself like a coat was all that was keeping her ribs together.

"I'm so sorry, I know the last year has been more than anybody should have to bear, especially alone." He took  a big breath. "But Camille, I didn't, it's not," he stumbled over the words like they were glass edges, but Emma had a feeling she was the one who was about to get cut. "Um, she and I just met and, well, we, we get on." That was a kind way to put it. "I wasn't looking for somebody else. But I was lonely and she's," the changes on his face ripped through Emma. "She's lovely. I brought her home, because I wanted mum to meet her." That told Emma everything.

"You love her?" She already knew the answer.

He ran his hand through his locks, avoided eye contact until the last second, "yeah, yeah, I think I might."

Emma was nodding, biting her lip to gatekeep the fresh round of tears threatening. "That's good Harry, I'm," she breathed, "I'm happy for you."

He looked at her then. "Really?"

"Course, I care about you, your happiness." That brought on the tears and he reached for her and she had to throw up her hands to keep him away. "No, no, please don't touch me."

His phone rang, he was the only person she knew who actually kept their ringer on. Well the only person under 50, it made her smile. Then cringe, the weird personal knowledge she had because of how much of an almost they were. From his face, Emma knew it was his actual calling.

"Um," he shady buttoned the call. "I have to go."

"Yeah," was all she could respond with, she already knew that. "Well, have a happy nee year Harry. You sticking around?" God she hoped not. May have to convince her mum to go to London if so.

He shook his head, "Um no, we're going to Paris." Ouch. Emma tried for subtle when she wrapped an arm around herself. "Sorry, I'd like," he always looked so genuine lately, in every interview she'd watched to hurt herself, his heart on his sleeve, in his eyes now. "I'd like to hug you, think you could stomach it?"

Emma nodded and went to him for the barest second and then concentrated on the pressure behind her eyes while he kept her close. "I'm so sorry Emma, for everything. I'd really like to be friends," he'd pulled back to hold her eye line at that.

She nodded, she wasn't sure how she'd handle that, but at best it was a couple phone calls, and no weekends away, they hadn't mentioned that in their middle state, she didn't think it would be to hard to keep him at arms length when they had continents between them most times. "Yeah, ok, friends. You take care of yourself, Harry." Emma was a strong girl, woman now, she could handle some texts and a phone call or so.

He kissed her cheek, a continental affectation she closed her eyes over and turned to go. He was almost out of the gate when he turned back. "I'd never take her to the Boar's Head, by the way, that's our place. I'd never take anybody else there." Before she could even think of a response he looked away quick and started to go. "Take care of yourself, Emma. Happy New Year." That came back to her on the wind.

Blew away like the hold she had on the heart she'd given him last Christmas. At least he was someone special.

[troubatrain]

sober - m. barzal (pt. two)

a/n: part two every body give it up for reposting part two!!

One - Three

The sounds of skates on the ice at the Rangers practice facility were becoming almost therapeutic at this point, you close your eyes basking in it for a moment while you edited a video from a charity event the team hosted the week before. You had a makeshift desk in the hallway that led to the locker, trying to get as much work as you could none so you could try and wipe your memory of everything that had to do with Mat Barzal. You knew you shouldn’t have let him win, because men that smug don’t need an ego boost, but you did. Mika’s voice on the other side of that bathroom door was the wake up call you desperately needed. Mat Barzal was a gigantic mistake, and you had to just forget he ever existed. But, his contact was burning in your phone, Mat with a blue and orange heart just to piss you off a little bit more.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Chris huffs out, his large frame towering over you and leaning on your desk. His eyebrows were furrowed, he’d seen right through, something was off.

“Nothing Kreids,” You roll your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were thinking about Mat’s mouth on your pussy in that bar bathroom, “Seriously, I’ll get over it.”

“This is about a guy isn’t it?” Chris questions, grabbing the chair across from you and sitting in it, “Spill.”

“I’m not diving into my dating life with you,” You snap back, catching yourself before your tone gets too harsh. It wasn’t that Chris wasn’t your friend, because he was, it was that you didn’t want to get caught gossiping when you were supposed to be working. Charlotte would have your head on a stick, and everything you’d been working for since you got the job would just be for nothing, “I’m fine seriously, I have a date tonight.”

You did. The night after you last saw Mat, you’d gotten bored enough to open up Tinder on your phone. A couple of swipes later, you had a date with some finance bro from Murray Hill you weren’t going to call the next day. If you wanted to get over somebody, you were just going to have to get under somebody else. Plus, in a city this big, the odds you’d ever run into Mat again were probably slim.

“Like a real date or a rebound date?” Chris asks, a humorous tone to his voice. Chris was a romantic, but you knew Chris Kreider’s were few and far between. So while you were young, you decided that it didn’t matter if you fell in love, you could do that later. For now, you were going to work hard and play harder. 

“A rebound date,” You smirk, watching Chris roll his eyes at you, “Don’t slut shame me Chris or I will-”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Chris defends throwing his hands up before you really got into it, “Just call me if he’s a creep or something, please.”

“Okay dad,” You snort, laughing and directing your attention back to the video you were supposed to be editing.

***

Maybe you should have listened to Chris. The man sitting in front of you did nothing besides talk about himself, his job, and he was unbelievably rude to your waiter. You should expect this, as if some random dude you met off Tinder would be some sort of gentleman but you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be wrong. Unfortunately for you, you were just reminded of one thing - men are trash.

“So what do you do?” Chad asks, which could very possibly actually be his name but you’d forgotten while you were trying to block this entire night from your memory.

“Oh, I work for the Rangers,” You shrug, it wasn’t that you weren’t proud of your job. But the questions that came after were always the same, and if you were right, Chad would have the same answer.

“They must love having a pretty little thing like you around,” The words were sleazy, and they left the same icky feeling in your stomach that they always did. You didn’t want to be some pretty little thing that was around for someone’s amusement. You were an adult who had a pretty important job and you liked to be respected and in the little bubble you lived in at MSG, you were. But, no one outside of 8th and 33rd seemed to agree.

That was the moment when you realized someone’s eyes had been on you the whole time, stopping you from chewing out your date in the middle of the restaurant. Mat Barzal was seated across the restaurant, a girl who looked like a supermodel in front of him. You roll at your eyes at his cocky smile, the girl paying no mind that he wasn’t even listening to her. You pull your phone, letting Chad ramble on about how nice your gig with the Rangers must be.

stop staring at me barz

i can’t when you look like that angel

pretty sure the girl in front of you should keep you busy

pretty sure the guy in front of you is a douche, sneak out of here in 5?

in your dreams

i’ve had dreams about you, they’re pretty fucking filthy though

You stop, rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. You were on this date to forget Mat ever existed and going home with him would be an enormous mistake. One more time couldn’t hurt? Right?

call the uber loser

You watched Mat’s face light up, practically slamming cash down and saying goodbye to his date, before he skipped out of the restaurant. You shake your head at his obviousness, excusing yourself to go use the restroom and thanking whatever higher power that it was close to the exit. The second you stepped out, you could feel an arm wrap itself around you - pulling you into a broad chest.

“I like this little game we’re playing,” Mat smirks, pecking your lips while you wait for a car to pull up. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation, “You know, where you pretend to hate me because we’re supposed to but in reality you can’t stay away - you know how these movies end.”

“I can go back inside,” You threaten, pointing to your date who is still sitting at the table.

“Why? So you can hang out with some dude who you know can’t get you off like I can,” Mat scoffs, his ego getting bigger by the second.

“Maybe I’ll just steal your date,” You smirk, taking notice of the way Mat’s face lit up, “You’re a pig.”

“You’re not a ray of fucking sunshine either you know,” Mat scoffs.

“Your ego’s huge, I’m just keeping you humble,” You tease, pushing his arm off of you, he didn’t get to claim you like that.

“It’s not going to humble me when you’re at my apartment screaming my name,” Mat smirks, and you roll your eyes.

***

Mat’s apartment was a vague memory from the night you had spent. But, you remembered enough to point out every reason why you hated it. It was a bachelor’s apartment, filled with overpriced dark furniture that you know someone else picked out - or even worse, it came with the apartment. The view was immaculate, the floor to ceiling windows lived in the dreams of your own ideal place. The decor was typical, a few jerseys framed on the walls that you most definitely should have noticed when you left his place.

“You can say you hate it,” Mat chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist while you continued to take in the apartment, “I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, biting your lip to suppress the moan that was trying to escape with Mat was nibbling at your ear lightly.

“It means you know you’re better than me,” Mat whispers, “But I know there’s one thing I’m better at than you and that’s why you’re here. I can fucking ruin you.”

“Mat,” You sigh, elbowing him in the stomach while he smirked against your neck, “I’ll ruin you first.”

Mat let out a dramatic groan, “You’re such a brat.”

Before you could defend yourself and chirp him back, Mat had his large hands on your thighs while he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you on the bed. His mouth was sucking at your neck, and you knew you were going to have to invest in a new concealer if you kept this up. Well, at least he finally shut up-

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Mat whispers, his hands exploring your body, “You going to remember it this time?”

“Shut up,” You whimper, trying to let out how good Mat’s hands under your shirt actually felt. They were huge, and the rough skin against yours made your pussy flutter. Mat unclasped your bra, smirking to himself when he got it on the first try, “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I have that’s why I know I’m good,” Mat smirks, climbing down your body while you shed your clothes. Mat slips his finger under your jeans, pulling your panties off in one swift motion, “Fuck, I think you know it too. Are you this wet for little old me?”

You didn’t have words for his stupidity, instead you kicked his back with the heel of your foot. You heard Mat’s laugh while he pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, “You’d be a lot cuter if you were nicer.”

“You’d be a lot cuter if you didn’t laugh like a hyena but here we are,” You chirped, sighing when you feel Mat’s finger slid up your folds.

Mat Barzal’s oral game was, in all honesty, immaculate. Were you going to let him know that? Absolutely not. Were you going to let him milk for every orgasm you had left? You might.

“Mat, fuck,” You let out a breathy moan, a real one trying to escape you. Mat had made you cum twice already, and his mouth was well on his way to a third before his dick even touched you.

“Let me hear you Y/N,” Mat halts his movements, curling his fingers to see if he could just get it out of you.

“Faster,” You moan out, your hips lifting to try and get his fingers to start moving again. Mat smirks, finally satisfied before his tongue swirled your clit to send you over the edge. Mat finally pulled away, wiping the sides of his mouth that were glistening from you.

“Ready for me?” Mat asks, a smug smile on his face. You nod, watching while he reached over into his nightstand to grab a condom.

“That box is awfully big,” You joke, not able to stop yourself from making fun of Mat. In reality, he probably wasn’t any better than you were, but that didn’t mean for a second you didn’t think he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Now, it was Mat’s turn to roll his eyes, “Because you’re such an angel.”

“I’m not, I’m the devil,” You smile, biting your lip while you watched Mat roll the condom over his cock. This part you may have remembered vaguely, but you didn’t remember how big it really was.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” Mat groans, entering you slowly so you could adjust to him. At least he isn’t a total douche.

“I thought you were going to ruin me Barz,” You tease, “I’m sure you know better than to talk a big game and not deliver.”

Mat’s eyes went a shade darker, a smirk on his face while he snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to let out a moan that was so loud you were positive his neighbors heard. His pace kept up, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. You grab into any skin you could find while Mat continued to pound into you, your legs practically shaking from the feeling. Your nails dug into his skin, only boosting Mat’s confidence that he was good.

Mat gave you one more orgasm before he finally let himself go, his hips stuttering and a string of curse escaping his mouth. He stayed for a minute, trying to let you both bring yourselves down before he finally slipped out of you.

“You can stay if you can’t walk,” Mat jokes, his nude frame walking back into his room with a warm towel to clean you up. You didn’t peg him as much of an aftercare guy, especially for someone who probably got laid more than the average person.

“I’ll crawl back to Manhattan before I sleep in this bed with you,” You say while you pull yourself up from the bed. You gather your clothes, getting dressed while Mat watches you from his bed.

“So…” Mat starts, his hands behind his head in a way that was just so masculine you didn’t know if you wanted to go another round or punch him square in the face, “Did I make the team?”

“We can’t do this again,” You say, trying your hardest to keep your cool. If you were being honest, you probably would have done it again.

“We can,” Mat suggests wiggling his eyebrows, “It’ll be our dirty little secret, that’s hot.”

“Barz...”

“Y/N...”

“I’ll call you.”

“So I made the cut?”

[draayder]

Omi Pins Tojo Pins

okay onto the final part: everyone else! as with the previous two, mild spoilers across all the games

Atobe Family

Do you remember these guys? no you don’t. if you said yes you’re lying. This is a family from Asakusa who shows up for approximately 10 minutes, has their name mentioned once, and you see their pin once. That’s right, this is the family involved with that part in Y1 where you gotta deal with the Florist’s shitty kid. A really great pin, shockingly, very striking and good use of silver black and grey as well as breaking the circle. I would have expected this to be from a major player

Ryudo Family

Not to be confused with the Omi Ryudo, this is the Okinawan family from 3 featuring Nakahara, Mikio, and of course Rikiya. I.............. don’t think any of them actually wear it though, so you only see it as fight intros. A stellar pin, the use of the shisa is great even if it is a little hard to read. The way it encircles the family kanji really gives off the protective vibe of the shisa

Ueno Seiwa Family

so normally I complain about gold on gold being hard to read, which is true, but the shape of this is so different than anyone elses’ that you can tell at a glance exactly what family you’re dealing with. A good pin

Yamagasa Family

This pin has always slapped. It’s bold and geometric, easy to read, and looks great on a formal hakata. It’s very sleek and modern imo, which is once again funny for a very traditional family like the Yamagasa out in Nagasugai, but overall just a top tier pin

Yahata Family

It makes sense that the direct subordinates would just tweak the design, but adding in the calligraphy 八 clashes a little with the nice geometry, making this a worse pin. It’s also extremely hard to tell from a Yamagasa pin, but that’s fine since they’re part of it and they benefit from people thinking they’re higher up than they actually are. Still a pretty good pin

Kitakata Family

Y5 really went off on its pins, this one’s for those guys up in Tsukimino. It’s bold and easy to read, but not quite as good as the Yamagasa pin. Very effective still though

Yomei Alliance

Time for these assholes out in Onomichi. So obv we got that rising sun iconography kind of going on which is Not Great but does tie thematically with what that family was founded on. Definitely very good at conveyance, you’re not going to mistake it for anyone else in the area

Masuzoe Family

Remember this dude? I sure didn’t. The Yomei guys don’t really stick to a theme, which is fine, and this pin is pretty good. It’s a little busy, I think the center kanji could use a little more room to breathe and feels slightly off center due to how the line on the left almost touches the edges unlike every other part of it

Koshimizu Family

Remember this guy? Maybe you do, he was a lot more memorable than Masuzoe. His pin is actually really great. I love the evocation of a sword hilt and how the scalloped edges are cut out internally to slot in the calligraphy, it gives a very nice organis flow to the whole thing. The color balance is also very good. 10/10 pin, one of the best in the series imo

Hirose Family

Simple, effective, unmistakable. Hirose has a good pin. The edges remind me of a government organization, which gives it a nice sense of authority despite being a tiny little group. The use of the grass lines helps break up the space so it’s not just a boring circle and draws the eye up to the top kanji, which has the lines to draw the eye back down. A good pin

Kyorei Clan

An Osaka based group that isn’t Omi! It’s from judgment and most famously Shioya is a member. Really cool pin! I like the angles a lot, and it’s a very unique shape! very cool, great pin

Seiryu Clan

what no I totally didn’t forget this one the first time. shut up. So this pin has a lot going for it. The swirling waves leading the eye in, and the fact that it has the full family name + clan sets it apart. A fun fact on this one is that the patriarch is  星野 龍平 (Hoshino Ryuhei) and this family takes the first kanji from his family and given name to make  星龍 (seiryu) which is a homophone with  青龍 (seiryu), the blue dragon of the four legendary beasts (also the one Kiryu is represented by!). However while the blue dragon’s kanji is literally blue+dragon, this family is star+dragon, which is fucking baller as hell. A great pin on that aspect alone, and a solid design to back it up

Non-Yakuza Organizations

Peace Finance

Okay so all the non-yakuza “pins” are out of Y1 (with 2 exceptions), because they just fucking loved making pins and icons and shit during that game. No one actually wears this one, it just flashes during one of the very early fights in Y1 when Kiryu helps Shinji deal with some shitty loan sharks. It kind of reminds me of a cult? It’s definitely trying too hard to be non-threatening, which ends up making it threatening, which is perfect for the organization it’s used for

Purgatory

Damn do I fucking love ho-o’s. Nagoshi please put a ho-o on someone’s back. You can have my oc. Please. This isn’t a pin, it’s the floor of the colosseum, and it looks great

Snake Flower Triad

Another one that no one wears, it’s very effective. You got snakes. You got a flower. There’s three things. Got it in one, everyone go home. The shape is unique enough that even being the worse kind of gold on gold you can tell whose it is

MIA

This one does get worn! It’s effective as a weird government shadow group, with the military look to it alongside the divine looking wings/halo/rays of light. It’s super hard to read from a distance, but that’s okay for a group that isn’t trying to advertise itself to anyone who doesn’t already know them

Jingu

Jingu’s personal pin. It’s very government-y, being not far off from the royal family’s pin or a lawyer’s badge, and the kind of purpley look is really nice. A good pin for an awful guy

Dragon Heat

This is from Kurohyou, and like the Purgatory design it’s what’s on the colosseum ring. It’s got two dragons fighting each other, what more could you want for a bloodsport? It’s scuffed and faded, showing that this place either gets a lot of use or isn’t making that much cash, which is some nice environmental storytelling

Ashura

Same deal as before but this time it’s for Kurohyou 2. Another fighting ring, another scuffed up floor, this time featuring an asura, beings in a state of constant battle with the devas of hinduism, which is fitting for a fighting ring that’s supposed to be even more brutal. a good design, though I wish it had a little more of the depth that the dragon heat one had

and that’s all of them! except for whichever ones I missed! But we can ignore those!! I’m sure they’re not important

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 21

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~4,100

Warnings: Gore, violence, knife play, blood play, blood drinking, smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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To be fair, Lilah had definitely not been expecting the explosion. Sitting at the bar, nursing a bourbon with a single cube of ice, she had been scrolling through her phone while she waited for Brasa to be done with his meeting. The meetings were endless—finance, marketing, general council, outreach—they all meshed together, one right after the other, until she stopped keeping track.

When the elevator door opened and the bomb went off, Lilah had experienced something more than surprise—shock, possibly. Her ears were ringing, the left side of her body bleeding, shrapnel embedded in her arm and leg. She couldn’t speak, could barely see over the dust and smoke.

It took four attempts before Lilah could stand, her limbs refusing to obey the commands of her brain. She leaned heavily against the bar and looked around. The booths nearest to the elevator were destroyed, along with a few of the tables. The bar top was shattered at the far end, glass from liquor bottles dusting the broken wood. The bar tender’s torso was torn in half, the top end blown into the shelves behind the bar.

The more she looked, the more Lilah was overcome with the sight of scattered bodies, staff and visitors, alike. She wobbled on her feet, pain working its way past the adrenaline, throbbing all over. It pulsed behind her eyes, threatening to blind her.

Struggling, Lilah tried to gain her bearings. It took considerable effort to make the first step towards the back door. The second step was exponentially worse. Her fingers left the bar, and all she could do was fall to her hands and knees, bile rising in the back of her throat.

Dry heaving, Lilah couldn’t keep her eyes open. The earth spun around and below so that not even the solid foundation of the floor could ground her. A soft sob reached her ears, and she realized that it was her. She was crying, hot tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Lilah.”

She reached for him blindly with her good arm, her fingers meeting leather and heat. He was saying something, but she heard him as if through deep water. It was here that whatever strength she had gave out. Her body crumbled, rolling limply to lay on her side. Through blurred tears, she saw his face hover  above her, felt him cup her jaw.

Offering no resistance, Lilah let him gingerly open her mouth. A moment later, she tasted his blood. Sweet and warm, Lilah swallowed it down, the stream so fast that she nearly choked on it. He must have cut deep. Desperate to live and for the pain to stop, she took whatever he was willing to give.

It was a long time—or, it felt like a long time, Lilah had no real sense of the minutes passing—before she could open her eyes without pain. The room was dark. She could hear the faint ripple of water. The floor below her was cool stone.

He’d moved her into his public office.

Lilah didn’t dare try to sit up. Her left side still burned with pain, her stomach rolling with nausea. Her ears, however, were perfectly able to hear the conversation happening not far away.

“I want his people dead, Javier. I want him found and brought to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“No mistakes.”

“Of course.”

“Go. Now.”

“Immediately, my lord.”

Footsteps walked past her, beautifully tailored slacks swimming past her field of vision. Lilah remained where she was, though she followed him until he turned towards the door. She felt Brasa move closer, saw him kneel down and sit beside her.

“How are you feeling?”

She took her time with speaking, “I hurt. I feel...tired.”

That was accurate. Though his blood was helping with the pain, her left side still throbbed, her head aching. She was exhausted in a way that told her she might not wake up if she slept.

Brasa hummed, acknowledging the statement, “If you’re feeling well enough, I will take you home.”

Lilah probably wasn’t quite up to the trip, but the possibility of sinking into their bed was too tantalizing to put off. She nodded, helping him to gather her into his body. He lifted her into a firm cradle, walking through to the back hallway. They took several turns, until she’d lost the ability to navigate, finally climbing up a set of steps.

It was near dark when he carried her out, and she recognized the far end of the garage. Brasa moved through and across to where they’d parked a few hours earlier. He eased her to stand so that he could open the door. The movement jarred her side, a grunt working its way out of her unwilling throat. She drew a breath and steadied herself.

Lilah looked over to the primary elevator, smoke seeping through the doors. She wondered how fast they could get the repairs in place, how many patrons had died, which staff she would never see again. The consequences of the attack were clear. Brasa would personally see to Benny’s end. It would be both vengeful and violent. She didn’t have the energy to sympathize with Benny, not when her legs shook beneath her weight.

Brasa hoisted her into the car, closing the door and moving around the back to the driver’s side. The engine turning over, the air kicking on, the familiar way the wheels rolled beneath the carriage. It was both normal and surreal.

Lilah was glad for the sunset, glad that the light was beginning to fade. Her head was still hurting, though it had dulled down. The low light let her keep her eyes open, let her focus on the landscape as it passed.

Not long after they left, Brasa’s phone rang. Lilah listened to him speak, worry building in her chest. Something had happened, possibly others were killed. He relayed the incident at the bar, relayed that Lilah was alive, though hurt. He relayed that he would see to her and then meet the other party later. Then, he hung up.

“What happened?”

Brasa’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, “Benny hit Jackknife’s as well.”

Somehow, she was both surprised and not surprised at the same time. It made perfect sense to hit both places at the same time, take out as many of their people as possible. He might have hoped, in the act, to have knocked down some of the major players. He almost succeeded with her.

Lilah gasped, “Was anyone hurt?”

“Richie was burned across his back, but the others are safe.”

Relieved, she asked, “Same technique?”

Brasa nodded, “In a liquor shipment.”

“Fuck,” Lilah breathed. “Fuck.”

He’d told her. Brasa had told her that Benny was going to resort to violence, that he would start making more aggressive moves. She was stunned at her own naivete. All along, she’d thought she knew how to plan, how to maneuver so that everyone got what they wanted. All along, she thought she knew what she was doing. Lilah had to finally admit to herself that she didn’t know shit.

“That is my feeling, as well,” Brasa murmured, taking the turn off the main highway.

“What are we going to do?”

He cast her a stern look, “You are going to rest. Javier is tracking him down. I will handle this.”

Lilah’s mouth thinned, “We can’t wait anymore. We have to close it. We have to stop this.”

“I know,” he said, one hand landing on her knee, “I will.”

Her chest tightened, her eyes watering again, emotions that she couldn’t describe pulling at her for her full attention. Lilah worked to calm her breath, one hand covering her eyes.

The car pulled to a stop, Brasa’s hands falling onto her shoulders, “Lilah, look at me.”

She shook her head, the tears coming faster. Emotions bubbled up, unchecked. She didn’t have any hope of keeping them inside.

“Please look at me.”

Reluctantly, Lilah lifted her gaze to him. His dark brows were drawn together, his mouth turned down in a frown.

“You’re alive, and I will ensure you are safe,” he told her in a soft, reassuring voice, “Your friends are safe. I will end this. I promise you.”

Blinking, tears touched her lashes, rolling down her cheeks and jaw, dropping to the hands folded in her lap. Brasa brushed them away, kissing her on the forehead.

He held her for a moment more, then leaned back to look her in the eyes, “It’ll be over soon.”

“I know,” she croaked.

Taking another second to check that she was, indeed, at a place where they could continue, Brasa released her and put the car back in drive.

When they reached the entrance, Brasa helped her out of the car, then picked her back up to carry her to the elevator. He held her all the way down and through the hall to their door. Gently, he eased her to standing, opened the door, then picked her back up, taking her directly to their bed.

With the greatest of care, he laid her down, taking off her shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans. Her clothes were shot through with her own blood, the fabric sticking. Every little hiss, every jerking moment, was noted. He watched her face for signs of further injury, hands barely grazing her skin as he revealed cut after cut, most of them on their way to healing.

Brasa continued removing clothing until she lay before him naked. He then went to the bathroom, returning with a bowl of water held between both hands, a towel over his arm. He cleaned her wounds, washing dirt and blood from her skin. Afterwards, he dressed her in an oversized shirt from her pajama drawer.

He let her rest against the pillows, hands pulling at the tails of his button up. He pulled free his cuffs, then worked down the long line at the center, tossing the shirt into the laundry. Turning from her, he worked at his belt, throwing it on a nearby chair, his slacks going the same way. Stepping into a soft pair of sleep pants, Brasa joined her on the bed, laying near enough that she could feel his body heat, but not touching her.

She turned her head to look at him, the hand by her face stretching out to touch two fingers to the skin just beneath his chin, “Thank you.”

The calm of his expression cracked open, his eyes flashing with something on the edges of grief, “I almost lost you, and you’re thanking me.” He sniffed, taking her hand, “I found you on the floor, bleeding. I felt your fear.”

She turned to her side, bringing his hand to her lips, kissing it, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, “This wasn’t you.”

“I know.”

She tamped back the urge to apologize again. His pain was playing out in front of her, emanating through the bond in a ragged, crawling ache. She could feel how much he cared for her, how scared he was to see her hurting amongst the chaos of the explosion.

“I’m okay,” she said, eventually. “I feel better already.”

That was the truth. Her injuries were healing, the pain still present but no longer so piercing that she couldn’t think. He’d done what was necessary to not only ensure her safety, but her comfort—a fact that had not escaped her notice.

Brasa nodded curtly, rising up a bit to kiss her. Another, slower kiss followed, touched with sweetness and relief. She took the kisses as eagerly as she ever had, glad both for his support and for the fact that she was still alive.

He pulled away, looking her over, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay.”

He sat up, turning to pull open the nightstand. When he faced her again, he was holding his preferred knife. Lilah looked from the blade to Brasa and back, confused.

“I know I said that I would do this slowly, but I am...desperate to see that you are strong enough to withstand whatever happens while I close the portal.”

Fortified. The word rang in her head, bouncing off memories that were tainted in amber and smoke.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she confirmed confidently.

Letting loose a held breath, Brasa set the blade aside and wiggled his hands beneath her, pulling her to sitting, and then astride his thighs, one arm circling her waist to help her balance. He’d held her like this over and over throughout their relationship, pulled securely into the comfort of his arms. Lilah felt more tears try to escape as she thought about how she might not have been able to do this again, how close she actually came to real death.

She had to shake herself free of the feeling, wanting to be strong for him. Bracing her hands on his biceps, Lilah relaxed her hips, all her weight resting on him. When he handed her the knife, she took it, looking to him for direction.

“You need to be able to do this, when I cannot,” he explained. “Cut deeply.”

Mouth open, Lilah regarded him with both shock and hot embarrassment. All the incidents where she’d needed to open a cut rushed by her, followed by the feeling of failure. She squeezed the knife, any further action aborted.

With practiced, easy movements, Brasa opened the blade, curling her fingers over the handle so that they fell into the grooves. Then, slowly, he set the sharp edge against the smooth skin of his chest.

“You can’t hurt me,” he murmured, his forehead touching her hairline, a physical support.

Lilah held still, her heart beating loudly in her ears, teeth tearing at the inside of her cheek. It took more willpower than she would ever care to admit to press the knife into him. She kept going until she felt the skin split apart. From either side of the blade, little beads of blood welled up. She looked up at him for signs of pain, finding none.

“Take,” he rasped, a hand at the back of her neck guiding her down.

Lifting the knife, Lilah followed the guidance of his hand, tongue sliding up the length of the cut, drawing the line of red into her mouth. She did it again, pulling back to swallow. Her fingers traced the mark as she watch it heal in real time.

“I heal quickly,” he drawled, as if it weren’t immediately obvious, “I need you to go deeper than that.”

Flushed and nervous, Lilah put the knife back to the same spot, allowing herself to push harder, past the point of the skin breaking, into the meat. He bled freely, if slowly. Lilah gathered it up, her mouth settling over the cut and sucking gingerly.

Brasa shivered under her mouth and hands, his chest expanding with an indrawn breath. She looked up at him, checking for signs of discomfort. He only nodded at her, taking her wrist and bringing the blade back to his skin.

The mark she’d made was no longer bleeding, though the area was raised and angry looking. She switched sides, cutting a longer line. This time, she’d gone deep enough that blood flowed heavily from the wound, dripping down over his stomach. Panicking, she pressed a hand over the cut, dropping the knife onto her thigh as she tried to gather the river of red onto the fingers of her other hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, her voice reed thin.

Brasa laughed as he helped her clean the sticky mess across his chest and stomach. He drew her wet fingers into his mouth, tongue lapping at her palm and over her wrist. She swallowed, pushing back the first bloom of arousal in her belly. Her attempt was effectively thwarted when he tapped her lips with the pads of his first two fingers, sliding them into her mouth and over her tongue.

Lilah drew them deeper, sucking on them as she held his eyes, the warm brown already flooded through the whites with black. Behind the open seam of his lips, she could see the points of his fangs. With deliberate slowness, Brasa pulled the hand still on his chest away, giving it the same attention as he had the counterpart.

Skin tingling, Lilah watched him lick her clean, becoming more and more aware of the heat that seeped into her body where they touched, of how he burned against her.

Pushing the knife back into her hand, Brasa directed, “Again.”

The next cut marked a line from his massive shoulder down and over his collarbone. She tongued it, listening to him check a groan in the back of his throat. Beneath the thin fabric of his pants, she could see the outline of his erection, half hard.

Tempted as she was to touch him, the pleasure of watching him react to every cut, the feeling of her mouth on him, was more attractive. His hands massaged her sides, flexing over her body as if he were just barely overcoming the urge to pull her close. If she sucked hard on him, he’d emit a high, choked, moan, his eyes closing as he fought for control. Behind and underneath her, his legs shifted restlessly, sliding against the sheets.

The more she drank from him, the hotter he got, his breath coming in gasps and shudders. Lilah felt herself wondering how far he would let her go, how much he would let her take. The wounds on her body no longer ached in quite the same way, her fatigue fading similarly. Lilah could feel every drop of his blood working its way through her veins, overcoming injuries her human body couldn’t hope to repair so quickly.

She’d lost count of how many cuts she’d licked from him, most of the marks already healed. Brasa had started leaning into the blade, forcing her to push deeper. Blood had dried in some spots, in the creases of her hands and on the metal of the knife. Lilah looked him over, noting the glassiness of his eyes, the relaxed muscle in his frame.

He kissed her, tongue rolling along hers, his nose pressed into her cheek. Lilah held onto him, the rising tide of her arousal working its way past her defenses.

Pulling away, their foreheads touching, Brasa breathed hard. They remained like that, the air sizzling around them, until Lilah brought the knife up to lay against his neck, the point indenting but not puncturing the skin.

“Go on,” he urged, his eyes watching her intensely.

She pushed it in. Lilah had cut him deeper in other places, had opened him wider not minutes before. But, as she pulled the knife free and fixed her mouth over the wound, Brasa’s head fell back, a feral sound rumbling in his chest. She anchored herself with a hand behind his head, fingers tangled in his hair. Mouthful after mouthful passed her lips. She drank until she had to pull back for air.

He’d wrapped both arms around her waist, pulled her so that their chests were pressed together, her hips resting intimately in the cradle between his thighs. She couldn’t help but to rock against him in small circles, the friction of his pants against her folds tantalizing and delicious.

“Can you…?” He asked, body shaking as he held himself as still as possible.

It didn’t really matter to her whether or not she physically could, Lilah needed to be closer to him. She needed to have him inside her, feel the safety of being in his arms.

“Yes, yes,” she said airily, “Please.”

His weight shifted, and she knew he was going to put her on her back. Lilah stopped him, both hands on his chest, pushing him down. He went, his dark head landing on the pillow. She kissed him as she worked his pants down, freeing his erection. With one hand, she held him steady, balancing on his chest with the other. And then she was sinking down on him in one slow, unrelenting thrust that drew him in to the base.

Brasa pulled his lips between his teeth, strain at the corners of his eyes. The hands on her thighs squeezed, an entreaty to end the agony of delayed pleasure. She rose up, letting her body fall back down a few times, until she built up a rhythm. Her hips worked, his cock dragging against her walls as she tried to find the right angle.

Her slick dripped down between them, the sound obscene in the all too quiet room. Despite the fact that his blood was coursing through her, she felt her muscles begin to burn with the movements. Frustrated, Lilah rested her body against his chest with a defeated whine.

Arms coming up to hold her to him, Brasa kissed her, saying against her mouth, “Let me help you.”

Below her, his core flexed, broad ropes of muscle working to ease his cock in and out of her. He tilted her head to the side and bit into her neck. Lilah winced, her whole body tensing at the intrusion. He drank slowly, his teeth holding their place inside the bite.

The first tingle of venom ran along her arm to her fingers. Then, it moved down into her chest, before it burst outwards, exploding all over her body. He kept feeding it to her, kept pushing more and more of it into her veins. Lilah’s eyes rolled back as her arousal, already at a boil, overflowed the containment of her body.

She ground down on him, the movement catching her clit and scraping against the flushed lips of her folds. The firm bracket of his arms kept her from moving to freely, kept her focused on the way he intermittently hit her g spot.

“There,” he praised, licking at his bite languidly, “So good. So fucking good.”

Panting, Lilah buried her face into his neck, digging her nails into his shoulders. Little moaning gasps left her with each thrust, every time he filled her bringing new higher sensations. It rolled upwards, unstoppable, until she keened against him.

With a gratified rumble, Brasa palmed her ass, holding her in place as he fucked her harder, seeking his own release. He came on the tail end of her orgasm, meeting the slowing spasms of her body with a hard, circling grind.

Lilah might have passed out, she didn’t quite know. But, when she was able to focus again, she was laying atop Brasa, sweat cooling on her body, a little sore, and smiling.

“I need a shower,” she murmured, salt and dried blood dotting her skin.

“In a moment,” he replied, pushing her hair back from her face, “Let me get the feeling back in my legs.”

Lilah laughed, easing off him and to her side, “We’re gonna have to change the sheets.”

“Tomorrow.”

She had to agree with that. Anything more the absolutely necessary could wait.

From the floor, Brasa’s phone rang. He sighed heavily and rose, answering. Lilah watched his expression turn stormy, watched his eyes grow red in anger. He said a few words in Xibalban and hung up.

“What happened?”

He glanced at her, “They’ve lost track of him. I’ll have to hunt him down myself.”

The way he said it. The way he was already pulling out clean clothes told Lilah all she needed to know about his intent.

Lilah sat up slowly, “Be careful.”

There was no use in attempting to set him off track, not with the way his shoulders and jaw had set.

“I will.”

Brasa dressed, his hands and body covered in leather he hadn’t worn in days. She kissed him goodbye, her gaze following him through the bedroom door. When the front door clicked shut, she sagged against the pillows, drowsy.  Petulantly, she pushed to standing and showered. Pulling on one of Brasa’s shirts and a pair of underwear, she crawled back into the bed and let herself doze.

The smell of smoke awoke her. It billowed down the hall from the direction of the living room. Lilah rushed from the bed, choking as she found the end of the hall completely engulfed in flames. Without thought, Lilah turned and hauled ass to the door leading to the caves, thankful that he’d left it unlocked following their little game of hide and seek.

With quick feet that slammed against uneven stone, Lilah moved, trying to retrace the path to the hole in the ceiling.  It took four dead ends and the sudden fear that she’d gotten irreparably lost before she saw it.

Lilah crawled up the ramp, dragging herself through the opening and out into the dark of the desert. On her knees, she caught her breath, one hand on her chest.

“Well, this isn’t how I thought smoking you out of hiding would go, but I’ll take it.”

Lilah looked up, startled.

Benny.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

it’s so weird to think about, even at my lowest point where i was clearly mentally ill, my parents still took advantage of that. my parents took advantage of their vulnerable children, especially from us being teenagers onwards. even with teenagers and other kids at school. you’d think someone would see an emotional, anxious child/teenager and think, ‘something might be up and they may need help’, but no. i was most likely just that lazy, frustrating, emotional child growing up that then ended up feeling like a burden on everybody and fell apart when they made mistakes. 

and when i developed addictions and TRIED to quit them despite still being in a toxic, stressful environment, and inevitably couldn’t, i got accused of being spiteful towards my parents and yelled at. which just fucking made things worse. and these were the same parents going through my sister’s bank statements when she wasn’t around and who had access to my bank account because ‘i couldn’t be trusted with finances’ (instead of actually,, y’know,, GIVING ADVICE ON HOW TO BE FINANCIALLY INDEPENDENT)!! i’d be paranoid at getting a text message that they saw something on my bank account if i went behind their back. it was fucked up as hell, and by the end, despite being totally aware of their children’s mental illnesses, they still charged us god knows how much rent a month despite it being far more than what the bills actually cost.

that’s just sick. i don’t know how i thought any of this was normal, even if i do have several doubts still as to how bad things actually were.

like fucking hell. that’s insidious parenting tactics. like fuck off. thanks a fucking lot. way to set up your kids to fail and rely on you constantly. surely some day they should have realised everything would collapse in on itself? like what was their back up plan? like why was it so hard to just learn to be better? didn’t they think their kids wouldn’t end up being onto them and be resentful? like they’ve isolated themselves from so many people. what the fuck are they gonna do now? that’s just fucking sad. it’s depressing, really. i always had hope things wouldn’t turn out even half as badly.

it just fucking sucks, y’know? i expected far better from grown fucking adults, especially my own damn parents, let alone pretty much the whole system.

(do not reblog)