#fuck how many wished they were a stone at the bottom of a stream or a cloud high in the sky?

[sharkgirldick]

Not to be controversial to my most beloved audience members but. I think people who wish they weren't human or believe they aren't human have one of the most fundamentally human beliefs.

[softykooky]

Sanctuary: Three

summary: there is no longer a light at the end of the tunnel, you think. only people who haven’t been hurt can afford such a luxury as wishful thinking. but have you turned away before seeing that there is a glimmer. A teeny tiny, minuscule speck of light. 5.6k words. 

genre: mafia au, angst, eventual ot7 x reader

warnings: physical/verbal abuse (not from the members), dysfunctional and toxic family dynamics, violence, just big sadness

author’s note: here it is!! thank you for all your kind words, again. it never goes unappreciated. apologies for all the plot holes :( i would definitely consider rewriting this in the future to fix that. on a more important note, please continue supporting the BLM movement by anything that you can do. whether it is donations, protesting, streaming videos, or educating others, no good deed is gone wasted. 

one, two

        In the brief time you’ve spent at their mansion, you’ve come to remember a few things. Taehyung snores. Loud and unapologetically so. Jungkook mumbles random words in his sleep, sometimes about cookies and other times about which kind of handgun has the least kickback. Jimin dyes his hair way too often. Yoongi spends too much time online shopping on the internet. Jin detests peanuts but loves peanut butter. Hoseok does not like you. Namjoon is secretly a big softie. In another timeline or life, you’d like to think you guys would be really close friends.

       “Namjoon, please,” the desperation melted off your every word as the guard pulled you through the house by your arm. He only stared back at you quizzically. 

       “Since you’ve been here, you’ve refused to tell us why it is that you ran away. Seems to me like even with all this time, you haven’t been able to come up with a solid excuse for your hissy fit.” 

You wanted to collapse.

       “Your father offered us his services and cooperation in exchange for your return.” Hoseok sounded from beside Namjoon. That’s all you were ever good for anyway. A trading pawn. A stepping stone. You scoffed.

       “You wouldn’t believe me now if I told you the truth, would you? Now that you’ve gotten your prize?” Your voice dripped in hurt and frustration.

       “I’m glad I could be of service.” You watched in satisfaction as Hoseok’s smirk slowly straightened into a calculating gaze, not looking back as you walked away.

       You allowed the guards to walk you up the stairs. Jungkook made his presence known from the top, boring into your eyes with the sheer intensity of a man scorned.

       “Jungkook I-” 

       “Save it, your highness.” You recoiled at the poison of his words. You should’ve known better. Should’ve known that this whole time, while you were thinking Jungkook was your friend he just saw you as his prisoner. If he noticed the tears that welled in your eyes, he did not let it affect the stone cold expression meant for you. Yoongi pretended to look past you as if you were not there. Like you were not living and breathing in front of his eyes. The rest of them watched from a distance, smugly relishing in the fact that their assumptions have been confirmed, yet melancholy to see you go. You could only swallow down the lump that had risen in your throat, trying not to throw up as the guards led you out to a black SUV. 

       You didn’t allow yourself to look back. Or to cry. To feel anything that was not utter self-hatred for not knowing better and trying to escape when you had the chance. 

       “Goodbye, Y/N. I hope we’ll never have to meet each other again.” Namjoon spoke from behind you. You heaved a long breath.

       “Thank you for everything, Namjoon”, you murmured quietly. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk away. You had thanked him. You thanked him for kidnapping you, keeping you hostage, and now returning you back to the family that you had desperately wanted to avoid for unknown reasons. His brows knitted in confusion, eyes still following your silhouette through the window of the car as it drove away. 

       “Jimin”, Namjoon addressed as he walked back into the house and plopped himself down at the dining table all of them had been sitting around. He noticed the way Jungkook’s eyes seemed to stick on the door you had just walked out of, sadness drooping his shoulders. 

       “Were you able to find anything on the ambassador?” 

       Jimin shook his head. “No. Nothing. He’s clean. Nothing more than a few parking tickets. If there was anything though, he probably had it scrubbed from police records.” 

       “Check it again.” 

       Namjoon couldn’t figure it out. The little pit in the bottom of his stomach that kept trying to bring him back to your situation. Like it was telling him that something was wrong. He only sighed, standing up and tucking your manila folder into the filing case. Now just another face among many.

       The security guard had been glancing at you a few times too many from the rear view window now, as he drove you to your imminent doom. You didn’t know why you couldn’t not be spineless for once in your life. You didn’t know why you just let these things happen to you, but the fight you used to have has disappeared a long time ago. 

       “Ms. Yoo. Your father is on the line for you.” Your knees began to shake at the mention of your father. You hesitantly took the phone out of the agent’s hand, taking a minute to breathe before holding it up to your ear. You didn’t say a word, but you knew he knew you were listening.

       “Y/N. How lovely it is to talk to you again, my daughter.” His voice made you want to vomit over the leather cushions of the SUV. You kept silent, only heavily breathing into the microphone.

       “We’ve missed you terribly. Especially Soyeon.” Your sister. 

       “Dad...please. Don’t do anything to her.” You tried to steel your voice in the presence of your father, but the quiver was impossible to not notice. 

       “I would never Y/N. I would never make her pay the price for your insolence.” He sneered into the microphone, tone still dangerously calm and subdued. Deep down, you knew that the most your father had ever done to Soyeon was some strict discipline and a few harsh words. Most of the time, he ignored her. It seemed like he only had resentment for you. His firstborn and heir. 

       “Well, we’ll talk more when you get home, Y/N. Maybe you can tell me about everything you’ve been up to.” You internally winced as he emphasized the word “talk”. Both of you knew what that meant and you could practically feel the sole of his dress shoes already digging into the plane of your stomach. He hung up without another word. You stared out the window as the car drove over a bridge, wondering what it would be like if you ever had the courage to tell the world. About your life. Your father. Everything. Would they believe you? Or would they trust the word of a rich and powerful man like your father, as the boys had done? Your heart twinged at the remembrance of the men you had gotten to know for that short period of time. You wondered if they would ever think about you in the future, even if they all thought you were a brat with no good intentions. Perhaps Namjoon was right. Perhaps it would be better if you all never met again. 

       “We’ve arrived.” Your heart dropped to your stomach at his words. He escorted you out of the car. More gently than Yoongi had the first night you met them all, and you remembered the loyalty these men had to your father. You would never be able to run now, even if you tried. You were led up to a familiar cobblestone walkway. In through familiar Venetian double doors your mother had insisted were necessary. Familiar marbled tiles under your shoes. Familiar baccarat crystal chandelier strung over the foyer that cast the room in a light that was too harsh for your liking. And the familiar face of your father staring back at you, lips curved in a gentle smile that you knew held more darkness than he would ever show. 

       “My darling!” He embraced you in his arms as your tears disobeyed your will and trailed down the curve of your cheek. You fisted your hands at your sides. 

       “I’ve been so worried about you”, he whispered into your ear, breath fanning against the side of your neck. How a cold breath could come from a person, you did not know. But it was becoming increasingly clear to you that your father was losing his sense of humanity in front of your eyes. That he was no longer the man you once knew and loved. 

       He waved away the last of the security guards out of the house, still trapping you in his hold. Like a conniving snake to an innocent mouse. You found yourself regretting every decision you had made prior to this. Maybe if you had told Namjoon the truth, you wouldn’t be standing here, a mere weak princess in front of a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe if you told Jimin that your father had caused those ugly scars on your back. The front door closed with a gentle click, and the doting facade your father had masked on morphed into the expression of repugnance you knew all too well.

       You heard the slap before you felt it. The discordant clash of skin on skin that rung through the space of the foyer. Your mother did always say the house had great acoustics. The force knocked you into the ground, hands coming out to soften the fall as your body crumpled against the cool marble. It hurt. Like always. A familiar pain that reminded you only of all the things you had ever done wrong. All the flaws that your father drilled into your head until you could not remember anything that was good about yourself. 

       “Do you know how difficult it’s been for me to keep the press at bay?” He spoke darkly, eyes raking over your figure in satisfaction as you laid still on the floor. 

       “Do you know how much money I’ve spent to shut down the rumors that you had run away?” He knelt down to you, emphasizing each word as you tried to look anywhere but at him. Tried to focus on anything but the pain on your skin and in your heart. 

       Don’t speak, Y/N, he’ll only hurt you more. 

       “Fucking useless, you know that Y/N?” He laughed humorlessly. You could hear the click of his shoes as he circled around you, like a predator to its prey. A father to his daughter. You hoped to god they were not steel-toed. He reached down and clumped a fist into your hair, forcing you upright as you shrieked at the pain in your scalp, every cell in your body urging you to fight back when you knew that would never end well for you. He slapped you again, this time forcing you to stay sitting as the momentum whipped your head to the side.

       “Sometimes I wish you never fucking existed.” 

       Over the years, you have learned to build resistance to the physical pain. You learned how to get bloodstains out of your clothes. How to double wrap an ice pack so that it doesn’t melt so easily against your body heat. How to not feel your conscious when your father took his anger out on you. But you had never quite gotten the hang of not letting each word bite you to your core until you believed what he said to be the truth. You never learned to push away the pain each remark and insult would ignite in the back of your chest. 

       Yeah, me too. 

       You laid there as his fists pelted down on you relentlessly, like cold rain to a cement sidewalk. You shrieked each time his foot made contact with your stomach. You could feel the blood dripping down your nose, your forehead, your arms, your cheeks. Your father was a fan of accessorizing after all, the rings on his fingers was testament. You absorbed every affront and denigration he shot at you, like a sponge to water, staring ahead into space and wondering if there was such a thing as feeling so much pain that one becomes numb. 

       “Stop! you’re going to kill her.” Your eyes had been closed but you could recognize that voice from a mile away. Soyeon. Most of the time, she had just ignored the things your father did to you in fear of the same treatment. But she was here. The dark presence of your father disappeared overhead, and exhaustion and pain finally seeped into your bones. He was not hurting you anymore. You can let yourself succumb to sleep now. 

       There was one thing you were glad for though. 

       His shoes weren’t steel-toed after all. 

       You woke up with a gasp underneath a familiar ceiling of a room that you knew all too well. The numbing you had forced yourself to go under earlier had clearly worn off, and you could practically feel every bruise and wound as if they were being created then and there. The door opened slowly to reveal Soyeon wielding a glass of water. She froze in her step.

       “Hi Soyeon-ie”, you smiled, trying not to grimace at the pain of stretching your face muscles. Imagine your surprise when Soyeon’s expression twisted in anger.

       “How could you run away. Do you know how much I had to deal with Dad getting angry while you were gone?” 

       Soyeon’s own selfishness stunned you into silence. You knew he would never hurt her, it always had been just you. She was blaming you for trying to get away from him. 

       “You know why I ran away.” You casted your eyes elsewhere, too hurt and betrayed to even look at your own sister. It was selfish of you to leave her behind, yes. You wanted to take her with you, but you knew she was safe there. You knew she would have been fine. 

       “You left me Y/N. I didn’t know if you’d come back or if I’d ever see you again.” She set the glass of water down on your nightstand, sitting at the foot of your bed. You wanted to stay angry at her. At her consideration for only herself and how she suddenly seemed to forget all the hurt that your father puts you through. But you had gotten so used to apologizing for mistakes you never made. Blaming yourself for things you could not control. 

       “I’m sorry, Soyeon”, you whispered in the quiet of the room. 

       “But I’m here now. And it looks like I won’t be leaving in the near future.” Your words were masked in sadness. You had been so close to freedom, you could almost taste it. But you should’ve known that no matter where you go, your father always had a chain tied around your ankle, yanking you back to this life. Soyeon’s face lit up at your statement.

       “Good! Well, mom’s in the Bahamas currently with some friends. Maybe I’ll take you shopping tomorrow? A new store just opened in Myeongdong!” 

       You gave her a smile. One that didn’t reach your eyes, but it wasn’t like Soyeon would notice. This was how it always went. She would block it out of her consciousness, pretending that your family was perfect and that nothing ever went wrong. She would pretend like you never got hurt, and moved on to the next topic. You always complied because Soyeon seemed happy. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted for her. 

       “Yeah. Sounds great, Soyeon-ie.” You had never wanted to disappear more in your entire life. 

       “Fantastic! Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Maybe later you can tell me about where you’ve been all this time.” She spoke cheerfully, smile falling slightly as the collar of your shirt drooped and revealed a blackening bruise on your decollete. Soyeon reached over and pulled it up, smiling once again now that it was out of sight, and out of mind. Not for you, though. You could still feel it. Then she left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving a broken you, holding the pieces of yourself together in a home you so badly wanted to get away from. 

        You won’t tell her about them, you think. You won’t tell her about Jungkook’s poetry book, Jimin’s care about your scars or Taehyung’s video games that you could hear across the thick wall. You won’t tell her about how Namjoon likes to pretend he’s got it all together but at heart, he seems like just another boy. You won’t tell her about Yoongi’s walks or Jin’s breakfast foods or how Hoseok folds your clothes neatly when he drops them off. And you definitely will not admit to yourself that you miss the people that captured you and sent you back here. You were their prisoner. Nothing more, and nothing less. 

       Jimin hasn’t slept in 48 hours. 

       For the first 24, it was because Namjoon assigned him to take care of all their new recruits, and he spent the day with a permanent frown etched on his face because most of them didn’t know how to hold a gun correctly. For the next 24, though, he’s been thinking about you. Jimin had grown used to your presence in the house, they all have. Though you were strangers, it seemed your souls naturally gravitated towards one another. Like magnets that were too timid to approach, too timid to open the bedroom door. More importantly, he’s been thinking about your father, and why you were just so dead set on running away. 

       He whips out from under his bed sheets, pushing away the headache and willing his eyelids to just remain open for a little longer. There must be something he’s missing about your family. Something small, or anything at all. But as ambassador, his records are sparkling clean, no trace of foul play or any significant offense at all. Even the tabloids could not dig anything up on the man. He seemed to be invincible. 

       He walks briskly to Taehyung’s office, where the man himself is planted in a spinny chair, pretending to do work and playing Pubg on his wall of monitors. Jimin coughs with amusement, causing Taehyung to almost jump out of his skin.

       “You scared the shit out of me, you dummy.” He gasps dramatically, hand held to his chest as he exasperatedly stares at Jimin. 

       “Is that how you talk to your hyung?” Jimin slaps him upside the head.

       “Anyway, I’ve got a favor to ask you. Can you try scrubbing the ambassador’s files again? Something just doesn’t feel right with me.” Taehyung groans at Jimin’s request, dejectedly turning off his game. 

       “I’ve gone through his profile so many times. There’s nothing, hyung. Not even a speck. I liked Y/N too, and I thought she was better than that but maybe we just gave her too much credit.” Taehyung did enjoy her presence. He always turned his game volume up a little too loud to hear an annoyed groan coming from the room next to him, just to know that she was there. She had always been kind, but after everything, Y/N was a different person than he thought. 

       “Just one more time, Tae? There has to be something”, Jimin pleads. “And besides, if you have time to play your video games you have time to do this.”

       “Yeah, yeah, whatever I’ll do it. Just get some sleep, you look like death.” Taehyung hums, putting his headset back on and turning to his multiple computers. Jimin sighs contently, yet still dissatisfied, feeling like he’s missing a piece of a puzzle he so desperately wants to solve. He pats Taehyung on the shoulders before turning around and leaving for his room. That night, Jimin is able to lie down in a comfortable bed. Stare at the ceiling he sees every time before he goes to sleep. He plugs in his phone and cozies up with a pillow, like he does every night. But this night, he drifts with the thought of you behind his eyelids. 

       Taehyung has no idea why Jimin has made him go over records of the ambassador so many times. Sure, the ambassador wasn’t someone he was overly fond of, he had made business for them difficult in the past with his high government position. But it seemed like Jimin wanted to find something incriminating, like he had a hunch there was something there. So he sifts through the press pictures. Sifts over the embassy camera feed. Sifts over his text messages, and bank statements, and even his restaurant ord-

       Wait.

       His bank statements. 

       There’s something there that Taehyung hadn’t seen before. It’s so small, he must’ve missed it in passing but it’s a breadcrumb. There’s a bill that had been paid through an offshore bank account, so that any normal audit would not be able to trace it back to the ambassador. Luckily for Taehyung, he’s the most brilliant hacker in the eastern hemisphere...or so he likes to believe. The bill is withdrawing a couple thousand dollars, but doesn’t state who the recipient is to. In a minute or two and obnoxious keyboard clicks, Taehyung finds that the ambassador has wire transferred nearly $10,000 to a hospital in the Seoul area. 

       Damn. Just hospital bills. Albeit offensively high hospital bills. Taehyung leans back in his seat in defeat, nearly doubling over as he realizes the time. He curses himself when he hears birds chirping outside, already hearing Hoseok’s nagging voice for not getting enough sleep. He hauls himself to the couch in his office and sleeps the night away, records of the ambassador forgotten on his computer screen.

       “Tae, get your ass up, it’s 3 in the afternoon”, Jungkook nudges Taehyung awake, almost consorting to kneeing him the balls since he refuses to even open an eye. He groans before finally agreeing to sit up. Taehyung finds himself in his office, Jungkook annoyedly sitting beside him with Jimin and Jin sitting in the meeting space outside. 

       “Have you found anything?” Jimin sounds from his seat around the briefing table. 

       “No, I haven’t. Like the last 5 times you asked me to do it.” Taehyung pauses in his half-asleep words, sitting up and eyes shooting wide.

       “Although there was something weird I hadn’t noticed before.” He leaves his office and sits at the table alongside Jin and Jimin.

       “There was a hospital bill for 10k. Wired through an offshore account, probably a Cayman or a Swiss. It didn’t show up on his public statements. It looked like he wanted to hide it.” Thinking back to it now, Taehyung looks like an idiot for not pursuing this breadcrumb trail and choosing to sleep instead. Jimin continues looking at him expectantly.

       “That was all, though. I traced it back to the recipient and it was the Asan Medical Center”, Taehyung trails off, mind still knitted in confusion as to what this could be leading to. Jungkook makes his appearance from the other room. 

       “What if it’s not the ambassador’s records we should be diving deeper into?” Jungkook says quietly in the tense atmosphere of the meeting room.

       “What if it’s Y/N’s?” A daunting realization settles upon the four boys. If this breadcrumb trail leads to what they suspect it does, then they may have just made the biggest mistake of their career. Staring at each other in the basement of their headquarters marks the first time the boys hoped to god that their hunch was going to be wrong. 

       “NAMJOON!” Jimin bellows as he nearly sprints from the basement to the upper level to Namjoon’s office. The leader could hear the boy even from down the hall, his clumbering footsteps reminding Namjoon how much he paid for that expensive hardwood flooring. The door swings open to reveal a panting Jimin, clutching a familiar manila folder in his hand. He slams the folder onto his desk. 

       “Y/N’s folder is here because…..why?” 

       “We’ve been trying to dig up dirt in the wrong place. Our initial run-through of her profile hadn’t even revealed this. This was covered up with all kinds of firewalls.” Jimin’s hands are shaking at their newfound information. Namjoon seems to be in a permanent state of confusion, staring at Jimin as if he had grown two heads and a tail and is now speaking to him in another language. 

       “Slow down, Jimin-ah. Take it from the beginning.” Namjoon stops his incessant rambling and muttering. 

       “Okay, okay. So you told me to take another check through the ambassador’s profile right? So naturally, I passed the workload to Taehyung.” Namjoon snorts at his confession, far versed in the boys’ habits to know that Jimin always made Taehyung do tasks he did not have energy for.

       “We must have missed it all the times before. Our dear friend the ambassador made a transaction through an offshore Cayman account, wire transferring $10,000 to Asan Medical Center in the Seoul area.” 

       Namjoon sits up straighter in his seat and leans over the table, eyes locking into Jimin’s with newfound intensity.

       “There’s no reason why he would for himself. We’ve browsed through all of his public appearances over the past year and he shows no sign of any injury or need for hospitalization with that high a bill.” Jimin runs his hands through his hair in frustration. 

       “So Jungkook suggested we dive deeper into Y/N’s profile instead. Maybe we missed something like last time too. So we did, and...” He pauses.

       “What, Jimin? Spit it out.” Namjoon’s patience and anticipation has run thin.

       “In the past years, Y/N’s been hospitalized for a total of 3 times. At Asan Medical Center.” The air in the room seems to drop to sub zero degrees as Namjoon and Jimin work to connect the dots. 

       “Taehyung looked into her hospital records, and it took him more than 10 minutes.” The statement shocks Namjoon, as all of them knew Taehyung could dig up dirt on a person in mere seconds. 

       “On the first visit, Y/N came in unconscious with multiple head and body contusions, fractured ribs, a concussion, and a broken collarbone. She had to get surgery. Jin suspects the records were so buried because someone must have bribed the hospital to keep it hidden. There’s one person involved that has that kind of money and power.” Namjoon’s face pales at the realization. He had a hunch from the beginning, and he knew he should’ve just listened to it. Now he may have just sent you off to your death with you thinking they all hated you. 

       “So what you’re saying is Y/N’s father…” Namjoon can’t bring himself to complete his sentence.

       “What I’m saying is Y/N’s father seems to be deliberately covering up these hospital records unnecessarily well if it were just an accidental injury. There’s no clear link to domestic abuse, but…well, you’ve seen the way she is.” Jimin wants to knock himself upside the head for not seeing the clear signs right in front of his eyes. The way you flinched at every sudden movement. The way you refused to tell them anything about why you ran away. Maybe this whole time, you had been trying to protect your bastard father for god knows what reason. The two breathe in the silence of Namjoon’s office as the leader thinks it over, mind muddling with all the new information and trying to find a course of action. 

       “Tell Taehyung to hack into the security cameras of the ambassador’s house in Seongbuk-dong.” 

       For the time being, your father has cut off your access to a cell phone and other communication devices. You were to remain with Soyeon for an indefinite time, and she is your chaperone for any endeavors outside the house. He hadn’t said a word to you since he left you unconscious on the floor not even 10 minutes after you stepped foot into the doorway. That’s how it always was. To your father, you ceased to exist other than when your family makes public appearances or when you mess up and he feels entitled to discipline you. Not that you could leave the house anyway. You could barely walk for extended times without feeling your chest cave in. 

       “Y/N! Mom’s home.” Soyeon cheerfully sounded from the bathroom as she dusted a generous coat of pink blush onto her cheeks. You continued staring at the wall, in the same position you had been in for hours. 

       Your mom has been a side character in your life. She was never in one place for long. Never too affectionate with you, only was there to look pretty and doting to your father, all the while pretending that your family was perfect in every sense. Even before your father changed, she never emphasized her duty as a mother to you. Soyeon helped you wobble to the family living room, where both your parents were situated on the same couch. You avoided your father’s gaze like the plague. 

       “Hi, Mom.” You managed a small smile for her. One that she returned before placing her attention back on her phone. If your mother noticed your injuries and bandages, she did not let it phase her expression for a single millisecond. You sighed quietly to yourself, wondering if things would turn out differently if your mother cared an ounce for you. 

       You spent the rest of the evening at the dinner table. You did your part, pushing around oven-roasted potatoes with your sterling silver fork and pretending that you were a normal family having a normal dinner. Your mother strategically angled the family dinner picture to hide your injuries, posting it onto her social media account with far too many heart emojis. Soyeon chattered away about her new sponsorship deals, the new clothes she bought, the new friends she’s made, and even what she had for breakfast. And your father, well, you were just too scared to even look his way to notice what he was doing. But you reckon he appreciated you keeping your mouth shut at the table. 

       As Soyeon talked on about the Maison Margiela boots she’s been dying to get her hands on, you found your mind drifting to a certain group of people. You wondered if they’ve thought about you since. If they had an ounce of remorse for sending you away, or even a sliver of longing. You wondered if they had enjoyed talking with you as you had with them, or had they let their presumptions completely tarnish your image. Were they eating well? Sleeping enough? 

       You picked at an oily asparagus. Hoping they would miss you was wishful thinking. You couldn’t afford to do that anymore. Last time you did, you got kidnapped by a gang that sent you straight back into the jaws of your father. 

       The boys couldn’t tear their eyes away from the large TV screen in the briefing room, reflecting the footage of the ambassador’s mansion foyer. The room had gone silent. Cold. The kind of cold that hits you in the gut like a sharp icicle. The kind of cold that stokes an icy blue fire. Their hearts sank in their chests.

       There you were. Getting beaten to a pulp by your father in your own home, with no security guards or maids around to see. You pushed back in the beginning, but the boys could almost physically see the fight leave your weak body as your monster of a father unleashed his hatred on you. They all wanted to throw up. Namjoon pushes away the tears that threaten to leave his eyes, turning back to the round table of boys who now had a new flame in their eyes.

       “I-I should have known.” He loses his breath at the words, nearly collapsing into his chair. 

       “I should have known someone like Y/N wouldn’t run away like that. I should’ve known there was a reason she didn’t want to tell us anything.” He buried his face in his hands, kicking himself for letting you go. 

       “So those hospital bills….he covered them up because he caused her injuries.” Jungkook spoke out in the tense silence, not hiding his tear streaked face as his eyes remained glued on the TV screen. He would make himself watch it. For you, and the hurt he’s put you through. 

       “And the scars on her back.” Jimin trails off, fists clenched in anger at the mere thought of your father. 

       It was Hoseok, though, that actually bolted out of the room and heaved the contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl. How would he face you ever again? After all that he’s said and done. After all the assumptions he made about your character without even giving you time to breathe and create a response. Hoseok had just held this animosity against people of your stature. People like your father and your mother who grew up in money, and uses it to remain in power. He, alongside the 6 other boys, had fostered their own success from scraps and dirt. Now you were paying for their mistakes in ways that none of them wanted to even think about. 

       “Namjoon. We have to go save her.” Jin pipes up. They all heard the quiver in his voice and caught sight of the shaking in his hands as he looked towards the leader. 

       No, they wouldn’t just save you. They would get you justice. They would dismantle your father and maybe kill him while they were at it. This would be the price for their mistakes against you. As he looks back at his brothers, figures slumped in regret and shame, he wonders if you’ll be able to forgive them. Despite the short time, they had all bonded with you in some way or other. 

       “Yoongi, could you round up our retrieval team?” Namjoon’s face steels as he faces them, expression almost dead if it weren’t for the complete wrath that burned in his eyes. 

       “I’ve been meaning to visit Seongbuk-dong. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

taglist:  @pinkyhim​, @deolly​,  @loveyoongles​​, @drunkzseok​, @hope122598​, @uwunamjoon​, @nomimits7​, @bubblebunnylia​, @aquaalanah , @juliie-ocha , @daydreambrliever​, @btsbabby​​, @rosiethefairy​, @blank-et-noir , @tiredjedi , @myheartstaysinkorea 

[softguks]

angst drabble with jungkook please? HIT ME WITH THE PAIN. COME AT ME BRO. i’m probably going to regret this LMFAO

primroses

order description. Jungkook’s always missing you, it’s just on a rainy day that’s also your anniversary that he’s missing you the most.

customers. jeon jungkook / reader course. angst / teeny tiny bit of fluff :’) total bill. 1.5k words allergies. angst, character death (major), grieving, pain, crying :(

note ! @sketchguk thank you for being there for me during my rambles of how insecure i am about my writing sjwjsjsjjs. if the read more doesn’t work on mobile, i’m sorry :(

— primroses: i can’t live without you, eternal love

Jungkook’s made this trip more times than he count, comes probably every other week or so, and has visited so many times that he could probably get here with his eyes closed —even though that wouldn’t be very smart— but for some reason, today feels harder than normal.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, the ridges of his knuckles going white as he clenches his jaw, chest heaving with each shaky breath that fills his lungs. The skin under his dark circles is tinged pink, red-rimmed eyes staring out into the distance as he musters you the courage to grow some balls and get out of his car. His legs feel like deadweights, and he can barely get himself out of the driver’s seat, eyes cast downward at the cracks and divots in the concrete. He follows each line and chasm in the asphalt that’s stained with rainwater. The squishy sounds of his shoes against the freshly trimmed, damp grass momentarily distracts him from his thoughts. Drops of dew cling precariously onto the blades of grass, glittering like jewels. He looks for anything and everything to get his mind off of her. His heart feels heavier today, the ache that resounds in his heart worsening with each day that passes.

Tears sting the base of his eyes, pooling in the corners of his doe eyes as he sniffles, struggling to hide the trembling of his body and the quivering of his bottom lip. Pearly, white teeth graze over the plump flesh of his bottom lip as he tightens his grip on the bouquet of flowers in his hand. His feet seem as if they are glued to the ground, imprinted in the soft and slightly damp, muddy patch of grass. Squatting down, he places the bouquet of primroses next to the structure, the pad of his thumb gently brushing against the yellow and pink petals. He glances up at the sky, trying his hardest to blink back the burning tears that threaten to slide down his cheeks.

Carding slender fingers through brown hair, he swallows the lump in his throat, unable to hide the pain that swallows him whole. It throbs in his chest, eating him out from the inside, burning him alive. It hurts, hurts so bad that some days he can’t get out of bed. Some days, his hyungs have to drag him out of bed for him to function. Some days, the most he can do is take a shower and down a glass of water before it all hits him like a truck again, and the pain becomes too much too handle. It’s funny, how bright and full of life he used to be. And now, he’s just a ghost, a husky of a human being, a lifeless soul residing in a shell.

It feels different without you. It feels wrong, it feels weird, and he hates it. It feels wrong to come back to a place he can’t even call home without you waiting with open arms. It feels wrong not to see your pair of shoes placed on the shoe rack next to his Timberlands, without your set of keys plopped in the little bowl at the front entrance, without your smile brightening his day. It feels too quiet, without the low hum of the dryer in the background, the illuminated TV playing softly, the bubbling of a boiling pot on the stove, the padding of your footsteps as you run to him. It feels wrong to sink down into the couch, waiting for you to run from your shared bedroom with lotion in one hand and a blanket in the other. He finds himself wanting nothing more than for the world to swallow him up whole as he barely lives through the days.

It feels wrong for him to fall asleep at night, without you curled up in his arms, the soft snores tumbling from your parted lips, your soft locks of hair fanned out around your head like a halo. He finds himself glancing over to the empty side of the bed more times than he cares to admit, unable to fall asleep because it’s too quiet and too cold. He misses the warmth that radiates from your sleeping figure, the beauty that astounds him when shards of silver moonlight illuminate your figure with a soft glow. It feels wrong to eat dinner alone, missing the warmth and homely feeling of your home-cooked meals. Recently, he’s been eating at the dorms to avoid feeling so lonely and lost in his thoughts.

Performing on stage is the worst. It doesn’t bring him the same euphoric feeling of pure bliss as it used to. He finds himself staring into the distance, at that one spot in the arena where you would normally preside, a proud smile playing across your rosy lips, your eyes bright with excitement. The thrill of it all, the rush of adrenaline, the cheering of the crowd, and the magical warmth that used to throb in his veins is now not enough. It takes too much out of him to sing the songs that were carefully crafted for you, to pour out his heart to someone who isn’t there anymore.

Jungkook finds himself falling deeper and deeper into a hole he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to climb out of.

He places the flowers down, next to the engraving in the stone, next to the plaque with your name carved on it. He lets the tears flow freely from his eyes, wide, broken, and blank eyes filled with more anguish than the amount of space in the universe. His heart quite literally shatters at the thought of your angelic smile. His voice comes out in a breathy murmur, soft and soothing as he gently traces the lines on the stone.

“Hey. I-I’m here again. God, this is so fucking stupid isn’t it? I’m sorry, it just-just hurts so much. I haven’t figured out how to live without you. It hurts too much to not see you, to not be able to touch you, to not be able to have you in my life. I love you, I love you so fucking much and if that means pouring my heart out to you on a rainy day, then so be it. You are the light of my life, and you’d probably be scolding me for crying, for dwelling on my feelings, but I can’t help it. I was going to marry you. I decided that I was going to propose on our anniversary, which is actually today.”

The words are falling from his mouth before he can stop them, and he can taste the saltiness from his tears on the tip of his tongue, and yet even the streams of grief aren’t enough to wash away the anguish that envelopes his entire being. It feels as though he’s drowning, the water rising faster than he can fight it, filling his lungs and yet there’s nothing he can do but breathe it in.

“I was going to spend the rest of my life with you, I’d decided, and we’d talked about our wedding, and the color dress you wanted, the flavor of cake we’d decided on, and we decided we were going to have kids. I had the ring ready, I made a reservation two weeks before just to make sure it would be at your favorite restaurant. I bought my suit already, I had the whole day planned out. In fact, I almost proposed to you that day in the diner, at two o’clock in the morning and goddamnit I wish I did. But I’m just too much of a coward and I loved you too much, getting lost in your eyes as you laughed over some shitty joke. It would’ve been worth it, to be promised as yours even if it only lasted two weeks. I’m never going to stop loving you, and I know you hate it when I cry, but I just have to tell you. If only I-“

Another sob tears through his throat, disrupting the peaceful silence that has settled in the quiet field of flowers. All of a sudden, his body is shaking with the sobs that erupt from his throat, the bitter scars and broken pieces of his heart pouring out of him. He waits a few moments, steadying his breathing and piecing himself back together before he continues. He has to finish, he can’t bear to hold onto the feelings anymore. They sit like burdens on his chest as another sleepless night passes, they hang onto the tips of his fingers when he grips onto the tear-stained sheets. He waits until he feels ready to continue.

“I brought you flowers. Primroses. And you’re probably thinking that I’m such a cheesy dork for it, and I am, but they’re primroses because the florist told me they mean eternal love. This sounds so fucking stupid but it’s worth it if it makes you smile. I wish I could see you smile again. But, I have to go now, Jimin-hyung will murder me if I don’t make it to dance practice on time. I’ll see you next week, hm? God, I probably sound like an idiot right now. I’ve always been your idiot though.”

He wipes away the wet patches of salty liquid that stain his cheeks, the skin around his puffy eyes blotchy, streaked with tears. But there’s a small, half-tender half-sad smile playing across his lips when he finishes.

For the first time in a long while, Jungkook smiles a genuine, real smile.

“I love you, I really hope you know that.”

the read more link doesn’t work on mobile, i’m sorry 🥺 thank u for reading pls reblog and leave a comment if you liked it!!

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 24 here. Part 26 here.

Summary: All right, well, I guess no one's gonna go swimming in that pool, anymore.

Words: 6600

Warnings: cw--a kylorengarbagedump special: tons of graphic violence and gratuitous bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI, HELLO, what the fuck am I doing! I'd like to give thanks to @faestae and John Wick for this chapter. Without them, I'd be completely fucked. For some reason, I keep writing shit that demonstrates how little I know about writing anything other than sex. Please let me know what you thought! I'm interested to see what people think about this bit.

I love y'all so very much! Thank you for always offering kindness and encouragement. <3

You hadn’t taken your eyes off of your Commander since entering the car, hoping that, if you stared long enough, you’d be able to identify any hint of emotion, any flicker of feeling in his inscrutable expression. But Kylo Ren sat, back against the partition, hands at his sides, a veneer of distance cast over his face. The harder you looked, the further away he seemed--like a void, emptying itself, slowly, of vulnerability. 

“Do you know how long I’ve known your Commander?” said Snoke. You felt his spider-leg gaze crawling over your figure. “Since he was a boy.”

Unsure if you were supposed to respond, you dipped your head in the tiniest nod you could muster.

“And there was a period where he disagreed, you know. With the idea of Gilead. Did you know that?”

Ren was solid, unmoving, staring through the back windshield. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. Swallowing, you allowed yourself to peer over at Snoke. He was watching you expectantly.

“Um.” To be fair, you did know that--you just didn’t know to what degree, and for how long. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true.” His focus drifted back to Ren. “He was so unsure of himself, back then. Couldn’t ever make a decision. Afraid to let himself achieve what he was truly capable of.” A dark, breathy laugh escaped him. “He was so sensitive, so scared.”

There, right below his nose, you saw it--a twinge of muscle.

“But, thankfully, he’s resolved those doubts, now.” A wicked smile twisted through his skin. “Haven’t you, Ren?”

His eyes, like slate, met Snoke’s for a millisecond. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Now Snoke turned his attention to you. “He believes, like I do, in the roles of society. In the order we can provide by enforcing them.” A glance at Ren. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yes.” His back straightened. 

“He agrees with me that Handmaids are one of those unfortunate necessities of society,” Snoke said. “If we had a perfect world, we wouldn’t need you at all.” He shrugged. “For now, both of you have your roles. Separate and equal.” 

Not that nonsense again. It sounded just as repulsive as when it had come out of Ren’s mouth. “I think we’re both more than that.” You peered at your Commander, who observed you with guarded confusion. “More than our roles.”

Snoke’s eyes sparkled with some sick delight. “Really, now.” He looked to Ren. “We have to make sacrifices, don’t we. To ensure our vision survives to the next generation.”

He averted his gaze, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve made many sacrifices for Gilead, Ren.” 

Snoke’s hand laid on your knee, squeezing it, red fabric bunching in his skeletal grip. Your throat thickened with fear, your breath stolen. Ren’s chest filled with slow, tense air, his jaw tight. The knife in your sleeve seemed to sear you with its presence--you imagined whipping it out, swiping the button, slamming the blade right into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Instead, you sat there, watching his hand creep higher, your focus switching between his fingers and your Commander.

Do what you wish with it.

If you tried to attack him now, here, in his car, both you and Ren would end up dead. You shoved the urge into the bottom of your brain, chin trembling as the bony excuse for a hand grazed your thigh--Snoke’s eyes were trained on Ren, daring him to move. 

But he did nothing.

A whirr of a winding engine cut through the silence, and Snoke removed his hand--you sagged with relief. He rolled down the window, making a quick motion with his wrist, the limo stopping for a brief moment. Then it pushed forward, past a gated entrance staffed with at least two guards armed with rifles. Fear dug its claws into your chest. 

The limo coasted up a long, winding driveway, up to what you could only define as a mansion, and came to a halt. Snoke glanced at the both of you, popping the door open.

“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Come, now.”

Ren met your eyes for a brief, electric second before he exited the vehicle. Steeling your nerves, you followed, feeling significantly hampered by the rustling of your dress. As you clambered into the sun, you breathed the heavy summer air and glanced over the property.

A white stone gate with the pair of sentries encircled a ring of decorative topiaries, bushels of red flowers poking through the mulched landscape. The driveway looped like a racetrack through the yard, up to the bleached cement plaza that opened to a glittering fountain pond. The center of the fountain was dominated by a marble carving of Jesus on the cross, his head craned toward the sky, water gushing in clear, noisy rivers from his hands and crown. In front of you, the staired entrance led to a grand, columned pavilion that guided you toward the front door, a glass and iron arch with concentric rows of windows radiating out to the walls. 

All of this might have been beautiful, you thought, had you not been a slave, invited with your owner under the pretense of interrogation.

That, and the two guards coming to escort you to the entrance--also armed, of course.

They bookended you in a line--Snoke, Ren, and you--through the front door, into the vaulted foyer, ivory granite floors stretching out into a wide parlor room, light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, you spied the backyard, complete with a glimmering Tuscan-style pool, enclosed also by that same white stone. And more guards marching in assignment.  

Silent, you kept close to your Commander’s heels as you all climbed the one of the two curved staircases, ascending past an enormous chandelier, tiers of glowing crystal casting flakes of light onto your skin. Despite its warmth, at the last step, you fell cold--there were still more riflemen at the top. The guards ushered you down an empty hall to an open door. They stood at either side of the entrance, and, blood escaping your face, you followed Ren and Snoke inside.

Cherry wood-panelled walls wrapped the oval stone floor, a circular Persian rug rolled out underneath a huge teak desk. It was accompanied by a tall Chesterfield throne upholstered in red leather, two smaller, sister chairs attending the sides. Behind the desk, built-in shelves were lined with heavy, hardbound tomes, all illuminated by two sets of double-necked glass sconces at the two ends of the room.

You stood next to Ren, hands strangling each other as Snoke closed the door and wandered around to the head of his desk. His stride was slow, deliberate, crossing the room like it was slick with molasses. Arriving at his chair, he opened one of the drawers, carding through it before pulling out a folder and plopping it on the flat surface. With precision, he plucked a few pages from it, pushing them forward. 

“Do you remember signing these, Ren?” 

Kylo Ren’s eyes flicked between the paper and his superior. “Yes.”

“Your very first acceptance to the order,” Snoke said, gazing at it. “The evidence of your commitment.” He turned his attention to you. “You said that you think you’re more than your roles. But I know that isn’t the case.”

You cleared your throat, spine straightening. “And I know it is.”

“You’d be wrong,” Snoke said. “Because Kylo Ren is a facade. An identity--a role. Just like yours.” He paused, waiting for Ren to react. He didn’t. “Before he was Kylo Ren, he was a lost, lonely little boy. Always winding up in fights. Parents too busy to care.” 

Ren rolled his tongue along the inside of his teeth, but said nothing.

“But I saw potential in him. Didn’t I, boy?” Snoke offered him a small grin. “I could see the greatness, the cunning, the power you could have.”

“You did,” Ren muttered.

“And this is all you’ve become. Your heart hasn’t hardened. You’re soft. You could never hope to be Kylo Ren.” He sighed, and leered at him. “And I’m disappointed to see that this is the case.”

He was silent, chin raising, stare toward the floor.

“You’re still fighting it, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, Snoke’s entire face twisted in a frown. “Answer me, boy.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” Snoke opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a massive silver revolver, tossing it on the desk with a thunk. “Prove it,” he said. “Shoot her.”

Your heart shot between your ears, eyes darting between Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun. Kylo Ren was as unreadable as ever--he considered the revolver as if Snoke had thrown down a ballpoint pen. A tiny breath escaped him.

“Everything I’ve done has been for Gilead--my commitment has never wavered--”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snoke’s gaze flashed with barely-leashed rage. “I see how you respond when I touch her, I can feel your weakness for her.”

Ren’s lip twitched. “Weakness. For a Handmaid.” 

“I know your mind, Ren. I know every little thought that goes through your brain. Your impulses are raw, you allow Gilead to suffer under your foolishness. This paper...” He held it up, pointing to the signature--beautiful, loopy letters that read Ben Solo. “The boy that signed it still lives. And he is weak.” 

Snoke pushed off the desk, stalked over to you--before you could even think to move, his hand gnarled in your hair, fingers scraping like screws over your scalp. You whimpered, thinking to scream, to fight, to beg--but worried Snoke would shoot you himself if you did. 

“Show me who you’re meant to be, Kylo Ren.” He ripped you to the floor, shoving you onto your knees near his feet. Then, at the back of your head--something hard. Cold. Another gun. “Or I’ll show you myself.”

In the back of your mind, it seemed strange--for all the scenarios you’d imagined being on your knees in front of your Commander, this had never been one of them. Terror shuddered you, but you stilled the quaking of your flesh, meeting Ren’s eyes, sticking your chin into the air. He stared into you and through you, hooking into your hidden fear, finding himself there. Your chests rose and fell with the same breath, lips parting with the same awful knowledge--there was no scenario where he could save you, no reality where your story could’ve had a different ending. For all of your emptiness, loneliness, wanton need, this was your destiny--two souls, desperate to know the other, denied for every unchangeable reason fate could offer.

Part of you knew that Ren had to kill you. Part of you hoped against hope that, somehow, he wouldn’t.

But then he moved. And he picked up the gun.

“Good,” Snoke said. “Good.”

Ren stepped toward you, face blank, and aimed the revolver until it was inches from your head. You gazed at him, thankful that you’d known relief at least once in the past few years, somehow more thankful that he’d been the one to give it to you. Heat stung your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not now. You’d wished for death too many times at this point to begrudge its arrival.

“Good choice, my boy,” Snoke said. He jerked your scalp. “Would you like to have a prayer for your last words?”

He scoffed. “What use does a dog have for prayer?”

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, I’m nothing if not a man of God.”

“Last prayer, then.” Ren blinked. “Do what you wish with it.”

In your chest, breath hitched, your pulse flying. The switchblade. Swallowing, you glanced at the floor to Snoke’s foot beside you, then back up, meeting Ren’s eyes. A spark, a crooked crackle of light--you were seeing them, seeing him, seeing yourself, a reflection, an echo, pure resonance in the emptiness of his mind--and in that moment, you knew.

You knew him.

Clearing your throat, you began, “O, Lord Jesus…” 

You pressed your palms together, bowing your head to conceal them as you used the heel of your hand to guide the blade up your sleeve.

“... pour into me the spirit of your love…”

The handle poked through the edge of fabric, the wooden scales cool and smooth. Your tongue was paper, scratching at your mouth.

“... that in the hour of my death…”

With the switchblade fully encased in your hands, your finger dipped to find the safety and flick it free. Perspiration had it slip in your grip, and you flinched for only a second, pinching it tight between your palms. 

“... I may be worthy to vanquish the enemy…”

Your thumb fumbled for the safety, now, finding it behind your sweaty skin.

“... and receive the heavenly crown.”

Pushing it up, you drew a long, deep breath through your nose. Ren cocked his gun. 

“Amen.”

The blade sprung free, and you drove it, a stake, straight into Snoke’s hapless foot. He screamed, his gun clattering to the floor--in that instant, Ren cocked a brow, raised the revolver, and fired. Snoke blew back, blood spattering your crown, a crimson spray cast over the desk, onto Ren’s face, and the body hit the floor behind you with a fleshy thud. 

You blinked, gasping, trembling, too terrified to look behind you, too anxious to not confirm he was dead. A quick peek--a massive crater in the lifeless facade of his skull--and you swallowed, looking to Kylo Ren, without breath, without speech, without pretense. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving with something like excitement--then, outside the study, the guards stirred. 

“Commander Snoke?” one asked.

Ren glanced at the door. His pupils swallowed his irises, and at the corner of his lips, a smirk. He tore off his tie, tossed his suit jacket onto the floor, back and shoulders swelling like mountains underneath his shirt. 

“We’re coming in, sir.”

“Get down,” he muttered as he cocked the gun, aiming it at the door. “Come in.”

You scrambled to the side of the desk and tore off your wings so you could see, curling over your knees, and the door squeaked open. The moment the guard’s head breached the entrance, Ren fired, and you jolted--blood spurted, painting the wall, the body dropped. A second guard flung the door back, rushing Ren before he could reload, but Ren threw his elbow into the man’s chin, wringing his arm around his neck and shoving him to the ground. He drove his heel into the guard’s neck before cocking the gun and blowing a hole through his face.

Heart flying in your chest, you stared at him, mouth open, almost unable to believe what you’d just seen. In the recording, you’d heard Snoke call him a warrior--you just hadn’t known until now what that meant.

“We’re moving.” Ren stalked over and snatched your wrist, but you winced. 

“Hold on!” You tugged away and snagged the switchblade from Snoke’s foot, sheathing it and shoving it back up your sleeve.

“Come.” He grabbed you again, leading you over the leaking lump of the guard and into the hall.

As you breached the threshold and crossed the hall, two guards turned the corner--the ones from the top of the stairs. Kylo Ren shoved you behind him, gunshots spearing your ears, a body falling; then he slammed you against the wall, the trill of wide rifle bullets whizzing by your skull. You screamed, covered your head, and Ren reached out, wresting the barrel of the offending gun and wrenching the guard flush with his chest--he shoved the revolver up to his chin and fired, viscera erupting from the man’s eye sockets and coating you both. 

You gagged, mind whirling--but Ren was crazed, rippling with the heat of exhilaration. He ditched the revolver and tucked the rifle under his arm, shrugging the body off and grabbing you again. Ren hugged you tight to his frame as he marched through the halls; panting, you gazed up at him, futilely trying to process that he had not only murdered his leader, but now apparently planned to gun down the entirety of this estate--when he all he had to do instead was kill you.

He cursed when you reached the steps. A pair of guards was posted at both sets of stairs--and, seeing you, they shouted and charged. Ren’s attention darted between them, landed on the chandelier. He shouldered you back, running forward and leaping from the banister. You squeaked, hands clapping your mouth--but he grappled the chain, feet stumbling over the metal frame as the crystal behemoth swung like a sparkling pendulum in the foyer. The guards hollered, racking their rifles--but Ren fired first.

Using the chandelier like an assassination assistant, Ren pinned the gun to his body and pulled the trigger, spitting a storm of bullets into the staircase, littering pockmarks over the walls. The guards quailed, ducked--Ren jerked the fixture’s chain, rolling his legs down, and he spun, a carousel of death, firing next at the guards climbing the other steps. These two were not so lucky--you caught hot streams of blood splash over the balustrade, and then Ren swung again,  crystals clinking like chimes as the chandelier bowed in wide arcs. Face tight with frenzy, he fired, and you watched the bodies crumple like marionettes and tumble down the stairs.

Bobbing in the air, he cast his gaze around the room, back hunched, an animal starved. You grimaced, crawled forward, gripping the banister, and when he met your eyes, he shifted, making to swing.

“Stop!” came a voice from the back of the home. 

From underneath the balcony, you saw two guards run forward, rifles pointed up--before you could shout, they fired into the ceiling, clouds of crystal fragments spewing into the air. Ren wobbled, dodging with surprising grace, then flung the chandelier back. 

You watched him, lids wide, as he stepped, one foot, another foot, skating over the steel and lurching forward, yanking on the chain like a rope and throwing his legs into the air. His other arm, still occupied with the rifle, swung down, and as he launched himself toward the banister, he fired, sparks snapping, the chain severed. Ren connected with the railing as the chandelier exploded to the floor, crushing the two guards in a splintering spew of metal and glass. Without thinking, you scampered to him, clutching his arms, straining as you helped haul him onto the balcony. He stumbled to his feet and ripped you up by your wrist.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.”

Adrenaline coursed through him into you, absorbed like warmth through your skin. He dragged you down the steps, tossing his current gun and grabbing a new one while you fled over the ragdolled corpses covering your path. In your dress, it was difficult to maneuver, but Ren pulled you through, jaw set firm, ravenous fury dancing in waves from his body. His eyes were focused and feral, a predator, a true, live killer, consumed with a hunger you’d never before seen--not up close. 

He led you toward the front door--beyond the mottled glass, you could spy a pair of guards sneaking close, decked in armor, guns raised. Cursing, he doubled back, your arm popping while he hauled you toward the other end of the home. Then two more guards, also in armor, crept across the pool deck in the same formation, heading toward wherever the back entrance was. Grumbling, Ren tore to the right, wringing you forward--you’d been thrust into a huge kitchen, replete with white quartz countertops and oak cabinetry. You had little time to admire it before he shoved you under the hood of the breakfast nook. Breathless, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he grabbed two long knives from the butcher block on the counter, sidling up to the wall next to an archway that opened to what appeared like a mudroom. The first sentry peered around the corner, and Kylo Ren snarled, driving the knife through the man’s throat. He choked, gasped, writhing as he fell to the ground, rivers of blood spilling over the floor. The second guard flinched, went to raise his rifle at Ren--but the second of hesitation sealed his fate. Ren jammed his foot into the man’s chest, knocking him onto his back, and stomped his face before shifting the rifle into his hands and ending him with a pop, pop.

Flustered with fear, you made to move--and then spotted that the two guards from the front had made their way into the home, crossing into the kitchen. Before you could warn Ren, one fired, a quick burst, striking him in the side. He roared, crumpling to the floor, a bloom of bright blood staining his side--your body burst with fear, with rage, your mind making decisions without a second of uncertainty. 

As the guards pushed toward Ren, you threw yourself into their path, a human speedbump; they tripped, stumbled over you, over each other, trampling you as they both collapsed to the ground. You craned your neck to see your Commander--he seethed as he stood, punching himself in his wound, each strike punctuated with a furious grunt.

Kylo Ren flipped the free knife into the air, caught it by the handle, and sneered, stabbing one of the guards through the eye--his body jerked, twitched on top of you, and Ren rolled the other man with his foot, aiming his rifle at his exposed face and riddling it with holes. You squealed as his frame jolted with the shots, trying to scramble free--but Ren caught you by the arm again, prying you to your feet. He started toward the back door, but you jerked away--he spun, hair tossed in choppy waves over his face, teeth bared, entire form trembling with the throes of bloodlust.

“The--the front,” you managed to eke out. “You’re injured, let’s get out of here.”

He growled, seizing your wrist and tugging you forward. “We’re not done yet.” 

You swallowed. This was no longer about escaping. It was about revenge.

Led through the mudroom in the wake of his wrath, Ren discarded you to the side of the door and shouldered it open. Two guards stood, anticipating, at the exit, two more chasing around the pool. Your Commander wrapped one of the guards in a headlock, using him as a shield while he surged forward, facing the closest guard while shooting over his arm at the other two. They shook, barraged with bullets, toppling back until they both splashed into the pool, crimson fog weeping into the water. The guard in his grip kicked back, and he faltered--the man closest to him took this as an opportunity to lunge, and smashed into Ren, knocking him and his hostage to the ground.

Chest tightening, you made to move, but hesitated--what would you do? Shoot them? Your brain raced with the possibilities--at this point, you’d picked up a pistol, but you’d never pictured yourself as someone who could end a life. You’d also never pictured yourself as someone who would speak back to the lead Commander of Gilead, get belted over a knee, have her pussy stuffed with a gun, or feel worry for the man who owned her.

That last one caught you by surprise--you weren’t just worried, you were terrified. And not for yourself, but for him. 

Kylo Ren rolled as the other guard approached, his rifle raised--he ducked behind his captive, using him like a barrier and reached down to the man’s side, stealing a handgun from his belt. The other guard went to dodge, but was blasted in the face with two shots, raining blood over the brick patio, crumpling to his knees and smacking the ground. 

Caught in a struggle, Ren went to shoot his final victim through the skull--but the man had already produced a knife from the other side of his belt, and slashed up, ripping Ren across the shoulder and slicing his face. He howled in pain, and the guard took the opportunity to tear himself free, scurrying to his feet, reaching for the gun in Ren’s hand.

Something possessed you--fear, indignity, affection, something--and you dashed through the door, grappled a gun from the corpse closest to you, and cocked it. Maybe, before Gilead, you weren’t a person who could end a life. But now, you were a survivor. And you would be damned if you or your Commander would die here.

Taking the pistol in both hands, you aimed at the guard’s torso. “Hey!” you shouted for absolutely no reason. He glanced over, confused. “Fuck you!”

You pulled the trigger, ears ringing--the bullet nailed his chest, and he staggered, jaw dropped, perhaps wondering if he had really just been shot by a Handmaid. Ren, face smothered scarlet, swung to his feet, swiping the knife from the ground. He snatched the man mid-fall, hoisted him into the air and, snarling, shredded his throat with the blade. A geyser of blood gushed from his neck, bathing Ren in its fever, soaking his shirt, coating the curls of his hair. His shoulders crowded with the desperate cycle of his lungs as he loosened his grip, letting the body hit the ground, crimson bubbles seeping from the wound.

Hands quaking, you lowered your arms, dropped the gun. You couldn’t find your breath, chest fighting for air. Ren turned, eyes tracing the bodies, until finally, they landed on you. Heat hit you, strangled you, wrapped you like wire in a suffocating, powerful, need. Both of you, sprayed with blood, panting, aching--everything you had done, you’d done for the other. His transgressions faded to shadows in your mind. Against every single governmental pillar and logical instinct, you were alive because of him. And you wanted nothing more, now, than to be in his arms.

The word fled your lips, a caged dove. “Kylo…”

Kylo Ren threw down the knife, rushing you, and your feet moved too, carrying you on feathers to him, until your bodies connected, his arms coiling around you, his mouth bruising yours, the taste of iron fresh between your teeth. He was damp with blood, his skin spilled copper into your nose--but despite it all, you groaned, flooded with passion, burning in his embrace. Ren’s tongue drove into your mouth, his hand cupping the back of your head, wetting your hair as he crushed you to his frame. Thighs thrumming with desire, you kissed him back, nipping his lip, threading your fingers through his sticky waves--he moaned, crumbling to his knees, his hold taking you with him. 

“You saved me,” you muttered against his lips. “You saved--”

Ren silenced you with a kiss. “Little bird...” He nibbled the line of your jaw, jerking a fistful of hair and burying his face in it, inhaling deep. “Get these clothes off.”

You shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Keeping his gaze, you gathered the hem of your dress and peeled it over your head, his eyes leaping over every bit of exposed flesh as it was revealed to him. You tossed it and your switchblade to the side, his hands grappling with your hips, sliding up your sides, smearing crimson over your skin. Whimpering, you reached toward your feet, pulling your boots off and throwing them to the side, attempting valiantly to remain kneeling while you inched your underwear down your hips and over your calves. Ren watched, trained on your naked cunt, as you finally flung it behind you.

When you went to begin the arduous task of unhooking your bra, Ren growled, your knees scraping across the pool deck as he yanked you into an impatient kiss. You whined in pain, soothed by his soft lips working yours, new blood from the wound on his face dribbling into your mouths and over your wrestling tongues. He wrested your tits from your bra, dying them red, thumbs skating delight over your stiffening nipples. Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until he was on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

A soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was, even (or especially) doused in blood--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. If he was in any pain at all from the gash on his face or the bullets in his side, it didn’t show--he rolled into you as if he cared for nothing other than the sight of your body over his own. 

“Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his, squeezing them. 

Ren frowned and swatted you off, gathering both wrists behind you in a tight vise. “Interesting question to pose while you’re already grinding onto me.”

You blushed. “I just wanted to make--” 

He shoved two bloodied fingers in your mouth, depressing your tongue, cranking your jaw open. “Ask me again after I’ve fucked that little cunt raw.”

Shuddering, you clenched, and nodded.

“There we go.” He released your tongue, popping your wrists back--your tits swayed from the movement, and he hummed in satisfaction, kneading and groping at the flesh, teasing your nipples. “You’re gorgeous…”

“Oh…” Submerged in desire, you could barely process his words. He twitched underneath you, drawing another spasm from your core. “Kylo…”

He sucked in air through his teeth, digging his fingers into your breast. “You want my cock? Hm?” He reached down, brushed his thumb over your clit, and you whined. “You want me inside you, slut?”

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes, please.”

“Good girl…” 

Ren kept his grip on your wrists, working at his pants until he’d managed to pull his long, heavy cock free. You ached at the sight of it, wanting to slide it between your folds, feel it pulse inside you, bask in its swollen heat. Ren slapped it against you and shifted his hips, pushing you higher, hand stroking his length as he guided it to your entrance. Stoked on adrenaline, on some sort of intoxicating infatuation, you were wet and wanting and warm with need--you sank onto him, crying out when he broke you open, letting him drive deep into your belly. 

“God,” you hissed, “you feel so good…”

He throbbed at the base, rutting up into you and popping your wrists again. “Shh.” His free hand clutched your hip. “I’ll tell you when to speak, little bird,” he muttered. “Be quiet and take this cock.”

Ren’s strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built. 

“Fuck,” he growled, “that’s right--do you like that?”

“Yes…” The words were as unfiltered as you were. “I love it…”

“Good--good girl.” His stare devoured you while you rode him. “So beautiful… so perfect…” A hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. “And all mine…” He grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust--you yelped. “Say it.”

A twinge in your heart, distant and irritating. “But I--”

He yanked your wrists, straining your shoulders, branding a bruise into your breast with his fingers. “Say it.” His pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. “You’re mine.”

“Kylo--”

Ren seethed, throwing you off of him and onto your back, wincing when he loomed over you, and he pounded his side, hissing in pain. Your eyes widened--in seconds, he’d spiraled into mania, his face wrought with possessive fervor while his fist pummeled his wound. If he’d looked beautiful before, now it was sinful: dark hair matted in messy clumps around his crown, his brow drawn in focus, his shirt, torn from the knife, flopping over to reveal his bare chest, showered with blood. He peeled your legs wide, ankles in his fists as he lifted your ass from the ground--and, sneering, he split you, cock cleaving your cunt. In pleasure, you sobbed. 

“Fuck,” he growled again. “You’re so fucking tight…” Ren started fucking into you, slipping in to the hilt, hips hitting yours with loud slaps. “You feel so good around my cock…”

Whinging, you lolled your head on the deck-- his words sent a torrent of yearning through your flesh, and your clit screeched for attention, but part of you knew that touching it yourself would deny you release altogether. So you stared at him, chin tucked to your chest, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as your back scratched the smooth stone underneath you. 

“Nothing to stop me,” he said, “nothing to keep me from you.” He jerked you closer, and you wailed from the depth of his thrusts. “You’re going to be mine…”

“Kylo--”

“No,” he hissed. “Say it.” He propped one of your legs on his shoulder, his hand diving between your legs to rub your clit, covering it in blood--you cried out, clenching, convulsing, pleasure creeping into your vision. “Say you want to be mine.”

The earth turned beneath you. Everything, all of it had been for you, but not in the way that you had hoped. No, it had been to alter the universe to his own whims, to construct a galaxy where he could possess you, keep you, trap you in a tiny, wire cage. His little bird. 

You wouldn’t accept that--not after today. You couldn’t.

“Only if--ah--you’re mine, too,” you replied. “I can’t just be yours! You--you have to be mine!” 

“What have I told you?” Ren groaned, deep and low. “If that’s what you want…” He gathered some of the blood from his face onto his thumb. “Then you’ll want for nothing.” He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the fluid warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. “Say it.”

“I’m--I’m yours!” You shut your lids, awash in the elated reality of his admission. “I’m yours, Kylo!”

“Cum then,” he ordered, “cum on this fucking cock...”

You were drawn and quartered by ecstasy, spine arcing toward the sky as your core clamped his dick, limbs shuddering with the waves of your epinephrine-injected climax. Ren growled, leaning over you to hammer into your cunt, strangling his groan as he poured his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty--empty of rage, lust, and energy.

Swallowing, you heaved, eyes fluttering open, seeking out your Commander’s gaze. Not that his position mattered, in this hazy purgatory of existence. In this moment, the laws and regulations of Gilead didn’t apply to you and Ren. You’d defied them, destroyed them all. Together. 

Something, some emotion you’d wrestled into submission so many times before slithered out of its grave--like hope, but more poignant, more powerful, not just the faith that you could survive. No, it was the dream that you could thrive, that Gilead would crumble underneath both of your feet, that--maybe--you could take a canvas and paint a future with him in it. 

Locking eyes, you spied it there, too, beyond the lowered shield of his anger: a mirror of your mind. His hand fell between your breasts, his lip quivering, fingers skimming down your sensitive, starlight skin. How long you laid there, you weren’t sure, but it was after his soft cock had slipped out of you, after your breath had leveled. Sweat glazed you both. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked, finally. You fumbled for his hand, laid yours over it.

Ren paused, staring at the image of your hand--so much smaller--wrapped around his, analyzing it in his mind like a puzzle.  His jaw tensed, and he pulled away. A piece of your heart wilted.

“I told you,” he said, beginning to adjust himself to decency. “Gilead is flawed. My vision will perfect it.” He met your eyes. “You’ll be mine. And you’ll want for nothing.”

“But…” You narrowed your lids. “You’re mine, too, then.”

“I am.” He stood, gazing over the carnage of the yard--the bodies, the blood, the dyed-red water--all of it turning rancid in the summer heat. “Your Commander.” 

There it was. The mallet of his intention, shattering your dreams to disasters. It was as if you had been thrust into the pool yourself, drenched in cold, icy admonishment. How stupid, how foolish were you to imagine that Kylo Ren could consider bringing Gilead down? How short-sighted had you been to believe, for one moment, that he would ever renounce his ownership of you? How horrible, how awful were you that the tiniest, most foolish part of you wanted to accept this--agree to his terms, as long as he’d stay, somewhere, in that canvas.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your underwear and pulled it on. It seemed silly, getting dressed when half of your clothing would be muddied with blood. You glanced up at him, mapping the wounds in his body. He was hunched, but not hampered. 

“Are you really okay?” 

Ren still had his hand extended. “Yes.”

You frowned, slapped it away. His eye twitched, attention switching between you and his hand--and, to your surprise, he shoved it in his pocket. You grabbed your dress, tugged it on.

“Continue getting dressed,” he said. “I’ll contact my men and tell them--”

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The voice, tight with fear, froze you both--Ren’s fists clenched, your heart falling somewhere into your ass. From inside the mudroom, a young woman cloaked in blue emerged, and you recognized her immediately. Snoke’s robot, er, Wife. Christine. She hadn’t spoken once at the dinner. 

Between the gloves, the hat, the heeled shoes, it was obvious she was just now returning home. As she surveyed the yard, her gaze fuzzied, and she tumbled into the threshold. Neither you nor Ren made a move to help her.

“What… what happened here?”

It was a fair question. But admitting you’d both participated in a coup likely wouldn’t go over well. You weren’t sure what Ren’s plan was, but you knew the Eyes could have you both killed if they learned this had been your doing.

“Commander Snoke is dead,” Ren said. “I killed--”

“The guard,” you said, glaring at him. “He killed the guard who killed Commander Snoke. After that, the entire place went up.” Looking back at her, you gestured to Ren. “You need to call an ambulance, he’s been injured.”

Christine, appearing dizzy, pushed off of the doorframe and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll get help. Just…” She waved her hands in circles. “Don’t move.”

With that, she stumbled into the home, the click of her heels growing distant. 

You sneered at Ren, pulling on your boots and stuffing the switchblade in your sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you as you stood, said nothing for a moment--a twitch of pain crossed his face. “When I’m taken to the hospital, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “Say nothing. I will handle this. And when you get home, bathe and get into bed.” His eyes raked over you. “Do you understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, Kylo. I do.”

Ren exhaled, drinking you in. “I’m going to contact my men before the ambulance arrives. They’ll have work to do here.” He reached out and cupped your face. “Be good, little bird.” He patted you on the cheek, and walked into the home. 

[ceruleanchillin]

Somersault (Kirishima x Reader)

Kirishima Eijiro x F!Reader

Part of my MHA AU established previously.

Synopsis: Glimpses into you and Kiri’s relationship.

Warnings: Implied drug use, Implied smut

A/N:  I don’t really do songfics, but I will tell you Somersault by Zero 7 inspired this chapter. Recommend listening to it, cuz it gives Kiri feels.

 Does anyone else think of Kiri when they talk to jock villagers on Animal Crossing?

|  Give Love To Me |

“I thought we talked about this hmm?” Kirishima gently dabbed at your nose, eyes trained to spot any more blood.

You focused on the taste of poison that congregated at the back of your throat, the pipes that hadn’t stopped protesting since Kirishima had forced them to draw water, and the cracked window letting in chilly night air around the towel stuffed in it. Anything other than your boyfriend’s disappointed sighs and poorly hidden worry.

“Sorry Eiji….I..” you weren’t used to apologizing, or being ashamed, but Kirishima could bring emotions out of you, you didn’t know existed.

“You just made a mistake.” he kissed your forehead, and cradled you to his chest. “That’s why you get tomorrow. So you can try again.”

You sunk lower into the luke-warm water, eyes roaming up to the water stained ceiling. At the time, doing a line had sounded like the only good idea you’d ever heard, and you’d indulged, going against the promise you’d made to your boyfriend. It got you through two sets and made the packed, dingy lounge so much prettier. So much glitter. So much laughter, and it was easier to give real smiles. Why had that seemed like enough in value to disappoint Kiri?

“Hey,” he gently tapped your collarbone. “You ok? You with me?”

“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “I won’t do it again Eiji...I won’t.” You grasped the arm slung around your torso, dragging your thumbs across the skin as fast as the water and your come down would allow.

“I know you won’t. Not my best girl.” He kissed the back of your head for a long moment, and brought you closer to his chest, caging you in his arms.

And you wondered where he got that bottomless trust from. Why was he so good, and where had he learned to be? He lived in the same streets you did, how did you catch the eye of a saint? Your eyes burned with unshed tears. How could you ever hope to be the woman he deserved?

Kirishima shushed you, rocking you gently. “You wanna tell me who gave it to you?”

Somewhere in the fog of your thoughts, you knew no matter how gently Kiri was asking, it wasn’t simply out of curiosity. “Noooo Eiji.” you slurred. “Don’t worry about it.”

He laughed. “Ok, ok.”

He hid his burning questions behind one of his lopsided grins when you turned to look back at him, trying to see if he meant it. He pressed a purposely sloppy kiss to your forehead until you giggled and squirmed to turn back around. Only then did he let his grin drop.

| The Sticks and Stones |

You were achy, you were chilly, and your stomach kept threatening to make you vomit if you didn’t keep focused on not doing so. You were ready to consider it penance for breaking your promise to your boyfriend, but he’d said “no way!” and saddled you with your favorite warm drink. All-in-all, it wasn’t the best day to be a mover, even if that was the only price for four weeks free crashing.

“So you’re just going to sit there?” Robbie, a friend of Kirishima’s and fellow freelance bouncer, stood in front of you.

You gave him a look that said you thought he was worth less than the effort it took to do so, before pushing your shades up, and severing eye contact.

“Look Primadonna, you’re crashing with us. The least you could do is pitch in.”

You crossed your legs and continued to nurse your latte. Robbie didn’t know it, but the bigger fit he threw, the less likely you’d be to help. And you weren’t planning on it in the first place.

Robbie growled in frustration, and kicked the trunk you were sitting on.

“Hey,” Kirishima grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away, wearing his signature grin, though it was strained. “Lot of stuff still in the truck, let’s finish up.”

“That’s just what I was telling HRH over here.” Robbie jammed his thumb in your direction.

“Don’t worry about her.” Kirishima gave him another grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m doing the bulk of the work anyways. I’m working for both of us.”

Robbie threw his hands up in frustration and walked over to the moving truck. His girlfriend had been glaring at you, wanting you to wilt under her stare. You lowered your shades, made eye contact, and maintained it while you lit a cigarette.

“Hey, come on.” Kirishima kneeled in front of you. “We gotta be here for a while. Try to get along.”

You exhaled a white cloud into the cold air, aiming it at Robbie’s girlfriend who was in the process of whining about how “trash” you were.

“I like it when it’s just us Kiri.”

“I know.” he sighed, palms rubbing your chilled kneecaps attempting to bring them warmth. “But this is where we’re at for a while. Remember I told you Bakugo, Midoriya, and I are working on a place-”

“They hate me,” you cut him off, pushing your shades back up. “Especially their girlfriends.”

“They don’t hate you baby,” Kirishima nuzzled your cheek, using that tone he did when he thought you might be hurt. “They just don’t really know you that well.”

Kirishima gave you a grin, this one real, in an attempt to reassure you. He was beautiful, always using his energy to make sure you were secure. It made you feel selfish and ungrateful, and something ugly roared to life within you. It made you want to say something, someone’s name, you knew would hurt him.

“If you would’ve sold what I had left over we’d be better off, but you’re so fucking opposed and moral when it suits you. Pfft.” you took a long drag. “Take care of me my ass. I should’ve gone to Dabi or Hawks.”

Kirishima looked like a kicked puppy, and your entire being clenched in response. That ugly thing inside had gone dormant and left you in the grip of guilt and self-resentment.

You stubbed out your cigarette, and carelessly placed your latte aside. “Oh Kiri,” you gripped his cheeks. “I can be such a bitch...I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, and that twisted your insides more. Your desperation made you babble almost uncontrollably.

With shaky hands you shoved your shades onto your head, and pressed your lips to his. “I’m sorry. You’re doing great Kiri, you’re doing great for me. I need you to believe me..don’t listen to me when I’m..”

“I know that’s not really you (Y/N),” he kissed both of your knees, making you go quiet. “Not the real you. She’s still a work in progress, but she’s beautiful.”

You bit your lip hard to fight spouting another word stream. More apologies danced with words of self-criticism on your tongue, begging to be spoken. You wanted him to call you out. You wanted him to find something ugly in himself and take revenge. He would never though. That wasn’t your Kiri, and that revelation only made your hands ache to pull your shades back over your eyes.

“She’s a coffee addict, she takes her showers cold, and she always eats off my plate, even when hers is right there.”

A small smile surfaced at his words, but you could still feel anxiety and regret twisting your insides.

As always, Kiri was in tune with you, and took your hands. “But I love her, and I don’t let anyone call her a bitch. Not even herself.”

| The Unknown and Home |

Kirishima liked bouncing well enough. He’d always been able to take a punch, he was great in a fight, and he liked defending people. It didn’t pay the best in the world, and he saw ugly parts of the city he wished he hadn’t, but he liked it.

Then he met you, and he loved it. The nights where the two of you worked the same club or lounge were his favorite. He often got chewed out by his bosses for being distracted, but that was ok. Kirishima thought you had to be blind or deaf not to be when you took the stage.

Soft songs where you skillfully played your voice up to crack at certain parts, fast songs where Kirishima would have to continuously adjust himself because of your hip movements. He loved it all when it came to your singing.

His enthralled expression slowly changed to one of rage. You were skillfully dodging the hands of an admirer in the crowd, while continuing your song, and the roll of your hips. He wasn’t the only one to appreciate your musical talent and the person it came from. Some were more enthusiastic in their appreciation than others, and that’s when Kirishima took on a vastly different character.

You wore a shimmery gold slip dress like it was made for you, and not stolen from a store across town. Yes, he would admit, under the changing lights you looked ethereal. The problem was, like a porchlight, you were attracting pests, and he couldn’t have that.

The greasy hand that had been reaching for you hung at an awkward angle only seconds later. Kirishima only faintly heard the crunch and your distressed “Eiji!” as he assumed a fighting stance. He’d known creepy patrons to be able to fight through almost anything.

Somehow, the creep had friends, and they were loyal. He was in too deep by that point, and treated them all like they were their friend.

---

Two bouncers, three barflys, a bartender, and an angry interrupted singer swinging the mic stand made quite the mess. The kind of mess that gets the singer and her boyfriend fired without pay and banned from the establishment.

You huffed your exasperation as you accepted half of his adrenaline-drained weight on the walk home. You could feel how proud of himself Kirishima was, and it made you feel like starting another fight.

“That was so manly the way you decked that guy with the bottom of the mic stand babe.” he murmured.

You could hear Kiri falling in love with you all over again, and as endearing as you found it, you were missing a shoe and a job now.

“I swear only you could eat that many hits and stay up to deal them back. You must be made of rock or some shit.” you huffed again, and tightened your hold around his waist.

“Not quite.” he chuckled and it was then you noticed him grasping his side. What you thought had possibly been bruised ribs could be worse.

“Oh shit,” you stopped abruptly, catching more of his weight at the sudden stop, and almost falling. “Did you get stabbed?!”

“Nooo.” he waved you off, and sighed painfully at the action. “Just scratched, deeply.”

You hobbled in uneven height around him, mind racing to think of a street doctor that owed you a favor in case he was lying. Fortunately he wasn’t.

“I’ll be ok. I heal pretty great, remember?” he grinned a proud, boyish grin, and you felt like you might be falling in love with him all over again too. But you were still pissed.

“You better. I might feel like beating your ass too.” You let him lean into you again as you began your awkward walk back to a borrowed home.

“I’d let you.” he chirped, laying his head on your own.

---

Patching Kiri up always seemed so useless by the time you got around to it. He stopped feeling pain faster than anyone you’d ever seen, high or sober. By morning his bruises would be a memory he’d barely remember. The only thing to keep an eye on was the cut, which you would, even if it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but Kiri. He brought out something nurturing in you that was so powerful and foreign, it frightened you, but you were powerless against it.

Kirishima had fought you the whole time, wanting to focus on your minor nicks and scrapes, but you won out like always. You wanted to be homebase to him for a change, whether he felt he deserved that or not.

He was too tired to efficiently put up a fight, and by the time you were done, he’d crashed heavily right there in the corner of the couch.

“I wanted to cuss at you some more.” you murmured mirthfully, brushing drooping red strands from his forehead.

Checking him once more, and realizing you’d done about as well as you could, you fell onto the other side of the couch. Kiri would find his way to you eventually after you both found sleep. For the moment you were going to try to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy nightmare couch, and mourn your lost income.

You spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to assure yourself the opposite of what you knew to be the truth. You were temporarily burned on the nightclub circuit for that evening’s antics. Several hushed phone calls were made, each ending when your pride forced it. You wouldn’t beg when that had never gotten you anywhere before.

Your higher mind cursed you now that you’d be relying primarily on Kiri’s other job for income. It didn’t matter how many times Kirishima said you could rely on him, you hadn’t raised yourself that way, and you couldn’t afford to slack.

No one would call Bakugou divine, except maybe his airhead girlfriend, but he turned out to be the answer to your prayers that evening. He arrived with a pound to the door that you swore sounded like an explosion, his signature knock, and you quickly tried to mitigate any chance of him waking Kirishima.

You slid across yellowed linoleum on socked feet, and cracked the door.

“Come back tomorrow, he’s sleeping and you’re not waking him up.”

You caught his brow twitching in irritation at being told what to do. “Where do you think I’m gonna store this shit?”

He shook a worn duffle bag full of what you knew to be stolen goods.

“I don’t car-”

“Stop being a bitch and get out of the way.” he shoved the door, and you had no hope of stopping him from coming in, but you still grasped his bicep defiantly.

“Don’t.Wake.Him.” you dug your nails into hard muscle and narrowed your eyes.

“He’s gotta move quickly on some of this. Kirishima may have told you the sun rises out of your ass, but it doesn’t, and the rest of us have to survive too.” he stalked over to your sleeping boyfriend, fully prepared to punch him awake.

“Wait don’t!” you barely contained your voice to a loud whisper. “He’s tired, leave him alone.”

He growled low in his throat. “I already told yo-”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” he snorted, but his face was blank. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re liable to get us all burned or worse, go to that shitty patchwork quilt fuck you used to run with.”

“I’ve been on the streets long enough jackass, and I’ve seen Kiri do it a million times. I know what’s worth what and who wants it.” you bristled at him throwing your past connections back in your face. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t deal with him anymore.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, not interested, and you regretted even answering that. He studied you for a moment, and the flexing of his hand let you know he was mulling it over.

You decided not to wait, grabbing the bag and beginning to drag it into the kitchen. As expected, Bakugo rushed you for his ill-gotten goods.

You jutted your chin up at him. “I can do it. Just let him rest, it’s been a long night.”

He glared at you, judging you in a way that no longer made you want to punch him, before speaking. “Fine, but we’re staying to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

“We’re?” your face crumpled in confusion, then realized he meant his girlfriend and grimaced. ‘For Kiri.’ you thought.

“Whatever.”

---

On any other day Bakugou would loudly and proudly admit he couldn’t stand you. You were convinced he and the gang hated you, that they thought you were cold and you were mostly correct. They loved Kirisihima and he’d made it clear you two were a package deal. He could remember the one and only time Kirishima got violent with him, and it was because he’d called you several nasty names in one fell swoop when he’d been drinking. He remembered laying in his car that night wondering what the fuck about you had his best friend so gone.

That night he thought he’d finally gotten a glimpse. Beaten up, and clearly tired yourself, you were forcing yourself to carefully build an inventory out of the stolen goods he and Midoriya had acquired the previous three nights. You told him what happened at the lounge, and he knew you probably wanted to crash right next to Kirishima, but you wouldn’t. You wanted to take care of him. Watching you squinting your tired eyes in the dim light of that shitty closet kitchen, he decided his friend may not be such a dumbass after all.

| Somersault In Sand With Me |

“Eiji…no, I’m still sore.” you murmured sleepily, curling into a ball under the thin quilt.

Kirishima poked your side again, muffling a laugh. “That’s not what I want babe. Well..yeah I always want that-”

“I know.” you gently kicked back at him, hiding a tiny grin in your pillow.

“I want you to come somewhere with me, it’s important.”

He sounded so uncharacteristically serious, that you allowed yourself to be fully pulled from sleep. You sat up, reaching for your phone charging on top of your bag by the couch.

Exactly 3 a.m.

“Eijiro I swear to god…”

“It’s important, fence’s honor. Now get your cute ass out of bed.” he tackled you in a warm embrace, spread kisses across your cheeks, and released you to get up from the couch bed.

You dropped your phone back into your bag with a groan. It was amazing how out of character this man could make you.

Kirishima helped you get dressed, smirking every time he noticed your slight limp. For every smirk you bit him, and he kissed you. It went against every independent bone in your body, but Kiri dressing you felt like heaven. His soft kisses on your thighs when he helped you slide into your leggings, the soft coos and admissions of love as he slipped you into one of his sweatshirts, and the gentle cradling of your feet as he slipped your feet into your shoes. You couldn’t even be grumpy, not when your personal sunbeam was looking at you like he received his life from you.

Kirishima led you out of the apartment, and before you knew it, he’d scooped you onto his back, threatening to drop you if you didn’t hold on. He took off at full speed with your surprised blend of laughter and shouts behind him.

You barely had any time to work out where he might be taking you that wasn’t planned at that hour before he arrived at the destination. An elementary school playground.

He stooped, allowing you to slide off his back, which you did with confusion. “What’s here Eiji?”

“Everything!” he chirped like it was so simple to see.

You blinked up at him trying to gauge whether he had the signs of having something in his system.

“Come on, we would’ve killed for this as kids. We get the whole place to ourselves, what do you wanna do first?”

“Crack your head open and examine the insides.” you scowled. “I was sleeping, and you want to do what exactly?”

“You’re so adorable when you’re cranky, you’re adorable anytime bu-”

“Kiri…” you narrowed your eyes, contemplating following through on your threat.

Kirishima’s face went blank, but his expression soon returned as a wide grin. “Oh I get it babe, that’s your pride talking. If you’re too afraid of looking uncool….”

“Pfft!” you shot him an incredulous look. “Nice try. Here’s where I try to prove you wrong, thus falling into the trap right?”

“No, my woman’s much too smart for that.” his grin curled into a smirk. “Here’s where I snatch your precious beret and make you chase me for it.”

Before you could register what he said, he followed through and yanked the hat from your head. He took off across the grass laughing almost manically with genuine joy. He was so adorable, it almost made you forget how long you saved for that beret. Almost.

You launched after him, shouting vulgar threats the whole way.

“Come on babe, we do kinkier stuff than that all time, really make me feel it!” he laughed, taking the steps to the pirate ship playhouse two at a time.

“Well, remember it fondly, because that’s over now hammerhead!” you leapt at him only to have him dodge you.

“Then what do I have to live for?” his face contorted into a mock pout. “I should just walk the plank now.”

Eiji doged another lunge from you and jumped from the toy plank that barely hung above the ground. You landed after him shortly and continued to chase him while he waxed poetic about his life being over if he could ‘never take you again’. Between laughter at his silly proclamations and failed lunge attempts, your lungs were on fire. That didn’t stop you from giving the chase your all. Around the merry-go-round, an almost win in the sandbox, an attempted cut off under the jungle gym. You eventually thought of a way to end it by fighting dirty.

Eijiro was headed for the animal-shaped spring riders, and right as he got close you shouted. “Time out Eiji my shirt tore off!”

“Wha-” he looked back at the right time to hit a pink seal and flip over it, landing on his back.

You jogged over, smirking at your win, no matter how ill-gotten.

“Not manly babe,” he groaned, sitting up to rub his back. “Not at all.”

“I caught you!” you laughed, straddling his waist to prevent any escape attempts.

“You did.” he said softly, gazing at you with a look that took your breath away.

It said everything he couldn’t say. Not because he was afraid to, never Eijiro, but because he couldn't always find the words to. That he couldn’t believe he found you, and would die if he lost you. That he was so yours, he felt like he always had been, even before he knew life. That you were his world and you were more than enough for him. You were everything to him.

“Always catch me...yeah?” he placed the beret on your head gently, before he placed a hand to your cheek.

“Always.” you got out around the lump in your throat. Instinct made you hold back your tears, Eijiro’s love made them fall.

-----

End Note:

If you want to let me know what you think should happen in the Midoriya chapter, my inbox is open (with anon on). The established AU is (here).

Dabi is next.

[softboywriting]

Falling Stars | Shawn Mendes AU

Summary: Shawn is the new doctor in your small town. You are the owner of the bookshop across the street from his clinic. The two of you hit it off immediately and thus begins a relationship that is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. [mild nsfw portion] 

Word Count: 26k

| Masterlist in bio |

The lights of Falling Stars second hand book shop flicker to life in the slowest way possible. The single bulb hanging lamps are nearly as old as the building itself so it doesn't surprise you when sometimes they take two minutes or more to come up to full brightness. The early morning sun illuminates the books in a way you will never get used to. There's something so magical about the way the light warms the old wooden shelves, glinting off golden lettered book spines. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air and you smile at your little table display front and center of the room. It has little pumpkins and fake orange and red leaves surrounding them with cinnamon sticks tucked into decorative vases that you dressed up with ribbon and little pinecones. A few stacks of books with autumnal themed titles sit around the display pieces. It is the epitome of Autumn and you couldn't be happier.

You flip the sign on the door over to OPEN and head to the checkout counter. A large black cat jumps up on the counter and lets out a soft meow, begging for your attention. It's Alice, the shop mascot and your beloved companion. She had wandered in the back door a few years ago and never bothered to leave. You suspect she may have belonged to the old woman who rented the apartment above the hardware store next door before she passed away. She never showed interest in following you up to your apartment above the bookshop, so you left her food and water with a homemade sweater bed near the utility closet.

“Good morning Alice,” you mutter softly as she headbutts your hand. “Are you hungry?”

Alice meows loudly. Of course she was hungry. What a silly question. She'd only been alone all night, stalking mice in the backroom and misplacing her stuffed toys you made her. Alice jumps down with a loud thump and leads you to her food dish. You supply her with a single scoop and she looks up at you in disdain. How foolish of you, thinking she would get full on one measly scoop. You scoop just a tiny bit more, not even enough to cover the bottom of the scoop, and sprinkle it on top. This satisfies her and she dismisses you, sticking her face in the dish and you turn away to go about opening up shop.

A few minutes later and you've got your register set up, money in it from the safe, and a fresh apple scented candle lit beside your computer. It's time to start your day. You pull up your stool and take a seat to check emails and online orders that are ready to ship. Online is most of your business, though you have your regular customers, shoppers who come from the city to find books not available in the major bookstores anymore and of course people who stop by on their way through town.

You see an email from one of your book suppliers, Dakota Press, and it says your book delivery will be arriving late. A delivery van broke down so they're behind schedule. No big deal. You never announce your new books until you had them physically on hand just for that exact reason. You open a few more emails, customers requesting books that were marked out of stock but you can order from Dakota Press. You take note to order them, adding the customers to your special order list and opening emails from customers searching for particular books they haven’t been able to locate online or in stores.

The bell over the shop door jingles and you look up to see a tall man walk in. He's about your age, maybe a year or two older. Definitely not someone you've seen before. Your first thought is tourist, someone just passing through, but he's too well dressed to be an average dad on a road trip and he was definitely not a fisherman from the harbour. His button down shirt is clearly starched and pressed, and those pants are tailored to fit. His shoes look to be out of a high end store, the watch on his wrist is probably worth your bills for three months and his hair is carefully styled and his skin is glowing. He was something else... something else with money.

“Hello, welcome to Falling Stars!” You cheer from behind the counter. You slide off your stool and fix your sweater so it covers the top of your leggings a bit better. You really wish you'd worn a better pair than your old black cable knit ones, but oh well. Hindsight is 20/20 right?

“Hello. This place is really lovely,” the man says with a gentle smile. Heartwarming. Kind. His eyes said it all as you approach him.

“Thank you so much, I try to keep the place nice. It is a very old building though, it has it’s problems.”

“No no, it's beautiful. I love it. It's very homey and warm. It has character,” he says as he browses the romantic fiction shelf near the doors.

Alice appears and winds around his legs, depositing a lovely clump of loose hair on the ankle of his pants. “Oh crap, Alice no,” you mutter, leaning down and grabbing the hair ball. When you stand back up, the man is beaming at you, a playful smile on the edge of a laugh.

“You didn't have to do that, I don't mind a little cat hair. Cute little thing probably thinks I smell weird.”

“Oh no, she knows better than to rub on people. I don't think you smell at all.” You turn scarlet as you realize what you've said. He did smell quite good, like an expensive cologne you smelled once in a department store. Not that you meant it like that. “I-I am so sorry, I mean like you don't smell weird? Like no, you smell good but not that I noticed that you smell like anything. I just-”

The guy bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling and head thrown back. God he's a sight to behold. His whole aura is brighter than the sun streaming in the front windows. “I understand what you mean but thank you, I try not to smell,” he manages through continued spouts of laughter until he's left smiling at your red cheeked face.

“So, um, are you looking for anything in particular?” You ask, trying your best to slip into business mode and out of awkward flirting mode. Things like this was why you are single, and you know it.

“Actually, I'm just looking for something to read between patients. I've just started at the clinic across the street,” he says as he points to the West Finch Clinic sign on the brick building across the road. It was owned by Dr. Finch for ages and he since retired in February and put the practice up for sale.

“Oh! You're the new doctor!” You exclaim excitedly. It explained his appearance, the well kept polished look and high end clothing and accessories.  

“Mhmm. I decided to leave the city, needed a change of pace.” He grabs a book and turns it over in his hands. “I think this one will do.”

“Of course, I'll get you at the counter.”

You hurry around the display table and punch in your lock code on the register. The man strolls up and lays the book down and you punch in the cost you have labeled on the back. He leans against the counter on his forearms and stares at the wall mounted shelf behind you. It's where you keep your homemade lotions and balms and things of that sort along with a few of your favorite stones and crystals.

“Do you make those?” He asks, pointing at the shelves.

You glance back and smile. “Yes, they're really good for all sorts of skin ailments. Though I suppose you might not believe in homeopathic remedies?”

He laughs and nods. “I do actually, medicine is one option but it's not always the right one. Many natural remedies are proven to work just as well if not better than man made ones. Can I see the lemon hand balm?”

“Of course.” You grab a tin off the shelf and place it on the counter. “It's six dollars but since you got a book I'll only charge you five.”

He pops the lid off and smells it, eyes closed as he smiles. “Sold. I need something to keep my hands soft. Washing and sanitizing so much makes them so dry.” He pushes the tin toward you and you place it in the little brown sack you're putting his book in.

“Your total is fourteen fifty three. Cash or card?”

“Card,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and passing you a black credit card. You glance at the name and then to him with a smile. It wasn't until that moment you realized you hadn't gotten his name yet.

“Thank you, Dr. Mendes,” you grin as you slide his card across the registers reader.

“Just Shawn is fine. Dr. Mendes makes me feel so old,” he chuckles, taking his card back.

You lean on the counter and prop your head up on your hand. “Well, Shaaawwnnn, I put a flyer in your bag with my hours, email address and phone number. I mean, not mine, but the shop’s. I guess that's sort of mine though...” You drop your head and realize you've blabbered again. And why did you draw his name out all weird like that? You really need to get your shit together.

“Thank you,” Shawn smiles softly and grabs his bag. “I'll see you around?”

“Yeah, don't see a stranger. Fuck. Don't be a stranger, see you around.”

Shawn laughs as he waves goodbye. You watch as he jogs across the street to avoid a Mrs. Jensen's red truck as she drives to work, waving at the store on her way. She was a regular customer of yours and a good friend. You sink down onto your stool and drop your head on the counter.

“Alice, why am I so dumb?” you groan and Alice appears from the back room and meows softly. “Yes I am. I am dumb. It's like when I see a guy I'm attracted to, my brain short circuits.”

Alice winds around the stool legs, purring and headbutting your feet. Some days you really think she is listening to you, others you're sure she just doesn't care. Today she seemed to listen, and for that you're thankful.

“I should just be myself right? If guys don't like it then they can lump it. That's what Grandma would say.”

Alice meows and jumps up on the counter to headbutt your head.

“Who needs guys anyway. I got you, and you're way better than any silly doctor with soft eyes and big hands and...” You groan, petting Alice's back and she flops on her side. “I'm totally screwed.”

_____________________

A week later you wake up to the sound of rumbling thunder and your windows rattling and you sit up, disgruntled from being woken out of a deep sleep. Your bedroom is dark save for your alarm clock that's flashing the wrong time. The power must have gone out at some point. You pull your blankets back and get out of bed just as thunder shakes your apartment to its core. Below you, you can hear something crash and you jump. The damn bookcase that leans forward funny must have fallen over.

You grab a jacket and shove your feet into your old bear feet shaped slippers, a gift from your grandma before she passed, and head for the front door to the stairs. As you make your way down the dark staircase to the door that went outside you can see it rattling, the old glass panel at the top holding on for dear life. The floor is wet, rain leaking in under the door.

You forgo the water for now, the old cement foundation will just absorb it over time. The wind nearly knocks you over as you walk the few feet to the shop door. Rain pelts you like icy gravel and you struggle to get the already notoriously sticky lock open. Once inside, you're soaked,  and dripping all over, but you can't bothered. The bookcase has in fact fallen over and it's taken out your table display as well. The shop is a mess and you sigh, knowing this will take all day to clean up.

Alice runs out of the back, slinking low to the ground as she makes her way to you. The bookcase must have scared her pretty badly. You pick her up and rub her ears.

“It's okay Alice. If you would come upstairs with me, you probably wouldn't be so scared,” you sigh, carrying her to her bed in the cramped utility room and setting her down as you sit beside it.

You decide to lay beside her as you pet her back slowly until she rolls on her side and relaxes. The rain makes you sleepy and you find yourself falling asleep spooned against Alice on the floor. It wouldn't be the first time you did this during a storm, but it would be the first time someone found you like that.

“Hello?” A voice calls from the front of the shop. You sit up, looking around and realizing you're in the utility room with Alice. Not your bedroom.

“I'll be right there!” you call out, jumping up and pulling your hair back in a ponytail on your wrist. You step over a fallen broom and look around the shop. No one seems to be there but, oh wait, there they are. Crouched in front of your broken table is Shawn, picking up little broken pieces of the cinnamon sticks from the vases.

“Oh you are here. Are you alright?” Shawn asks, standing and bringing the vase and stick pieces to the counter.

“Yes, I'm okay. The bookshelf just fell and hit the table. It's a mess but it's fine.” You sigh, looking over the mess before you. “I must have left the door unlocked.”

“Were you sleeping?” Shawn chuckles, taking in your rumpled clothes and bear slippers.

“I...I was just just looking for a broom in the back. I came down to check on the shop because I heard the bookcase fall...I didn't think about getting dressed.” You look down at your polka dotted sleep pants and old yellow summer camp tee from when you were a counselor one summer.

Shawn looks over at the mess and raises his eyebrows. “Do you need a hand? I don't open the clinic for another hour or so.”

“No! No I got it! Don't worry about it. It's not the first time that old shelf has fallen. You go get ready for work okay? I'm good. Thank you though.”

“You're sure? I mean I can stay...”

You put your hands up and wave him away. “I'm sure. Please, go do your doctor stuff. I'll clean up.”

Shawn steps over some books as you walk him to the door. He opens his mouth to say something but all he manages to get out is that you should be careful cleaning up the glass. You make a shushing noise and send him out into the rain. There was no way you were letting him stick around and help. It would just give you too much room to say something stupid and make him disappear forever. You weren't taking that chance.

Four hours later and the shop was back in order, save for the broken display table. The bookcase is propped up, books stacked beside it for the time being. You were debating getting a new shelf or finding a way to anchor that one. But for now you've parked yourself at the counter with a bottle of super glue and a pile of broken vases.

It's nearly half past eleven when the door jingles and Frank walks in with an arm full of books. Frank often brought books he found in yard sales and estate sales. He never wanted money for them, just some peppermint lotion for his wife and a tin of wintergreen hand salve for his old hands.

“Afternoon, Frank. What do you have today?” You grin, pushing aside your half built vase. Frank's books were like getting Christmas presents. Some were just the thing you wanted, others were the equivalent of a pair of underwear that you neither wanted or needed.

“I got some goodins!” Frank laughs, setting five books down for you. “I have an old Winnie the Pooh, a copy of a book called Taming Wolves, and a couple of old westerns.”

“Ohh, Taming Wolves eh?” You laugh, flipping the book over. It was a documentary book, a diary of sorts by a researcher in Alaska named Barry Dunes. Interesting.

“It's real good. I read a few pages myself.”

“Looks good, and this Winnie the Pooh is in great condition for its age. You outdid yourself Frank.”

Frank beams.

“I suppose you need some salve? Lemon or wintergreen this time?”

“Lemon please. Say, what happened to your little table out here?” He asks, looking around the very empty front area.

You place the salve in a bag for him with a little bottle of lotion you know his wife will need. “The bookcase fell again. I need to get a new one that isn't so damaged on the bottom.”

“I'll tell you what. I'll make you a new bookcase and a table, if you give me four tins of the mint salve and a large lotion for Annie.”

“Frank, that's hardly enough. I don't want you to go through all the trouble.”

Frank waves you off. “I'm dying to get back in my wood shed. It'll be my treat, might take a few days but I'll make it so sturdy a hurricane couldn't bring it down!”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hand him his bag. “Alright, but I'll owe you, any time you need something just stop by. You don't even have bring books.”

“I'll still bring books kiddo, you know I love how it makes you smile brighter than the sun when I get something you really like. I'll be by in a few days, keep an eye out for my truck okay?” Frank says as he tucks his bag into his front overall pocket. “Be good now Alice,” he says with a wink at Alice who's laying in the window seat on his way out.

You can't help but smile as Frank walks down the street. It was nice to feel so loved and have friends like Frank. You really don't know what you would have done if he hadn't showed up, the bookcase would probably just have to be removed. It was so battered from the fall, it wasn't stable enough to use anymore. Thank goodness for little miracles.

_____________________

It's early evening a few days later and you're getting ready to close up and go to the store for some groceries. You've shut down the register, locked up the back and put the money in the safe. Everything is golden, things are looking up from the beginning of the week, and you couldn't be more content...until you grab your glued together vase a bit harshly and a piece collapses, poking right into your hand.

The pain is instant and you drop the vase on the counter. A small chunk of red glass is sticking out of your hand, bleeding down your palm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In a moment of panic, you freeze, looking around for something to stop the bleeding but finding nothing but tissues. The glass is in pretty deep and at a weird angle so you're scared to pull it out.

Across the street Shawn steps out of the clinic and you see him lock up, waving goodbye to his receptionist as she drives past. Immediately you hurry for the door and open it, eyes wide as you walk briskly across the road, holding your hand out in front of you.

“Shawn! Shawn!” You call out, voice trembling.

Shawn turns around and sees your hand. “Hey, I was just- Oh! Okay, keep it up, let's get inside,” he says calmly as he unlocks the door.

You follow him inside and to a small patient room. He puts on gloves and leads you to the sink, turning the water on and having you keep your hand under it while he inspects the glass.

“This is from one of the vases isn't it?” He asks with a little smile. “Didn't I say be careful?”

“It slipped, or I grabbed it too hard, I don't know what happened. I just grabbed it and suddenly it collapsed and the shard was in my hand.” You look at the chunk sticking out and Shawn grabs a pair of tweezers from a drawer and unwraps them from their sterile baggy before leading you to the exam table where you take a seat while he plops down on his rolling stool. “This is gonna hurt isn't it?”

“A little bit. Don't worry.” Shawn holds your hand palm up in his and pulls the glass out. You wince. It bleeds a bit more and Shawn works quickly to get it cleaned up and bandaged. He so focused as he wipes your hand down with alcohol and puts on a gauze pad that he wraps with tape. A little curl falls on his forehead and you can't help but stare at it. It's so cute and he's so hot the way he works so seriously. Your heart flutters when his face eases into a smile as he finishes taping your hand and looks up at you.

“Thank you. I probably could have taken care of it but I just panicked. I'm sorry I kept you from going home,” you mumble, dropping your hand to the side and sliding off the exam table.

“It's no problem. It's not like I've got much going on at home anyway,” Shawn chuckles. He peels his gloves off and tosses them as he begins cleaning up and sanitizing the counter.

“You're single then? A guy like you? No way,” you tease, leaning against the wall and he looks over with a small smile. “You're not joking?”

“Nope,” he laughs as he scrubs his hands and forearms. “I haven't really tried getting into the dating scene here in town.”

You let out a chuckle and look out the door into the empty lobby. The rain looks like its coming back, the sky looks gray and overcast. “I don't know how much of a dating scene there really is here. I haven't been out in years.”

Shawn dries his hands on some paper towels from the dispenser by your head. “Not big on dating either?”

“No, not really,” you shake your head.

“Well that makes two of us. Come on, let me walk you home.”

“I live just across the street,” you chuckle and he shrugs.

He walks you out of the clinic and across the empty street. A small whirlwind of leaves blows across your path and he catches a big oak leaf that is burnt orange and hands it to you. “For your display, I noticed it was temporarily on the counter yesterday. It was missing some leaves,” he smiles, beaming down at you like the sun and you take it, biting your lip bashfully.

“Thank you, I didn't even realize you had stopped in again,” you mutter, twirling the leaf in your fingers.

“You were busy helping a couple people. I didn't want to bother you.”

“Oh, that's okay, you can always talk to me anytime.” Shawn continues to smile warmly and your cheeks heat up. “Well anyway, I should probably get going. I need to get some groceries still. Alice will think she's dying if I don't have food for her in the morning.”

“Of course,” Shawn says softly, laying his hand on your arm. “Don't use that hand too much alright? It needs to rest so the skin heals. You should pick up some gauze or large bandaids too, you're going to want to replace it in a few hours, okay?”

“Yes doctor,” you laugh and he shakes head. “I promise I'll be careful and get some gauze.” You pull your phone out and add gauze and tape to your grocery list, then turn it around for him to see. “Got it locked in.”

Shawn grabs your phone and types something before giving it back. “That's my cell number. In case you need anything.”

“O-oh.” You glance at your phone and back up at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Shawn grins, rubbing his neck nervously. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

“Mmm, maybe. Do you need a book?”

“I am almost finished with the one I got...maybe I could stop in before I open the clinic.”

You duck your head and giggle. “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, laying his hand on your elbow and giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he crosses the street and heads to his Jeep that's parked in the alley between the clinic and the bakery.

You dig in your sweater pocket and lock the shop up before going in to your place to get your shopping bags. The moment you close the door to your living room you let out a squeal. You can’t believe you got the cell number of the finest man you have ever seen. God and the way he kept touching your arm...you were a goner.

_____________________

“So you're telling me a sexy young doctor moved into the West Finch Clinic and has the hots for you?” Nani, your best friend, laughs in disbelief.

“Yes! It sounds insane, I know. I mean maybe I'm reading too far into it but the way he smiled at me and touched my arm after bandaging my hand up...ugh, you would be dying.”

Nani adjusts her laptop so she can lay down and still see you in the Skype window. “Have you made a move yet? Did you flirt back?”

“I think so?”

“You think so? Either you did or didn't. Tell me everything! I swear if you mess it up with a hot doctor I'll book a flight out of here just to beat your ass.”

You roll your eyes. “You are not leaving this close to your wedding date. Your mother would skin you alive. Besides isn't a flight from the Philippines like seventeen hours or something?”

Nani groans. “How are you always right? Ugh, I hate it. Why did I have to go home to get married?”

“Because you wanted your family to be there?”

“Ugh. Family. Whatever, enough about me. I need to know more about your plans for Dr. Sexy.”

You laugh and flop over on your bed, grabbing your sequined pillow and curling around it. “His name is Shawn, if you must know. I know he's single, and I think he came from the city. Not sure why though...who wants to move here?”

“You aren't wrong about that. Roselake is pretty boring. I mean, it was nice growing up there part of the years but there isn't much to do.”

“I know. It makes me think he probably didn't know what he was getting into when he bought Finch's practice. He'll probably get so bored he'll go back to the city.”

“Not if he has a cute book nerd to stick around for,” Nani waggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh shut up! He is probably just so friendly because he hasn't explored the town yet. There are far cuter girls around here. Don't you remember Millie Green? I bet he'd drop dead if he came across her.”

“Millie Green is a snakey little tart. Don't tear yourself down like that, don't compare yourself to the likes of Millie. You're very cute too, now you've grown into your body and lost those doofy glasses.”

“Hey!”

“I'm right and you know it!” Nani looks off screen to someone and back to you. “Erik is ready to go pick out flowers. I gotta go. You better step up your flirting game. At least make casual conversation and see where it goes.”

“Ugh, fine. It's your fault if I make an idiot out of myself.”

“You'll be fine. Pinky swear you will ask him why he moved to Roselake,” Nani says holding her pinky out to the camera. You hold yours up and hook it in the air, promising you'll make an attempt to talk to Shawn. What could casual conversation hurt?

_____________________

You pull your shoes on and a sweater over leggings again, glance in the mirror and decide it's as good as any outfit. Comfort over style your grandma always said. She was always right. You grab a bagel and a little pack of cream cheese. It's one of those mini sample cups that stores have near the bagel case. You like to take as many as you can so you never have to shell out for cream cheese. You head for the front door and as soon as you're out the lower door, you see Shawn milling around outside the shop.

“Morning,” he grins big, giving you a little wave. “I guess I'm early huh?”

“A little bit.” You hand him your cream cheese and bite the bagel to hold it as you unlock the front door to Falling Stars.

Shawn follows you inside and Alice nearly trips him, yowling because she wants breakfast. “Easy,” he laughs, lifting her up on the counter. “You have to talk to your mom about food. Not me.”

Alice meows, staring at him. You go around and place your bagel on the register while you scoop Alice's food. At the sound of kibble tinkling in her bowl, she comes running.

“So, what can I do for you Shawn?” You ask cheerily as you walk up to the counter and start preparing your bagel.

“Well,” he starts, leaning against the counter. He's wearing a dark blue cardigan over a soft grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up and it makes you wanna combust. He looks so good in such a simple but cozy way. “I was thinking about how you said you weren't much into dating and neither am I, and so I was wondering if you'd like to join me in seeing the town?”

“Like a date or...” You trail off, dropping your bagel, cheese first onto the register.

“Just as acquaintances. If that's okay. I haven't really talked to anyone else besides a few patients and they're a little wary of me. I thought maybe you might be able to help introduce me to the town...”

“Sure, of course. Yeah, anytime.”

Shawn looks at your bagel and raises his eyebrows. “Wednesday?”

“I'm totally free Wednesdays. Totally free all the time really but anyway,” you laugh nervously, peeling your breakfast off the register keys.

“Oh man, that is a mess,” Shawn chuckles.

“It's no biggie. I have wet wipes around here somewhere.” You glance around the cubbies under the counter, running a hand over your hair to push back some fly aways. “Anyway, Wednesday is great. I'll show you all the best parts of Roselake.”

“Excellent. See you then,” Shawn says, slapping the counter like a drum before backing away to go to the door. Looks like you're not the only awkward one. “Oh, by the way, your hair looks nice today, but you got some cream cheese in it.”

Your hands fly to your hair and sure enough you smeared some after picking it up off the register. Shawn laughs as he closes the door behind him, flipping the sign to OPEN as he leaves. You stare at your bagel and smile. You landed a date with a doctor. Well, not a real date, but basically a date. Nani was gonna flip out.

_____________________

Wednesday comes before you know it and you're a nervous wreck as you close up the shop and go upstairs to change clothes. You have to keep reminding yourself that it's not a date. It's not. You put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, boots and a slouchy beanie hat. Nothing fancy. Not date clothes.

Shawn is waiting for you outside the shop. He has on the same dark blue cardigan as he did the other day, with black jeans and instead of a button up shirt he has on a soft well worn t-shirt. He looks as good as always, but a little extra today maybe. A little more relaxed, cozy, warm like his eyes. You can't help but smile and he smiles right back.

“You look great, I like your boots,” Shawn says as you get close. You look down at your feet and it's just your regular brown boots with the leg warmers sticking out of the top.

“Thanks, they're my favorite pair,” you giggle and kick your foot out a little. “Oldies but goodies.”

Shawn just beams. It kills you the way he looks at you like that. The way his face says a thousand words but you can't quite make out any of them. He seemed to find you endearing, but maybe you've mistaken that for politeness. You never were great at reading people, too many times you'd been wrong and you weren't about to say something now and ruin whatever you were building here.

“Where to first?” Shawn asks. He opens the passenger side door of his Jeep for you and stands by it, hand out for you. “I'm not sure where anything is around here. I haven’t done a lot of exploring.”

You step down off the curb, taking Shawn's offered hand for balance, though you don't actually need it. “I think we should go to the shore. There is a memorial there about how Roselake was founded.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Twenty minutes later and you're at the shore of the harbour that provided much of Roselake’s economy. Shawn got lost twice, turning left instead of right because he was too focused on the story you were telling him about how you adopted Alice. It's cute, how he gets so lost in your words. You can't remember the last time a guy listened so wholeheartedly.

You step out of the Jeep and Shawn meets you on your side and you lead him to the small historical plaque that contained the story of Roselake. The story goes that the harbour was once a large pocket of ocean water that got called a “lake” and was found by Edward Jenkins Rose nearly a hundred years ago. The town didn't get built until about fifty years later when there was a massive storm and flooding that deteriorated the strip of land between the ocean and the “lake” and opened it up to be a harbour. The area became a quick transfer route for many fishing and cargo companies because they no longer had to dock several miles up the coast and freight their goods out of the way to the plants in the city a few miles away from Roselake.

“So Roselake wasn't even actually a lake?” Shawn laughs and you nod. “I guess they didn't know what else to call it, even though it was clearly salt water?”

“Yep. So Roselake should probably be called Rose Harbour but no one is going to bother changing that after a hundred years.” You lean on the railing of the outlook and sigh softly.

Shawn leans next to you, his arm bumping yours. It makes your heart race. Being so out of touch with another person had taken its toll on you to the point where a simple brush of arms was exciting. Sad. “What's up? Why the heavy sigh? We're supposed to be having fun.”

“It's nothing, I was just thinking.” You look out at a ship that is pulling in to dock. Everyone you knew was from Roselake, no one came to live here. Who came to live in a fishing town? “Why did you come here? Why leave the city?” you find yourself asking, not really meaning to, but it comes out anyway.

“I hated it.” You glance over, surprised at that answer. “I grew up in Davenport, one of the city’s suburbs, and it just...it made me feel trapped. I went to college to become a general practitioner and while doing my residency in a local hospital since they were the only available training outlet, I saw so much violence and trauma, I don't know how I survived.” He chuckles deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno how I became a doctor sometimes.”

“Wow,” you mutter, not having expected such a heavy response.

“I spent almost a year on the staff of the hospital I did residency in before deciding I couldn't take it. For a while I thought I was going to have to throw it all away for nothing. I thought I couldn't handle being a doctor, that I'd have to suck it up or find a new profession.” Shawn lets out a heavy sigh and leans over the railing as he continues. “A friend told me about how his dad used to run a family practice in small town, and how it was so quiet and nice. I thought that would be perfect, that I could still do what I loved with helping people but on a smaller scale like I really wanted. So I looked for practices for sale or ones looking for partners, and that's how I found West Finch.”

“Oh, that’s quite a journey,” you mutter, looking over at him. He smiles, soft and warm. You look away, back to the sun setting on the ships in the harbour.

“I shouldn't have unloaded like that. I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess I just felt comfortable enough to tell you,” Shawn chuckles nervously.

“No, it's okay. I asked. I'm glad you feel comfortable with me, it's nice to feel like you have a friend.”

“Yeah. You're the first person I’ve really talked to. You’re actually the first person I met.”

You push off the railing and cross your arms. “No way. I am not the first person you met. The town may be small but it’s not that small.”

Shawn laughs, turning around and hopping up to sit on the railing. “You were. I mean, I met the realtor that showed me my apartment and the clinic, but she doesn't count.”

“Oh come on. You didn't run into someone in your apartment building or like at the grocery store?”

“Nope, not a single person talked to me more than doing their jobs. It's like they knew I was some weird outsider,” he chuckles with a soft sigh. “I'm not weird am I?”

“Maybe a little bit,” you tease with a smile, walking down the path, running your hand along the railing. “But I guess maybe I’m kind of weird too, so it's relative.”

Shawn hops down and walks over to you, smiling as he shakes his head. “Oh come on, you're not weird at all. In fact, you're the most normal person I've met here so far.”

You roll your eyes. “Says the guy who hasn’t met very many people here yet. Anyway, let's get going. Are you hungry? There's a place not far from here that has the best shrimp alfredo, it’s kind of a local hang out.”

“Are you trying to steal my heart?” Shawn laughs as you get into the Jeep. “Shrimp is my ultimate weakness.”

“What, no way, me too! I could eat shrimp all day long!”

Shawn starts the Jeep and backs out of the parking area. “Lead the way, and it's my treat. We'll eat shrimp until we explode.”

“Deal, but I might eat so much that you’re broke.”

“I hardly doubt that, but if I eat more than you, you have to tell me your story of Roselake.”

You look over and he's grinning. You agree to his challenge, knowing he would probably win anyways. You didn't mind though, it wasn't as if you had that crazy of a life story or anything. You just want to play along, to see this fun side of Shawn, to see who he is beneath his cool doctor exterior.

_____________________

Somehow you find yourself sitting in the back of Cap’n Clark's Bar and Grill with six jumbo shrimp sticking out or your mouth like some kind of sea monster while Shawn turns purple laughing. He's holding onto the table for dear life, leaned over on his arms just crying every time he glances at you.  His laughter gets the best of you and you have to remove the shrimp because you are laughing too hard, turning a similar shade of purple.

Shawn ended up eating more than you, like you figured, and so as the evening winds down he holds you to the deal. You don't know why, but suddenly you're nervous. There wasn't even that much to tell...well...not much to you anyway. It just seemed so intimate.

“So, did you grow up here?” Shawn asks, stirring his drink with his straw.

“Yeah. My parents worked in the harbour and got married pretty quick. I wasn't really planned or anything, my dad always said they didn't want kids because they were both away on fishing boats a lot. Life isn't perfect though,” you chuckle, staring at Shawn's hand as he swivels the straw around in his drink with his index finger.

“So...your parents didn't want a kid?”

You shake your head. “That's shitty right? I mean babies are not an accidental thing, if you don't want kids, be more cautious. Anyway, I was raised by my Grandma. My mom's mother. My parents just wouldn't give up their lives for a baby.”

Shawn leans back in his side of the booth and folds his arms as he listens. You glance up at his face and he looks kind of pissed off.  He was angry at your parents on your behalf, yet he hardly knew you. What a soft hearted person.

“So anyway, Falling Stars was my grandma's bookstore. When I got a little older I helped introduce her into the online marketplaces. She always let me run that part of the business because computers were just not her forte.” You chuckle to yourself. “She passed away when I was twenty, she was nearly eighty seven. Pneumonia. She left me everything.”

“I'm so sorry,” Shawn murmurs. “What about your parents? Are you in contact with them?”

You let out a dry laugh. “My parents are either dead or sitting on a beach somewhere with all their fishing boat money. I really don't know or care. They stopped sending Grandma money when I turned eighteen, stopped visiting when I was about thirteen.”

“Wow.”

“It's no big deal. I know it sounds sad and tragic but it's not. It's just my life. I grew up happy with just Grandma. I never knew any different.” You smile softly and Shawn smiles back. “Now it's just me and Alice carving our little place in the world one book at a time.”

“Yeah,” Shawn chuckles. “I'm sorry, by the way. I didn’t realize I'd open a can of worms like this. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, we made a deal. You ate more, I spilled my guts. You already spilled yours earlier. I didn't even have to eat an ungodly amount of shrimp for it,” you smirk.

“Oh so I'm an open book eh?”

You bite your lip, looking away because it's just too easy to tease him. He felt so natural, easy to talk to. If this was flirting, you think you might be nailing it. “Just a little bit. I like it though, I like feeling comfortable with someone. It's been a while.”

“I can understand that, I feel the same way.”

You hum in agreement as you finish off your strawberry daiquiri. Shawn insisted you get anything you want off the menu and you hadn't had a strawberry daiquiri since your twenty first birthday...and it was definitely going to help you loosen up on this “not date”. So you went for it, and now it's gone and you're feeling giggly, and giggly meant you would probably be talking too much and Shawn should really take you home.

“Where to next?” Shawn asks as he hands the server his card and the bill he definitely wasn't letting you see.

“Home?”

“Already? Is Roselake just the harbour and Cap'n Clark's?”

“Well, no...but most of the shops are closed by now...I don't know if you’d really want to go to any bars. They're just full of old drunk fisherman anyway.”

Shawn grins and lets out a chuckle. “I don't seem the type to hang out with fisherman?”

You shake your head, leaning you chin on your hand. “Nope, but maybe Sunday we can go to the farmers market on the edge of town. Loads of people come and set up there. It's like a whole mini town.”

“Hmm, are you asking me on a date?” Shawn smirks. Ugh. You could grab his face and kiss him right there with everyone to see. How dare he be so handsome and tease you like it was nothing.

“I'll be showing you the town, it's not a date. Is this a date?”

“Well, I did spill my guts to you and take you to a restaurant where I paid, when we were supposed to be exploring Roselake. Is it a date? Ehh...maybe?”

“If it's a date, I get your sweater at the end of the night.”

Shawn raises his eyebrows at you, signing the credit card receipt that the server leaves. “Is that so? I've never heard of that rule.”

You sit back and cross your arms. You can feel your cheeks flushing from the drink. Either it had been pretty strong or your tolerance was in the hole, because you were feeling it. “It's a Roselake tradition.”

“Uh huh,” he smiles slowly, playing along with your nonsense. “I don't suppose I'd want to dishonor a town tradition then.”

“Nope, but if it's not a date, then you don't have to worry.”

“Right. Let's go, I'm sure Alice needs her dinner by now,” Shawn says as he stands and offers his hand. You take it and he keeps one hand on your back as you leave the restaurant.

The drive home is quick since Shawn isn't getting lost this time. He parks the Jeep outside the shop and comes around to help you out. An actual gentleman. Wow.

“Thanks for showing me around town,” Shawn says as he walks with you to your door. “Even if we did only go a few places.”

“It was fun.”

“It was. So um, good night I guess. You okay getting up the stairs?”

You nod, opening the stairwell door and stepping inside. “Mmmhmm. Goodnight.”

“Wait,” Shawn says, hand on the door frame. “I think this belongs to you now.” He shrugs out of his cardigan and hands it to you.

“Are you...”

“This was the best night I've had in a long time. I'd like to think it was a date if you would. Do you accept?”

He holds the sweater up and you grab it. It's warm and very soft, just like you thought it would be. “I accept. Do you accept my date this Sunday?”

He chuckles. “I do, but you're not getting my sweater after that date. I'll run out of clothes that way.”

“Alright, but this one is mine,” you say as you wrap yourself up in his sweater.

“Okay, okay, goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

Shawn moves his hand from the door frame and you close it. You stand on your tiptoes, looking out the window to see him as he gets in his Jeep. He sits there for a moment and pulls out his phone. He's smiling, laughing at something and he relaxes back into his seat, looking over at the shop with a smile as he talks. It make your heart swell, and you can't help but run up the stairs and jump on your bed. Shawn made you feel like you were sixteen again, and it was the best thing ever.

_____________________

“Welcome to Falling Stars,” you cheer from the counter, sat at your computer as usual. You look up and see it's Frank and his daughter Sylvia carrying in the bookcase he promised to make you. “Oh my God!” You jump up and run over to help them get it in.

It's made of dark wood that nearly matched the pre-existing shelves. On the top there is a mantle that has moons carved into it on either side. It's beautiful, far more than you ever expected. The table Sylvia brings in after the bookcase is set down is just a beautiful and has carved crescent moons around the top outside edges of it. It matches the shelf perfectly.

“What do you think kid? Not too bad for an old man!” Frank laughs, dusting his hands off on his overalls. He looks proud, smug even, and rightfully so. His work was stunning.

“They're amazing. I can't even begin to thank you, wow, I just...I'm at a loss for words. I can never repay you enough.” You walk over and put your arms around the little old man. He hugs you back, patting your shoulder and beaming at you when he pulls away. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it. You make Roselake brighter every day just by being here, it's about time someone gave back.” Sylvia clears her throat a little and Frank looks back at her. “I best be going, my wife has an appointment at the dentist. Seventy seven years old and I still have to hold her hand when we go there. Love her to pieces though,” Frank chuckles, shuffling out the door and to his truck.

You wave goodbye, standing beside Sylvia in the doorway as Frank pulls away from the street. “So, you know the new doctor?” Sylvia asks, nodding toward the clinic.

“We've met. He's really nice.” You hold your hand up where you've got a band aid covering the little bit of scab from the glass wound. “He patched me up the other week, excellent bedside manner.”

“I wouldn't mind a piece of that.”

“Sylvia! He's my age, come on.”

Sylvia shrugs and chuckles. “Call me a cougar then. Hey, I'm single and ready to mingle again.”

“Ah yeah, I heard about Ted. What a dick.”

“I'm past it. He can go fuck whatever city girls he wants, I got all his damn money and the house. I think I came out on top.”

You shake your head. “I still can't fathom why someone would cheat. I don't understand it.”

“Me neither kid. Anyway, you like the doctor? You said he's your age right?”

Shawn steps out of the front doors of the clinic and leans against the wall, head tilted back. “Yeah...I do. Would you mind?” You ask, looking into the empty shop and back at Shawn. Sylvia nods and makes a shooing motion with her hands.

You cross the street and walk up to Shawn, laying your hand on his arm gently. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm great,” he smiles weakly, looking down at you. He's lying and he's horrible at it. “I just needed air, gets stuffy.”

“Mmm, everything all good today?” You press, hoping he'll just slip up and lower the obvious guard he holding up. “Anything interesting? I heard Mrs. Jenkins has a rash on her back the size of Texas.”

Shawn chuckles, covering your hand with his. “I'm not at liberty to discuss any of my patients, y'know, legal patient privacy rules and all.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, totally. I got ya. Well, if you need anything...I'm next door.”

“I know. Thank you,” he smiles, still weak as he grabs your hand and squeezes gently as he removes it from his arm and goes back inside. Something was wrong, properly stressing him out. You wished you could help.

You walk back over to the shop and Sylvia raises her eyebrows but says nothing. “Thanks for bringing the table and bookcase. Let your dad know that anything he needs, it's his.”

“Will do. See you around,” Sylvia waves and you close the door with a soft click behind her.

You get to work filling the new bookcase with the books that fell over a week ago. Every now and then you glance over at the clinic when you see movement but it's always a passerby or someone going to see Shawn. You can't help but wonder what stressed Shawn out, why he had to go outside and take a breather. Maybe something happened that reminded him of the city.

You turn a book over in your hands and smile. It was a favorite of yours, a romantic thriller called Run Among Thorns. You set it aside and finish up stocking the books. You go about setting up your autumn display with what you salvaged from the broken table. It's not much, but you still have a few mini pumpkins, the fake leaves, one glued together vase and a handful of pinecones. It was just as pretty if not smaller.

Ten minutes to six and you dust your hands off, looking around the shop with a satisfactory smile. Everything was back in order finally. Before you lock up you wrap the book you picked out earlier and feed Alice. You jog across the street and slide the book into the little mailbox next to the clinic door and put the flag up. It wasn't much, but you know receiving a gift on a bad day could change everything. It was something you learned from your grandma, something you hoped to pass on as much as you could.

_____________________

Sun shines in the window and you sit up, stretching and yawning big. It was Friday, only two days until your second date with Shawn. You can't wait, just the thought of being able to see him laugh again like he did at Cap'n Clark's makes your heart race. You're so distracted by thoughts of the weekend that you don't look at the clock and notice you've overslept until you're making breakfast and see the digital clock on the stove.

“Oh shit, shit,” you mutter, flipping the stove off and putting the eggs back in the fridge. It's after nine and you're supposed to be downstairs at eight. Alice would not be happy.

You don't bother to change out of your shirt and sweater, Shawn's sweater, that you slept in. You just pull on a pair of jeans off the floor and shove your feet into your fuzzy lined clogs and run downstairs.

Sure enough Alice is in the window, yowling like she's been abandoned for a week. Overdramatic cry baby. The mail flag is up on the post box and you peek in while unlocking the door. There's a few letter envelopes and a little box. You weren't expecting any returns or deliveries. You gather them up and head inside to feed your screaming furry baby.

With Alice satiated, you take a seat and tug open the brown paper wrapped box. It looks like an old disposable glove box and sure enough the top is taped closed so you have to open the end. Out of it falls a bunch of ribbon and miniature decorations of pumpkins, cats, skeletons and witch hats. A whole assortment of Autumn and Halloween-y things. A note falls out as well.

“A gift for a gift. Thought your table might need some friends. Thank you for the book, I can't wait to talk with you about it. -Shawn”

You look up through the windows and Shawn is standing there, holding up two coffee cups. He pulls the door open and walks in with a smile. “Good morning, did you oversleep?”

“Yeah, I guess I kept hitting the alarm,” you giggle sheepishly. Shawn sets a coffee down for you. “Thanks for the gifts.”

“It's no problem. You gave me a book, I had to return the favor.”

You pick up one of the skeletons and place him atop the register. “The craft store is in the city...”

“I know it is,” Shawn smirks around his coffee cup.

“Where did you get these?”

“I got them from the craft store, duh.”

“Oh.”

Shawn shakes his head. “They'll look great on that new table, or maybe,” he trails off, grabbing a little black cat and leaning over the counter. He tucks it into the side pocket of your sweater. “ it'll look cute like that.”

“You're a dork,” you laugh and he smiles big. “Don't you have patients to see or something?”

Shawn glances over at the clinic. “Yeah, y'know...a few but I had to see if you liked your gift.”

“I do, thank you again. Now go, don't keep people waiting!”

“I'm going,” he chuckles on his way to the door. Before he goes out he turns and looks back and says, “Oh and I like your sweater. It's very nice, definitely my favorite,” and winks. He dead ass winks at you and leaves.

You can't help the embarrassing giggle that bubbles out of you and you're glad that only Alice is around to hear it. You wrap his sweater around you and sigh softly, he was going to be the death of you and that would be just fine.

_____________________

“You what?!” Nani yells through the webcam. Her hair dresser jumps in the background and laughs. “You got his sweater?!”

“Yeah, I can't believe he actually gave it to me. I think he really likes me. Oh God I don't know how to deal with this.”

“Girl you just do you. He likes you for you. Do what feels natural, go with the flow. Remember when I met Erik?”

You pick your laptop up and carry it into the kitchen with you. “How could I forget? You sent me a text every ten minutes about his eyes or how he was sitting or when he almost touched your hand. God you were so infatuated.”

“Fair enough, but Erik liked me too. He gave all the signals and I was pressing go. What I'm saying is, listen to your gut and read Shawn's signals. You can't go wrong.”

“I mean I could but...”

Nani sets her phone on the counter of her hairdresser's booth. “He gave you his sweater, probably expensive by the looks of it, trust me. You can't read him wrong at this point.”

“I guess...”

“No guessing, he likes you. He brought you stuff for your display. Guys don't just do thoughtful stuff like that if they don't seriously like you.”

“You're right. I gotta stop over thinking it.”

“Yes you do. Let it happen.”

You nod, sighing softly as you say goodbye and let Nani get her hair cut. Nerves were getting the best of you and you knew it was only a matter of time. It had been three years since you let anyone in. After your ex, if you could call him that, you weren’t too keen on dating. Besides, everyone knew everyone in town and everyone had pretty much dated someone you knew, so it was weird. Seriously. If Nani hadn't gotten out of Roselake and went to college in the city she probably would have settled for and married Jackson Walters, her boyfriend before college. The thought of that makes your skin crawl. Not that he was a bad guy, but like, there was better in this world. You promised yourself that you'd never settle, even if that meant being alone with Alice until you were forty.

_____________________

Sunday morning you wake up and you're miserable. You knew you had a cold coming on while you grocery shopped on Saturday. Your nose was running, face swollen, ears a bit achy. You ignored it. Telling yourself it was just allergies even though it was autumn and everything was pretty much dying off in the cool air. You couldn't be sick, no, you had your date with Shawn at the farmers market today.

You force yourself out of bed and into the shower. A hot shower would clear this right up. You grab one of the little shower bombs that you made a few weeks ago, it's a chamomile mint one and if it didn't do the trick you were screwed.

Twenty minutes later and you step out of the shower feeling no better. Super. Awesome. You get dressed, the usual slightly too Iarge sweater, leggings, and boots combo. You add a scarf and knit fingerless gloves because it's a little chilly and they're cute. The clock reads five minutes until ten in the morning and the market opened in half an hour. You grab your keys and your bag and head down to the shop to feed Alice in case you got back late for dinner.

The sky is a little overcast but not bad, you had a few hours before it would rain. Plenty of time to browse the market. Once inside the shop you feed Alice and clean up a few books you left out the night before. Shawn's Jeep pulls up and you take a deep breath and head out to meet him.

As you expected, Shawn gets out and comes around to see you before you get in. The moment he lays eyes on you he knows. He can tell you're sick. It must be the way your face looked so pale, or maybe it was your red nose from wiping at it. Either way, there was no hiding it.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, raising his hand up to touch your forehead. “You're kinda warm”

“I'm fine. Probably just hot from the shower,” you smile, trying your best not to sound nasally and stuffed up.

Shawn slides his hand down to your cheek and cups it, his whole palm covering the side of your face. A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you feel that familiar rush of cool adrenaline in your veins that happened when Shawn got a little affectionate with you. “I don't know if you should be walking around outside like this.”

“I'm fine. If I feel terrible I'll just call a doctor...oh wait,” you chuckle and he gives you a look. “I promise I just look sick. I feel great.” Ugh who were you trying to convince. Probably yourself to be honest.

Shawn looks skeptical but he helps you into the Jeep anyways. A short drive later and you're parking in a gravel covered lot across from the field where the market is set up. Despite the overcast skies, it's a pretty big turn out. There is at least twenty tents set up in the front area and more in the back.

“So, is this here every weekend?” Shawn asks as you trek towards the tents.

“Every Sunday, May until the end of September. I used to come here with Grandma every weekend. We would get vegetables and stuff for the week. She liked things as fresh as possible.”

“Was she fun? You seem fond of her.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, wandering toward a booth that has stone bracelets for sale. “She was my best friend and my parent. She had her quirks, we all do, but she was great. I miss her.”

Shawn hums. He's watching you touch the bracelets, not saying anything as you browse the selection. As you move on to the necklaces he lifts the pendant of one with his fingers. A chunk of quartz wrapped with gold wire on a leather cord.

“This one is pretty,” he says softly, bumping your hand with his to get your attention.

You look over and he lifts it off it's display. He puts it over your head and lays it over your bulky scarf. You touch it carefully, looking up at him as you do. “It's gorgeous.”

“How much?” Shawn asks the seller, an old man sitting in a chair behind the tables.

“Twenty five dollars.”

Your eyes widen and you lift it over your head. “It's beautiful, but I don't need it.”

“It's my treat,” Shawn says pulling out his wallet. You push his hands down and shake your head. “Seriously if you want-”

“We'll come back. There's a lot more to see. What if I like something better?”

Shawn pockets his wallet and nods. He knows you're right. This was only the first tent you'd stopped at. There were many more to see. Shawn thanks the seller and he waves you off politely.

The two of you wander from tent to tent checking out everything from vegetables, baked goods and local honey to jewelry and yard art. You refuse to let Shawn buy you anything because you don't want to decide until you've seen everything. It's almost an hour into your date and you're talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Shawn is easy to talk to and even easier to trust. He tells you about how he grew up in the city in a small suburb. He doesn’t say a lot about his parents but talks about how he played hockey and baseball growing up. You tell him about how your grandma would insist that she walk you to the bus stop every day until you were sixteen and you tell him how you won a few awards for art class projects in high school. He tells you he went to a private high school with around six hundred kids. You went to a public school a town over that had maybe six hundred kids from surrounding communities but the whole school was kindergarten through twelfth grade. The two of you grew up very differently but that didn't change who you ended up becoming.

It's almost noon when you feel yourself get dizzy, exhaustion setting in. Your body is reaching its limit. Your head hurts and you feel stuffed up and out of it all of a sudden. Shawn notices right away that you're not doing so well. He holds your arm, steadying you as you start to sway.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what's wrong?” Shawn asks worriedly. He holds your arms and looks down at you.

You look up, eyes heavy and face aching like your sinuses are full. “I don't feel good. My head hurts,” you mumble through a stuffy nose.

Shawn puts his hand on your head. “You're burning up. We need to go home.”

“No, I don't want to ruin our date. We haven't even seen everything yet.”

“I don't care about that. We can come back on another date.”

You shake your head and rub at your nose with your gloved hand. “It's the last weekend.”

Shawn sighs. “We'll come next year. I'm taking you home.”

You lean into him and sigh. Next year. As if you would be together then. As if he would still be in town. Fat chance. His hand comes up to your hair and you wrap your arms around his chest. He's warm, soft, and smells like really good cologne and fresh laundry. You hold on to him, to this moment, never wanting it to end, wishing you weren't sick.

“Can I take you home?” Shawn asks softly and you nod into his chest, wanting nothing more than to be in bed.

_____________________

It's a while later and you wake up, not remembering much of the drive home or falling asleep. You find yourself tucked into your bed with Shawn sitting up next to you on top of the blankets, the TV playing some Hallmark movie on mute. You sit up and cough, your chest feeling full and tight with congestion. You're miserable.

“You're awake,” Shawn mumbles, sitting up right with you. “Let me feel your head.” He reaches over and presses his palm to your head and cheek. “Still hot, do you have a thermometer?”

“I don't think so?”

“Alright, I'll be back,” Shawn says, getting up and heading for the door. “I'm going to get some stuff from the clinic.”

“I'm fine, it's okay. I'll be alright you don't need to stay.”

Shawn walks over to you and cups your cheek, looking down at you fondly. “I'm not going to leave you alone while you're running a fever. It's not in my blood to do that, and I think you know it. I'll check you over fully when I get back.”

“But we've only known each other for two weeks. Why would you want to stay and help me?”

“Because I care about you, and also I'm a doctor y'know. It's in my nature to heal the sick.”

A flush rises on your cheeks and it has nothing to do with the fever. The way he is looking at you, golden brown eyes catching the light of your lamp beside the bed, staring at you softly but determined. His hand is warm, soft, big...you never want him to stop touching you. You never want this moment to end.

“You look so sleepy and kissable right now,” Shawn murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. You close your eyes and he steps closer to you, legs against yours over the edge of the bed. “I guess I'll have to take a raincheck huh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum and his hand slips away from your face. You lean forward, chasing the touch, but he's gone. You open your eyes to see him closing the front door quietly.

Shawn returns quickly, a little bag of supplies from the clinic in tow. You sit up as he walks into your bedroom and sets the bag on the bed. His sweater is soaked and it's then you notice the faint sound of rain on the roof. He grabs the bottom of his sweater and tugs it up over his head, revealing a grey tee shirt beneath. His tee slips up a little and you get a peek at the trained chest hiding under there. You feel like passing out and again it has nothing to do with the fever.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling a digital thermometer out of the bag. It's one of the kind that you swipe across the forehead. He presses it to your skin and slides across. It beeps. “A hundred and one. I knew you had a fever.”

“I just need to sleep.”

“Well yes but you also need some Tylenol to bring the fever down. I brought some from my desk at the office.” Shawn digs through the bag and pulls out a bottle of Tylenol. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to get some water for you. “Take two for now,” he says and waits for you to swallow the pills with the water. He pulls your desk chair over and sits before he takes your face in one hand, turning your jaw to look at him. He gently pulls your cheek down on each side with his thumb so he can see your lower eyelids. “Looks good, how's your throat?” He puts his hand along the sides of your throat and massages upward gently.

“Sore,” you mumble and he nods. You try to look anywhere but at him because your heart is racing. This is very close and intimate.

“You're swollen. Probably from irritation from the drainage.” He grabs something from his bag and you see it's one of the ear scope things with a light on it. He turns your head and peeks in each ear. “Say ahh,” he says, grabbing a tongue depressor from the bag. You open your mouth and he takes a look at your throat. “You need some antibiotics. I think you've got an upper respiratory infection starting. I'll write up a prescription.”

“I'm that sick? Can't I just take some cold medicine?”

Shawn looks at you seriously. “Cold medicine isn't going to take care of an infection, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you flush, looking away.

“I'll get the prescription called in to pick up in a while. Are you hungry yet?”

You shake your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Alright. I'm going to call in the antibiotic and pick it up now then. When I get back I'll stay until the fever comes down,” he says, packing his stuff into his bag and pulling up the number for the local pharmacy on his phone.

You settle down into the blankets and roll on to your side, facing Shawn as he walks along the side of the bed, pacing, waiting for the pharmacy to answer. His hand comes down and pets your hair back softly when he pauses for a moment. You glance up and he starts speaking to someone on the other line. He keeps his hand in your hair, fingers flexing gently against your scalp. His petting relaxes you and you find yourself falling asleep easily as he talks low and soft to the people on the other end of the phone about the prescription.  

_____________________

Shawn leaves at some point because you hear the front door close but you don't wake up enough to register what time it is or how long you've been asleep. The door opens again and you stir, rubbing your eyes and watching as Shawn comes into view.

“Sit up sweetheart,” he says softly as he brings your chair over to sit beside you again. You do as he says and sit up, head pounding in your skull and nose clogged up. “I have your medicine.”

He rifles through the plastic bag on his lap and pulls out a little bubble pack of pills.

“I don't want to take anything else,” you whimper. The thought of swallowing anything was daunting. Your throat felt like you swallowed a bunch of cacti already. “Can't I just sleep.”

Shawn places his fingers against your lips with the pill and you open up for him. He sets it on your tongue and hands you your water bottle. “The sooner you get this in your system the better.”

You swallow with much effort and lay back. Shawn grabs his thermometer and presses it to your forehead, reading the digital screen and shaking his head. He doesn't say anything but you know you still have a fever.  

“Thank you,” you mumble, curling into your pillows.

Shawn leans down and kisses your temple. “It's what I do. I'll be in the living room if you need me, you can rest now.”

_____________________

It's dark when you wake up again. Your first thought is Alice. She had been alone all day and now it's past dinner time, she must be wondering where you are. You push the blankets away and shuffle out of the bedroom, grabbing your keys from your purse as you go.

You manage to get to the bottom of the stairs and open the door before you realize that you don't have anything to protect you from the rain. It's pouring outside and it's freezing cold. Oh well. It's just a few feet to the shop door.

You step out into the rain and immediately regret it. It's icy cold and the wind is blowing so it's literally pelting you with what feels like actual ice chips. Your sweater is soaked, leggings soaked, slippers barely keeping the rain rushing down the sidewalk off of your feet. Your hands are shaking, rattling the keys as you try to open the door. It's too much. You're freezing. It has to be around forty degrees and the wind is making it colder.

Frustrated tears run down your face and you let out a chest aching cough. Your hands are too cold and wet to get the key in the lock and you can see Alice at the window meowing.

“Hey!”

You turn and Shawn is standing in the doorway to the stairs. He sees you in the little alcove where the shop door is and makes a bee line for you. You slump against the door and he wraps his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. “What are you doing out here? It's sleeting and you're sick. Are you trying to develop pneumonia?”

“Alice,” you cough, pointing at the window. “She needs to have dinner.”

Shawn looks at Alice in the window of the darkened shop. He takes the keys from you and pockets them. “I'll feed Alice in a minute, you need to get warm now. Your skin is freezing cold and you're going to get worse.”

“But I can't-”

“Trust me, I can feed Alice. Please, come back inside with me.”

You decide to trust him. You know he will feed her and pet her but she wasn't the one sick and freezing to death right now. She wasn't going to starve. You realize that and let Shawn walk you back up to your apartment. You undress, his back to you and you put on some sweatpants and a hoodie. As soon as you're dressed he heads down to the shop, promising he will be back soon. He says he's going to feed Alice and get a change of clothes from his apartment.

A few minutes after Shawn leaves you're almost asleep and your phone rings. It's Nani. It's morning for her on the other side of world and after a few more rings you pick up. “Hey, what's up? How was your day?”

“Well for starters, Shawn is at my place, I'm freaking out.”

“What?! Whoa hold on. Is he there now? You sound like shit, are you okay? Are you hallucinating?”

You chuckle and end up coughing. “I'm sick, an upper respiratory infection Shawn says. We were at the market and I was feeling horrible so he brought me home. Anyway he won't leave until my fever is down, but he's gone home for some clothes and he's feeding Alice.”

“Bless him.”

“This isn't exactly how I pictured him staying over y'know?”

Nani laughs. “Of course not, but I'm glad he's there with you. What if he wasn't around? You'd be miserable.”

“I'm still miserable even with him around. I don't want the guy I have a thing for to be taking care of me like a sick kid.”

“He cares about you, obviously. It sucks that you're sick because otherwise I'd tell you to make a move. The guy must be seriously into you.”

“I think he is and I'm definitely into him too. But being sick and having him dote on me is not how I pictured starting a relation...ship...” You trail off as Shawn walks into the bedroom with a smirk on his face. You'd never even heard the front door open. You could die of embarrassment. In fact you wish someone would just off you right then and there.

“Aren't you supposed to be resting?” Shawn says cooly, walking over and holding his hand out for the phone. “Doctor’s orders.”

Nani yells and you hang up on her, passing the phone to Shawn. He sets it aside and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I'm going to go change in the bathroom. When I'm done would you like some tea? Soup? Anything?”

“Some soup would be good. I have a can of beef vegetable in the cupboard next to the fridge.”

“Okay. Rest while I make it. I'll get a few more Tylenol and check your fever again too.”

“Thank you,” you mutter and he stops in the doorway, looking over at you. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to,” he smiles and pushes off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom to change.

_____________________

Shawn spends the night with you, sleeping on the couch so he wouldn't risk getting sick. Your fever ends up breaking around midnight and the antibiotic and some over the counter decongestant samples that Shawn brought from the clinic finally seem to relieve some of your congestion and over all sludge feeling.

You wake up late the next morning, your phone having died some time in the night since you hadn't put it on the charger. There's a sticky note on your bedside table along with a few more cold medicine, your antibiotic and a new bottle of water. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and you let out a nasty cough. You still felt like garbage but at least it wasn't total shit now.

You grab the note and it's from Shawn of course. He says he fed Alice at seven this morning and locked up. The keys are on the hook by the door and he will stop by at lunch to check on you. You set the note down and take the medicine. You find your way to the kitchen and there is a note on the microwave. It says that there is a bowl of soup in the fridge if you're hungry. A soft smile spreads across your face. Shawn was such a sweetheart.

A bowl of soup, a hot shower and a dryer warmed sweatshirt later and you're ready to go down to the shop, though you really want to go back to bed. You put your boots on and grab a blanket off the couch in case you get a chill and make for the shop. Once you're outside you see Frank standing outside of the shop with a bag, peeking in the windows.

“Morning Frank,” you say and hardly recognize your own voice.

“Oh! There you are. I was starting to wonder if something happened.”

“Just a little late. I'm a little sick, and I overslept,” you chuckle as you open the shop door. Frank follows you in and waits for you to greet Alice and get set up behind the counter.

“I got a few books!” Frank cheers, eyes crinkling happily as he places three titles on the counter. “I know you said I don't have to, but I like bringing you books.”

“Thank you Frank. What can I get you?” You go to your lotion shelf and Frank waves his hand at you.

“Nothing today. We're still good to go at home. I did want to ask you something though.”

“Of course.”

Frank leans over the counter and drops his voice as if someone was around that could hear him. “When was the last time you talked to your parents?”

His question stuns you. It was the last thing you ever expected to hear, and somehow it made your stomach sink. “Um, I'm not sure. Maybe when I was thirteen, so, about nine or ten years ago?”

“Rumor has it down at the Bay Bar that they're back in town. I thought I should let you know, in case you wanted to dodge them. I know you aren't close and all and they kinda left you with Grace.”

“Thank you Frank. I'm glad you warned me, though I'm not sure what they could possibly want. I'm sure they're just docked here with the rest of their ship's crew.”

Frank shrugs. “Maybe you're right, we got some fishing boats in a few days ago that are docked while storms die down on the ocean.”

You nod. “Thanks for the books by the way,” you smile, looking at the novels. “I'm sure they're just what someone is looking for.”

“Oh you betcha!” Frank smiles, giving a thumbs up and heading for the door. “See ya next time kiddo!”

You wave Frank off and collect the books from the counter to put by your computer. You would look into them a bit later after you finished filling some online orders from the weekend.

Noon comes quickly and you're just wrapping up your last shipment to take to the post office when Shawn walks in the door. A gust of cold air washes across your face and you look up from the back counter. Shawn has a bag in his hand that looks like take out from Dixie's Diner down the street.

“What a gentleman, you've brought me lunch huh?” You smile softly as you turn around.

Shawn chuckles and sets the bag on the counter. “I didn't have enough time to make homemade chicken soup this morning, so Dixie's will have to do.”

You walk around the counter and lean on it beside him. “A man who can cook and heal the sick? You must be an angel.”

“And you're supposed to be resting. How are you feeling?” he hums, tucking some hair behind your ear. His touch sends fire through your veins. “You're very chatty.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and I like it. I like hearing what's going on in that head of yours,” he grins, and you roll your eyes and blush, dropping your head and tucking your face into your arm resting on the counter. “You're so cute.”

“Stoppppp.”

“Alright, alright I'm done teasing.” He lays his hand on your shoulder and rubs lightly. “How's your head and your chest?”

You straighten up and his hand falls away. “They're doing alright. I took the medicine you left and I've been drinking hot tea when I can, but I've been busy. I've been trying to take it easy though.”

“Well at least you're taking it easy, seeing as you aren't resting. You should listen to your doctor y'know.” You flush and turn away from him. He chuckles. “I saw you had a little rush earlier. A travel bus?”

“Yeah, they come through sometimes on the way up the coast. It wasn't too bad. Mostly older people looking for gifts or something to pass the time,” you say, returning your attention to him and glad for the subject change.

Shawn hums. He opens the lunch bag and takes out a styrofoam bowl and a little bottle of orange juice. “I hope you like mixed fruit because it's the only side they had today,” he laughs pulling out a second foam bowl.

“Of course I like it,” you chuckle. You pop open the lids and despite your stuffy nose, you can almost smell the warm chicken soup. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime.”

“You didn't get yourself something?”

Shawn shakes his head and rubs his neck. “I actually have appointments all afternoon. I only have another minute or two before I gotta get back.”

“Oh, okay. No problem. I'll see you after work?”

“Yes,” he smiles and leans in. Your heart races and you can't even breathe as he gets closer. He kisses your forehead and pulls back beaming like the sun itself. “I'll stop by before you leave.”

“O-okay. Bye?”

“Bye,” he says smoothly as he makes for the exit, leaving you dumbfounded with your soup and a curious Alice who has jumped up on the counter.

_____________________

Shawn is waiting for you when you walk out of the shop and lock up. He's leaning against the door to your stairway and he looks exhausted. His eyes are closed, arms folded across his large chest, the setting sun warming his skin and making him practically glow. He's a sight to be seen.

“Hey,” you murmur and he opens his eyes, sun catching them too. So beautiful. You never want this moment to end. “Don't move.”

“Mmkay?” He smiles, remaining still at your request. He watches you as you pull your phone out and hold it up to take his picture. “What are you doing?”

“Capturing a moment.”

“A moment?”

You lower your phone and walk up to him. “You look amazing in this light. I wanted to remember it.”

Shawn drops his arms and reaches for your hand, fingers just barely catching yours. “You look amazing too.”

“Shawn stop, I'm sick, you know I look like death warmed over.”

“You don't really,” he steps closer, hands coming up and he twirls his fingers around some stray hairs by your ears, looking down at you with his eyes so soft and full of adoration. “Believe me, I've seen death warmed over.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Enough with the flirting, I wanted to make sure you're doing alright.” He lays his palm on your face and his big hand covers your cheek and jaw. “You don't feel too warm. You took your medicine?”

“Yes, with lunch.”

“Good girl,” Shawn grins and you swallow thickly. “Take your third dose tonight before bed and please just rest.”

“I promise I will.”

Shawn leans down and kisses your forehead, cradling your cheeks in each hand. “I know you will. I'll see you tomorrow?” You nod and he steps back. “Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.”

_____________________

A few days pass with Shawn checking up on you before and after work. It's nice and you love seeing him every day, even if it is just for a few minutes. It's Friday again and you've closed up early to mail some packages and head to the store to pick up your groceries for the week when you run into your friend Katie. She is visiting her parents for a week and she happens to have been filled in on the local rumor mill. She knows that you and Shawn have been seen together and she's infinitely curious.

“Sooo, what's he like? Is he very serious and professional all the time?” Katie asks as you round the corner of the small over the counter medicine isle.

“He's nice, really sweet and thoughtful,” you trail off as you browse the selection for the medicine Shawn had given you for congestion last week. You figure it'll be good to have on hand if you do get sick again if you don't use it all. You're feeling much better, still a little congested in your head, but it not too bad. A few more doses of the medicine and you'd be good to go.

“You've got it bad for him.” Katie says as she grabs a box of bandaids and holds it up as you raise your eyebrows at her. “Mika gets hurt every time he turns around. Toddlers, y'know.”

You nod. “Anyway, I do not have it bad for Shawn. We're just getting to know each other. It's only been a few weeks, a month now maybe.” It felt like it had been so much longer.

“Uh huh. Any dates planned for this weekend?”

“No, he's going into the city I think.”

Katie grins and leans against the cart. “We should go into the city too. I'll get my mom to watch Mika and we'll have a girls night.”

“Really? I haven't been out since Nani moved to the Philippines with Erik until the wedding.”

“Yeah, you need this, we're having a girls night. This weekend. Pack a bag girlie, because we're gonna get wasted and paint the town red!”

You let out a laugh. You missed Katie, she was always the wild friend. Having a baby and being a full-time chemical engineer didn't slow her down at all it seemed. She was amazing, someone you aspired to be one day. She was so lucky.

_____________________

You're at the post office standing in line to send out some books that you had been putting off when you feel someone standing a little too close behind you. You shuffle forward and they move with you. It's annoying. You shuffle again and turn to look this time and see it's Shawn.

“Hey,” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“I thought you were some creep.”

“Nope just Shawn.” He folds his arms and leans against the packing counter to your right. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I got more of the medicine you suggested for me. The one for my stuffy head.”

Shawn nods and hums. “Any plans this weekend?”

“Yeah, actually my friend is in town and we're going to have a girls night in the city. Why?”

“Oh, well my plans fell through so I was going to ask you out since the farmers market got cut short y'know? That's okay though, no problem. I'll give my friend Thomas a call.”

You move forward with the line and look back at him. “You sure? You sound kind of disappointed.”

“No, no of course not. Well, a little, but not because you have plans. I was really looking forward to seeing some friends this weekend. It's no big deal.”

“Next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Shawn smiles. “I have an idea of something we can do. If you're up for a bit of a drive.”

“No problem. I like driving with you, you're good company.”

Shawn chuckles. “It's a date then?”

“It's a date.”

_____________________

The weekend comes and it's Saturday night and you find yourself at the end of the night in a bowling alley in the city with Katie and a table full of shots behind you. The two or you had been shopping all day and trying different food places around the city. Because the day out wasn't enough, Katie suggested bowling and drinks, a favorite girls night out activity. It's almost midnight and cosmic bowling has just started. You're three shots down, plus a daiquiri you had at dinner, and it's getting hard to throw the ball anywhere but directly in the gutter.

Some guys from a nearby lane wander over and start chatting you and Katie up. Katie's all about flirting, she's single after all. Mika's dad walked out when he was born three years ago. You however are not about that flirting life. In fact one could say you have no game and your life time scores are basically in the negatives.

“I like your dress,” a guy named Dave says and smiles at you as you take a seat. “It's very flattering.” His eyes were clearly on your ass moments ago.

“Thank you,” you mumble uncomfortably.

“So...are you from the city?” You shake your head. “Cool cool...um, so are you single?”

You roll your eyes. What a pick up line. “No I'm not.” It's not technically a lie. You were seeing Shawn though neither if you had discussed it being an actual thing. It's was still early in your relationship.

“Oh...well I mean I don't see him here.”

Katie walks over and leans on the table. “Yeah, she's dating some hot shot doctor.” She rolls her eyes. “You're way too broke for her Dave.”

“Katie!”

“Well okay then,” Dave says angrily and gets up to go join his friends.

“What? You didn't want to talk to him anyway. I could practically see the soul leaving your body as he spoke. You're welcome.”

“You didn't have to be so rude, jeez.”

Katie glances over to a few of his friends who are eyeing her long legs in her short skirt. She gives a cute wave. “Guys like Dave over there don't know how to quit. I saved you from an evening of a nagging man baby’s company.”

“Can we go soon?”

“Why? We just got started.”

You sigh and put your head in your arms. The alcohol is making you dizzy, and combined with the black lights and the neon colors, you feel sick. “I don't know how much more I can do. I feel like I'm going to puke. It's been a long day.”

“Alright,” Katie calls the guys over and offers them the remaining shots on the table. The two of you leave with a few more frames left on the lane but neither of you care. You call for an Uber and wait outside the bowling alley.

Ten minutes turn into twenty and before you know it you've been waiting nearly an hour. Katie called for an Uber too but no one showed up for her either. You can't walk and Uber is the only service in the city who will drive after midnight that isn't a sketchy cab service. There are some guys close by who look like they've just come out of a nearby bar and they're chatting, glancing your way. It makes you uncomfortable.

“Can you call anyone?” Katie asks, rubbing her ankle where her heel strap rubbed it raw. She's too concerned with her foot to notice the guys. “Just call the Uber again.”

You stare at your phone and flip through your contacts. No one was going to be awake and everyone you know is in Roselake. Well, everyone but one person. Shawn. He was in the city this weekend, but you didn't want to bother him at almost one in the morning. You glance at the guys across the street. One is gone but the other two are still leering.

“What is it? You're making a face,” Katie slurs, more than half drunk and partially asleep.

“I could call Shawn but...I'd probably make him mad.”

“Well do you think he'd want you to walk to your hotel?”

You sigh and press the call button. Katie is right. Shawn picks up after two rings and you're surprised. “Yeah, hey Shawn. It's me.”

“What's wrong?” he asks sleepily. Maybe you had woken him up, but he'd answered so fast it seemed more likely he was awake.

You look over at Katie and she looks passed out against the railing of the steps. Extremely unhelpful. “I'm in the city at the Big Tex bowling alley. Our ubers haven't showed up and we can't walk to the hotel. I'm so sorry for this, is there any way you can get us?”

“Fucking Christ...of all places. Yeah. I'll be a couple minutes, I'm at home.”

“But I thought you were in the city? Wait...damnit. You did say you cancelled your plans.”

“It's fine. I'll be there.”

“I'm so sorry,” you mutter, voice breaking as you are overcome with guilt. He sounded angry with you and you know you shouldn't have called.

“No it's fine, I'd rather get you home safe. I'll be there in a few, just hold on.”

Shawn arrives fifteen minutes later, though the drive from Roselake should be a twenty five minute drive at the legal speed limit. He pulls up in his Jeep and Katie wakes up. She's pretty out of it as you and Shawn load her into the back seat with a little effort. Shawn closes the door and leans against it to stare at you. It's not until then that you realize he's wearing a pair of rectangular wire frame glasses. Something you didn't know about him yet. His gaze is indiscernible. Disappointed? Curious? Perhaps both.

“Please don't be angry at me.”

“I'm not,” he says softly. He steps forward and lays his hand on your cheek. “I'm glad you called me.”

“I thought you were going to chastise me. You sounded angry when I asked you to get us.”

Shawn smiles, chuckling a little. “You and your friend picked the worst part of town to get drunk in. The Uber won’t pick people up over here after ten at night because it's gotten so bad. I was just so worried that something bad had happened when you called me and said where you were. I'm sorry I came off harsh. I really am relieved you're alright and not hurt.”

You wrap your arms around him and he holds your head against his chest. “I was scared something would happen to us. There were guys who looked sketchy over there and then Katie passed out...God if I couldn't have called you who knows what would have happened.”

“Don't worry about that. Let me take you home.”

“We booked a hotel room for the night. At the Estates.” Shawn hums and says he'll take you there then.

A short drive and Shawn helps you out of the Jeep and Katie is out as well and leaning on you for support. You and Shawn help her walk into the building. On the way she trips and ends up almost falling, resulting in your balance going off and you falling on one knee on the way into the hotel room. Your knee is skinned, rug burned and jarred real good.

You head to the bathroom and Shawn gets Katie to her bed as she says something about him being such a hero. Mostly her words are nothing but slurred babbles. She's out cold before Shawn can help her get her shoes off.

You look up from your seat on the toilet in the bathroom to see Shawn leaning against the doorway. You have a cold rag over your knee and you're afraid to look at it again. It was pretty scraped when you put the rag on.

“You look too good right now,” you mumble, looking down at the rag. “Go away. I'm a mess.”

“Hey,” he starts softly, stepping in and kneeling before you. “You're not a mess. You're tired and a little drunk and your knee is scraped up.” He tries to lift the rag off but you hold it tighter. “Let me please.”

You release it at the soft pleading look he sends up at you. It's kinda gross. There's like little rolls of skin where it skidded on the carpet and it's all red and bleeding in a few spots. “I didn't know you wore glasses,” you say, changing the subject as he dabs at the bloody spots.

“I don't like to wear them. They make me look dorky.”

“No they don't,” you say with a hiss as he touches a particularly tender spot. “I like them.” Shawn hums and squeezes some water over the scrape. You let out a yelp and he presses the rag to it again. “I can take care of it. It's no big deal. You can go back to your place.”

Shawn gives you a look that says you know damn well he won't leave. You knew he wouldn't. “I'll go see if the desk has any first aid supplies.” He stands and kisses your head before disappearing.

You're left sitting there listening to Katie's soft snores and thinking about how good Shawn was. He was comfortable, caring and over all an amazing man. You feel lucky to know him, to have a relationship begin with him. Never had you felt a connection the way you did with him so quickly and it scares you, but also makes you feel relieved. It was like now was your time to find someone, and your grandma was right all along. Good things come to those who wait, and you sure did wait.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and it's Shawn who is returning with some gauze and tape for you. He bandages you up and helps you to bed. Katie is snoring loudly now, sprawled out sideways on her bed in her dress, one heel on still. You manage to change into your night shirt but skip your pants. The thought of wrestling your bandaged leg into a pair of flannel bottoms seemed too daunting.

Shawn gets you settled and when you think he's about to leave he doesn't. He turns off the bathroom light and heads for the door but instead of going out, he locks the deadbolt and turns around, joining you on the bed. It shocks you a bit. It seemed so forward of him.

“You're not staying with us.”

“You're in no shape to be left alone. Katie might need help if she wakes up and gets sick. You can barely put pressure on your leg. How am I supposed to just leave you here?”

“It's not that bad. It's just scraped up. I'm fine. I can handle Katie too.”

Shawn sighs. “Please let me stay?”

What would it hurt? “Fine. You're such a mother hen, yknow that?”

Shawn settles down into the blankets and faces you. “It's part of being a doctor I guess.” He takes his glasses off and sets them behind him on the nightstand. “Now go to sleep.”

“Easier said than done.”

Shawn reaches over and lays his hand on your side, thumb rubbing comfortingly along your ribs. “Is your knee bothering you that bad?”

“My head is pounding too.”

“Ahh. Come here.” He sits up and pats his lap. You move over and lay your head on his folded legs, looking up at him. He brushes your hair back when you get settled and you can't help but wonder how he looks good from this angle. “Can I try something?” You nod and he holds your head, thumbs rubbing into your temples.

Immediately the pounding lessens and you close your eyes and let his hands work magic on your head. You find yourself drifting off quickly, the throbbing in your leg easing up too, but probably from the pain reliever you took. The last thing you see as you try to open your eyes before the sleep takes you, is Shawn smiling down at you softly, knowing he's done his job and that your comfortable.

_____________________

The sun pours in through the thin curtains and casts streams of light across Shawn's sleeping form. He looks soft, vulnerable and relaxed. His one arm is over his head, the other across his chest. His mouth is hung open, soft lips parted ever so slightly and you can hear his slowed breathing in the silent room. This moment would be perfect to capture and you reach for your phone on your nightstand to do just that.

Shawn stirs, shifting his legs and scratching his chest as you move. You grab the phone quickly and turn back to get the photo. You're too busy trying to get the camera open and a low light setting on to notice that Shawn is awake and watching you, that is until you hold the phone up and he looks smug that he's caught you.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a sleepy grin.

“I was...just...”

“Capturing the moment? You seem to do that a lot with me.”

A blush spreads across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sometimes I'm not sure you're real, so I want to have proof.”

“Mmmhmm.” He sits up and takes your phone. “Just how often do you do this? Should I take a look, hmm?”

“No. Shawn give it back. It's mine.”

Shawn looks down at the phone in his hand and raises his eyebrows. The photo on your lock screen is the one of him outside the shop the other day. He smiles, the balls of his cheeks going pink as he hands the phone back to you. “If you want to take pictures with me, you just have to ask.”

You shake your head. “I don't like pictures of myself. I'd rather just see you.”

Shawn grabs his phone and his glasses off the nightstand. He opens up his phone and turns it to show you a picture on his lock screen. It's you. You're talking to someone out of photo and you're laughing. You're wearing his sweater and your hair is a little messy, but it's actually cute.

“When did you take that?”

“Last week. I stopped in to check on you but you were busy with a lady and her kids. I heard you laughing and I knew I had to get a photo. It's probably creepy. I'm sorry.”

“No, it's not. I mean we're kind of together, it's not like you're a stranger or something.”

“Kind of together?”

“Yeah? We haven't discussed anything?”

Shawn puts his phone down and smiles softly. “Can we discuss it now or-”

“Holy shit I'm going to throw up,” Katie says loudly as she rolls off her bed and runs to the bathroom. The sound of her puking ruins the moment entirely. How long had she been awake? Katie was one to snoop and be a fly on the wall of the rumor mill but you really hope she was asleep while you had been talking to Shawn.

“I'll check on her,” Shawn says softly, getting up and disappearing into the bathroom.

It's not long before you pack up your bag and get Katie's squared away while she sips on some soda from a vending machine in the lobby. She was so hungover she wasn't even giving you shit about Shawn staying the night. She looked miserable.

“Should I drive you home Katie?” You ask as you approach her car in the lot outside. Shawn has his arm around you for support since your knee is still hurting pretty bad.

“No, no I'm fine. I'm doing much better now. Go home with Shawn. Your knee is more important than my headache.” Katie unlocks her car and tosses her bag in the back. “Go on, we had our fun. You need to get your leg up.”

Shawn grips your side and you look up at him. “She's right, you do need to get your knee up. I'd like to look at it and make sure nothing is wrong.”

Katie waggles her eyebrows at you. “Let Dr. Shawn take care of you.” She leans in and wraps her arm around you in a hug. “Don't let him go, he's a good one,” she whispers in your ear and and you nod.

“I'll call you?”

“Anytime.” Katie gets in her car and pulls out, waving as she left you and Shawn together.

Shawn holds you tighter and you lean your head on his chest. “Now, how about that conversation we were having earlier?”

“Let's get to the car first big guy,” you say softly and he lets out a laugh. You knew last night changed a lot of things. Especially how you felt about each other.

_____________________

“So, would you like to be my girlfriend?” Shawn asks a few minutes from home. It's out of nowhere and you're taken aback by it. The two of you had been quiet for the majority of the drive until now.

“Really? I mean we've only been out twice. It's not a little fast?”

Shawn glances over and puts his hand out for you to take and you do. “I don't know? But I do know I care about you alot and I really feel something when we're together.” He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles. The gesture makes you flush and you can't help but wonder what those soft lips would feel like on yours.

“Let's see how our next date goes. I definitely feel something for you too and it's unlike any other guys I've been with. You're different, special.”

“I can wait,” he looks over at you with a cheeky grin. “But I'm not going to tell you what the date I have planned is, if you thought bringing it up would make me spill the beans.”

“What? No! I was not...okay I was thinking it just a little. Come on, what is it?”

Shawn laughs and turns down the street toward your place. “Nope, it's a surprise. Now, let's get you inside because I need to check that knee.”

Shawn assesses your knee once you're inside and says it's just bruised and you should ice it and stay off of it as much as possible. He helps you get set up in your bed, leg up on a stack of pillows and a gel ice pack tied onto it. He stays for a little while, laying with you until his phone rings. He goes into the other room to answer and when he returns he says he needs to go, that the call is important. You don't push for more information, knowing it was probably something work related.

“I'll bring breakfast for us tomorrow,” Shawn says softly, leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You reach up and lay your hand on his cheek. “You promise?”

“I promise. I just have to take care of something. I want to stay, I do.”

“I know. Go on.”

Shawn kisses your head once more, lingering just a moment. He hums, runs his hand over your leg before pulling away and leaving you to rest. He exudes so much love that it makes your heart swell. Katie's words run around in your head, don't let him go, he's a good one. That he was. That. He was.

_____________________

It's a few days later and you're feeling much better, your knee hardly aches and the scrapes have scabbed over nicely. Shawn stops by both mornings and evenings after work to check on you. He never stays long and you're not sure why that is. He seems a little out of it on the second day, like he was distracted, maybe even nervous. You don't ask about it, not wanting to push him. If he was still weird after work today then you would ask, though you can't help but suspect it had something to do with the phone call he took the other day.

It's five minutes to closing time and you're straightening up the shop when the bell dings. You turn around fully expecting Shawn but instead you find your mother standing there. It had been nearly ten years since you last saw or spoke to either of your parents. They may as well be strangers. You wouldn't call them your parents at all really.

“H-hey,” you say quietly.

“This place looks just like it did when Grace was alive.” Your mother, no, Sherry says as she steps closer.

“What do you want?” You ask a little bit harsher than you mean to. Sherry raises her eyebrows and you hold your ground, refusing to repeat or soften your words.

“That's really no way to talk to your-”

“Mother? Hardly.”

“I sent you money for everything, I sent gifts on your birthdays. I'm sorry I couldn't be here all the time. I had a job, a career on a fishing boat. I couldn't exactly bring a child along.”

You pull your sweater of Shawn's tightly around yourself. “No. You couldn't bring a child along. Maybe you should have thought about that before getting pregnant. Or at least made plans to find new employment after you had a child.”

“It was an accident.”

The bell dings and you look past Sherry to see Shawn walking in. Now was not the time. You didn't want to do this with him around. You never wanted him to meet Sherry. “I'm sorry we're closed,” you say, voice breaking a bit as your emotions get the best of you.

Shawn ignores your words and walks up to you, blocking your view of Sherry. “Is everything okay?” He asks in a low whisper, holding your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs back and forth softly over your collar bones. “You're clearly upset.”

You shake your head, face twisting up as you fight back tears. “She's my mom,” you explain hopelessly in an attempt to make him understand that he should go and let you deal with this. He doesn't get the memo though.

“Excuse me, we are having a conversation,” Sherry quips and Shawn turns to face her.

Shawn puts his arm around you and keeps you tucked close to his side. He's a pillar of comfort and you press yourself closer. “I would beg to differ. She's clearly uncomfortable, you should probably go.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“Young man I am speaking with my daughter and I don't know who you are so-”

“I'm her...” he looks down at you, unsure of what to call you. “I'm a good friend.”

“Please leave Sherry,” you mumble, and Shawn curls his fingers into your side comfortingly.

“I'm not leaving until you fork over Tom and I's share of Grace's will.”

“Of course you want money,” you huff disgustedly. “You didn't want to come see your child you barely recognize, you just want money. What happened to all those fishing boat riches? Huh?”

Sherry picks up one of your display decorations and sneers at it. “That doesn't matter. I want my money.”

“There is no money for you. Grace left everything to me, because I'm the one who was there for her. I held her hand on her deathbed while you and Tom fucked off on some boat in the Atlantic! I watched her die and I mourned her! I mourned her and you couldn't even so much as pick up the fucking phone!”

Shawn holds on to your shaking form. His hand comes up to your hair and he turns your face into his chest as you start to cry. “Ma'am you should leave.”

“I'm not leaving until I get my inheritance money from my mother.”

“Get out or I'm calling the police,” you tremble, hand on your phone in your pocket. “I'm serious.”

“You are a greedy child, I'll be back with a lawyer. We'll see if there's no money then,” Sherry spits, turning and leaving the shop, slamming the door on the way out.

Tears spill over your cheeks, a sob wracking your body as silence fills the shop. All these years and your mother only wants money from you. Shawn gathers you in his arms and rubs your back, shushing you softly. You don't know how long he holds you but it feels like a long time as you let loose the pent up emotional turmoil from the last twenty three years of your life.

_____________________

The two of you end up in your apartment curled up on the couch watching a movie after the confrontation in the shop. You're sharing a blanket, curled into his side with his hand in your hair. It's comfortable and feels completely natural.

“Do you think she'll really get a lawyer?” You ask suddenly over the movie.

“She might, but it'll be a waste of her money if she can even afford it. The will was really all left to you right?”

“Yeah. Grandma didn't leave her anything at all. She isn't even mentioned. After they stopped trying to be some semblance of parents, Grandma was done with them. There wasn't much money anyways, just a bit of savings and the shop was all I received.”

Shawn hums. “Let her waste her money then, and don't speak to her directly again if you can. Let her lawyer speak to the curator of your grandma's will. They'll sort her out.”

You snuggle down into his side until you're laying your head on his lap, staring up at him. His lap is warm and you press your cheek against his stomach. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that, with her.”

“It's fine, drama happens. Believe me, my parents aren't perfect either.”

“Yeah?”

Shawn chuckles sadly. “Divorced when I was twelve. They lived in the same neighborhood for a while though, but god they couldn't have been more different. Dad was a hardass, always on me about grades and shit, always wanted me to be a doctor like him and here I am I guess. Mom was very much a free spirit and she remarried when I was sixteen and moved to Spain.”

“Did she come back and visit, or did you go see her?”

“Ha, right. My dad wasn't about to fund me a trip to Spain. The way he saw it she was gone for good and for the better. She called a lot, and we emailed each other frequently.” He scowls, sighing frustratedly. “I will never understand how you can hate someone you once loved and had a child with. It perplexes me the way he acted like she was the devil. I just don't know when it all changed.”

You take his hand that he's rested on your stomach. It's soft, the lemon balm you sold him seems to have worked wonders. “I guess we both have fucked up families.”

“Yeah, yeah we do. But we aren't our parents, that's what's important.”

“You're right.”

You both go quiet and watch the rest of the movie. Shawn is asleep by the end of it, head leant back on the cushions, mouth hanging open. You decide not to move, instead you use his leg as a pillow and fall asleep right there as well.

_____________________

A few days pass and you don't hear from Sherry at all. You almost wonder if she's just left town again. It's Saturday morning and it's chilly, a sweater and long sleeve shirt kind of day. Tonight is date night tonight and Shawn still hasn't told you where you're going or what you're doing. It's half past nine in the morning when you hear knocking on the door to the stairwell and you aren't expecting anyone so you jog down the steps and peek out the small window to see Shawn standing there.

“Hey you,” you smile and Shawn returns the smile warmly.

“Hey. I was wondering if you were ready?”

“Oh?” You told your head curiously. “Is this part of the secret date?”

Shawn chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking at something on the ground. “Ah, this is the date? Didn't you get my texts?”

You raise your eyebrows. “No?”

“Oh. Well, can you be ready to go now?” He grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, it's fine. Come inside. I'll get some better clothes on real quick.”

Shawn steps inside and follows you up the stairs, mentioning that you should dress warm and giving you a heads up that you will be outside. Since it's chilly you opt for a few layers and your hiking boots. You dig out of a pair of gloves and a scarf with a matching hat from your winter clothes tote in the storage closet and you're ready to go.

“You look very cute,” Shawn says as he takes your gloved hands and swings them. “Good thing, because I'll want some pictures.”

“What are we doing?” You laugh and he shakes his head with a playful grin.

A short car ride later and you're not too far outside of Roselake in a small town called Tarrytown. Shawn pulls into a big dirt parking lot and you see a huge sign that says Pumpkin Patch. You haven't been to a pumpkin patch since you were very young and you went on a school field trip.

“It's been so long since I've been to one of these. Oh my God. Is that a hayrack ride?” You squeal pointing to a tractor pulling a wagon with some people in it nearby.

“Yes it is, and they have fresh caramel apples I hear.”

“What are we waiting for?” You clamber out of the Jeep and Shawn is close behind.

A short wait for admission later and you're off, running with Shawn to get caramel apples and cider. The corn maze is next and Shawn can see over most of it because it's dried up so much but he won't tell you which way to go and laughs when you go to a dead end. You end up cutting through the corn walls in the end while Shawn chases you. He catches up at the exit and picks you up, spinning you around before he tosses you in a haystack.

The two of you go to a horseshoe pit near the line for the hayrack ride and play until the line goes down. Shawn insisted he wanted a more private ride but you didn't care. When you do finally board the ride, after beating him in two rounds of horseshoes, he shrugs his jacket off and puts it around you. You sit together nearest to the back of the tractor and you're the only ones on it since it's the smaller wagon that was rotating with the larger one.

Shawn puts his arm around you and you lean your head against him. The soft bumps and rattling of the wagon make you feel so happy and content with the moment. “Are you having fun?”

You glance up at his soft face as he smiles down at you. “Yeah, of course. This is amazing. I love this place.”

“Me too. I hope I can bring my kids here one day.”

“You want kids?”

Shawn shifts closer to hold you as the wagon goes over some big bumps. “Someday I do. I love kids, they're so interesting and full of excitement. I think I'd be a good dad.”

“Wow. Pretty deep conversation,” you smile and he clears his throat as if he is embarrassed. “I want kids too. I wanna give them an amazing life with two parents that love them very much and I want to give them everything I didn't or couldn't have.”

“You'd be a great mom. I bet you'd read to them every night.”

“Of course. What about you?”

“I'd read along with you, maybe act out some parts.”

You sit back and look at him with a smile so big it hurts your face. “With me, huh?”

“I mean hypothetically, like y'know...”

“Just admit it, you have thought about having a kid with me.”

Shawn turns bright pink all the way to his ears. “Oh come on do you have to tease me like that? We haven't even kissed. Why would I-”

You lean in quick and a bump presses your lips together a little harsher than you mean it to but it's sweet nonetheless. Shawn chases your lips as you start to pull away, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. He kisses you two more times, slow presses against your soft lips. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” you mumble, cheeks flushed.

“Me too.”

The driver announces that the ride is stopping and you pull away from Shawn to let him put his jacket back on. He helps you off the wagon and takes your hand in his, warm fingers slotted between your cold ones. Your last stop is the barn where there are pumpkins to be picked out and taken home. You and Shawn end up with one large pumpkin each and a bag full of little gourds and baby pumpkins because he couldn't decide on any to put back.

A long car ride later and you're sleepy and it's only a little after noon time. Shawn pulls up at the bookshop and you stir from your cat nap against the window. Everything feels sluggish and weird.

“Hey, we're home. I was going to ask if you wanted to carve out pumpkins but you seem really tired.” Shawn reaches across and puts his hand to your forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yes, just got sleepy. Thank you for an amazing date. It was very fun,” you smile, head turned toward him.

Shawn leans over and kisses you softly, hand on your cheek as you smile sleepily and happily at him. “It was very fun. Now come on, let's get these pumpkins inside. We can carve them in a few days.”

_____________________

A full week passes before you hear anything more from Sherry. In fact you completely forget about her because you're spending all your free time with Shawn. He cooks you dinner at his place on Monday. You go to a movie on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday are nights in at your place. Friday he takes you down to the harbour and you walk on the beach. Saturday you go to a fair over in the next town and he tries to kiss you on the ferris wheel, but a gust of wind blows your hat off and smacks him in the face. Sunday is dinner at his place again, this time candle lit and extremely romantic.

You're on your way home from Shawn's place on Monday morning when you round the corner of your street and see the front door of the shop is standing open. Shawn stops the Jeep and puts his arm over your chest to keep you from trying to leave. “Don't get out. You don't know who could be in there.”

“But Alice, if she's hurt...” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “Why would someone do this?”

“I don't know. Do you think Sherry would do something like this? I know she was upset but...”

“Oh my God,” you laugh in disbelief, “you're absolutely right. She probably broke in to see if she could find the money that doesn't exist.”

“We need to call the police.”

You reach for your phone in your bag and as soon as you get it out, Sherry walks out of the shop. She has a purse with her and you can only assume the contents of your safe. What an absolute scum of a human being. You dial the police and make a report right there in the car while Shawn gets out and goes in to find Alice for you.

A few minutes later and Officer Jones arrives to asses the damage and theft. He takes pictures and statements from you and Shawn. Alice is fine, hiding in the supply closet until Officer Jones leaves. The whole situation is surreal. You knew Sherry was a piece of work, but good Lord you didn't peg her as a thief.

“I can't believe she took everything. Every last penny in the safe,” you groan, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “She took my savings for Nani's wedding that I hadn't deposited yet.”

“Babe, you're going to get it back,” Shawn says softly, rubbing your back. “They will catch her, it's a small town.”

“But what if she spends it? I'm fucked then.” You start to cry. “I won't be able to go to Nani's wedding. It's this next weekend too, I'm never gonna make it.”

“I'll get you a ticket.”

“What?” You wipe your eyes and stare at Shawn. “I couldn't ask that of you.”

“You're not asking, I'm offering,” he says, cupping your cheeks. “I want you to be with your best friend on her wedding day. You deserve it. You deserve a vacation, you work too hard.”

“It's so expensive.”

“I'm a doctor. I think I can afford to send you to the Philippines.”

You reach out and hug him close and he tucks your face into his shoulder. “Thank you, I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be fretting over paying me back the whole time. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

_____________________

“He's paying for your ticket and your mother robbed you? Holy shit what kind of wild place has Roselake become since I left?” Nani laughs in disbelief.

“I know, it's absolutely insane. I can't believe it myself. My sleepy little life has become pretty crazy since Shawn showed up.”

“Speaking of which, how has things been with Dr. Dreamy?”

You flop back on the bed and sigh heavily. “Amazing. We've been seeing each other every night for the past two weeks. Can you believe he hasn't made a move on me yet?”

“What? How? Why? Is he one of those guys who save themselves for marriage or like does he have herpes or something?”

“Nani! God! No he's perfectly fine. I think he just doesn't want to rush things. We've kissed and made out a lot and got close a few times to something more.”

“Ohmygod. You better sleep with him before you come to the wedding. Lock that man down before you're gone for a week.”

“Yeah yeah, I'll see about that.  I gotta go, it's time for dinner and he's taking me out. See you soon Nani, love you.”

“Love you!” Nani says with a kissy noise into the phone.

You hang up and get up to get dressed. Shawn said he was taking you somewhere nice for dinner since it would be the last night before you left for the Philippines. You're excited, assuming he's probably going to take you into the city. You can't wait.

_____________________

You were absolutely right. He picked you up and when you asked where you were going he said that it was a surprise but it was in the city. It takes a while, nearly twenty five minutes to get into the city from Roselake and then a little longer to get to your destination. Shawn rests his hand on your thigh for most of the drive and it gives you butterflies like crazy.

When you finally arrive at the restaurant Shawn chose, it's dark out, the street lights have come on and there are white Christmas lights strung around every tree along the street Shawn parks on. There are people everywhere, the place is crawling with excitement. The city was so different than Roselake, you would probably never get used to it.  

“Come on,” Shawn says softly, taking your hand and leading you to the front doors of a very fancy looking old brick building. He pulls the door open and ushers you inside. “Mendes, party of two,” he says to the host at the podium nearby.

“Right this way,” the host says, leading the two of you past full tables and into a little alcove that had a window that looked out on the busy street.

“This place is really nice,” you laugh, glancing around at the decor. It's all very high end and posh looking. The waiter stops by and takes your drink order and leaves a few menus.  

“It is really nice. I wanted to take you somewhere special,” Shawn smiles, looking down at the menu.

You eye him suspiciously. He was up to something. “Why's that?” you ask, leaning forward to get him to look at you.

“Well because you're going to be gone for a week and I wanted to make our last evening together nice.”

The waiter returns and takes your orders but you send him away for another minute. “Shawn, we could have just stayed home and had a good time with a movie and popcorn. Why does it feel like this is the last time we're going to see each other like in a bad way?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows. “What? No of course not. I'm just going to miss you.”

“Oh. Right.” You chuckle nervously. You can't help but feel like something was wrong, like there was something he wasn't telling you.

Dinner goes great, the food is amazing and Shawn keeps the conversation light. It feels strange, even though he was acting much the same as he always did. You couldn't shake the feeling. After dinner Shawn takes you out and around the downtown area. He shows you the hospital he worked at and you go to a park and look at the festive holiday lights display that's set up. The evening is a dream and if you didn't obviously know better, you'd say he would propose to you. It would actually be a perfect setting for it, but the two of you weren't at the point in your relationship. Hell. He hadn't even slept with you yet. Suddenly, on the drive home you realize how strange that is. You had been going out and seeing each other for nearly three months and he had only let you go as far as kissing and exploring with your hands. That bad feeling was coming back, twisting your stomach into a knot. You knew this was too good to be true.

Shawn pulls up and helps you out of the Jeep at your place. You can't help but think that he's going to still tell you something that was going to bring everything crumbling down around you.

“Thanks for dinner, and a great night,” you smile half heartedly, inching toward your door.

“You're welcome, I had a great time too,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Do you still need me to pick you up tomorrow?”

Shit. That's right. He was taking you to the airport in the morning. “Yeah, yeah, thank you again.”

“Yeah,” he steps forward and lays his hand on your upper arm. He leans in and kisses you gently.  “Goodnight darling.”

“Goodnight Shawn.” You turn and push open the door and head up the stairs slowly. You were disappointed to say in the least. You reach the top step and there's knocking at the door. Maybe you forgot something in the Jeep. You jog down the stairs and pull the door open. “What's the ma-”

Shawn leans in, hands coming up to hold your cheeks as he kisses you. Your body goes slack, hardly managing to keep you on your feet as he works his soft lips against yours hungrily. You grab for his jacket and pull him in, the door falling closed behind him. He walks you against the wall and only then does he pull away just enough to talk.

“I can explain,” he chuckles breathily. “I've wanted to do more for a very long time but I've been afraid to.”

“What? Why?” You lean up, kissing him softly, lips warm against yours. “You're pretty good at kissing and you're definitely good with your hands.”

“I was scared of moving too fast. I fell too hard too fast for a girl in college and it fucked me up when she left after we hooked up. I didn't want that again, not with you.”

“Shawn,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks. “I'm way too into you to leave at this point.”

“I was really hoping you'd say that,” he grins, reaching around and hauling you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you up the stairs.

Shawn ends up staying the night, not that either of you get much sleep. He undresses you in the bedroom, slow and gentle, kissing along your shoulders and back the whole time. His mouth works wonders on your whole body, kissing, sucking, teasing places you didn't even know we're sensitive until he showed you. He's careful, checking with you every so often as he brings you to orgasm after orgasm. He fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips into you and holding you close as he tells you how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you.

Post sex you're on the bed, cuddling, exploring each other lazily. His skin is soft and warm and you love the way he jerks when you ghost your fingertips up his stomach. Lazy kissing and touching leads to another round of slow loving sex, this time with you on top, him hugging you tight as he rolls his hips up into you. You're sure you've never had sex with anyone before Shawn, at least it didn't seem that way. Shawn made it seem like it was more than just getting off, more than just a game. He made you forget your very few exes, forget everything you'd experienced before and replaced it with the best feeling in the world. You know now you'd never had sex with someone who loved you, because this was loving sex. This was what it was supposed to be like.

_____________________

It's fifteen minutes until your flight and you and Shawn are literally running through the terminal to get to your gate. You’re on the phone with Officer Jones about Sherry and the break in the other day. They’ve recovered the money and she will be charged for breaking in entry. You let the officer know you’re on your way out of country for a wedding, and that you’ll pick up the money when you get back. You pocket your phone and Shawn raises his eyebrows as you tell him hurriedly that you will be getting your money back. Both of you had overslept, hitting the alarm at least twice before getting up and dressed. Shawn had thrown on his wrinkled clothes from date night, and you dressed in what might qualify as pajamas but who cared. You're sure you look like quite a pair running through the airport.

“Gate 2C is now boarding.”

Shawn grabs your suitcase, lifting it off it's rattling wheels and tucking it under his arm. The two of you make it to the security gate and you have just a second or two before last call for boarding.

“Last call for Gate 2C,” a security officer yells from a few feet away. You know she's yelling at you. Shawn passes you your suitcase and you hurry for the security turnstile.

“I'll see you in a week!” You yell back as you squeeze through the gate where the security officer takes your bag for screening.

“Be safe! I love you!” Shawn yells and you pause. Did he really just say I love you?

You can't go back, the officer is ushering you forward around the corner to the body scan area. You want to turn around and run back so badly, you had to know if what you heard was right. You can't even text him because you're phone is in a bin for scanning. Your heart is racing, hands sweaty. He didn't say that. He wouldn't say that. He probably said “I'll see you”. Yeah. That's what he said.

_____________________

Two connecting flights and fourteen hours later and you arrive at the resort where the wedding is being held. Nani is elated to see you but you're exhausted. She helps you settle into your room, even makes you some tea before leaving you to sleep. You finally get to text Shawn only to find out that your pay as you go plan has expired. You curse yourself for being so cheap and not signing up for a contract plan.

The next morning Nani wakes you up with last minute wedding plans. She says she has the perfect groomsmen for you to walk with. Frankly you don't care who you walk with as long as it's not Erik's friend Mike. He was a dick and you'd only met him once, but once was more than enough. She promises it's not Mike but she wants to surprise you so she won't tell you.

Dress shopping and fitting with Nani and three other girls is a nightmare. It's Erik's sister Maggie, Nani's sister Hana, and Nani's other best friend from college, Maija. No one can settle on one style but the color is not debatable. Nani wants light pink and that's that. By the end of the day you have a dress, shoes and an appointment made to get your hair done tomorrow before the wedding. You still don't know who you're walking in the wedding with but you can't care. You're exhausted. The second your head hits the pillow of your hotel bed you're out cold.

Post hair and makeup and you're at the chapel in the resort, waiting in a room for Nani's wedding planner, Tara, to usher you out to meet your groomsman. You're last in line but you don't mind. Tara comes in and says she's ready, your groomsman is waiting at the doors.

You follow Tara out and walk up to the guy standing with his back to you. His suit is black with a pale pink button down peeking out around the sleeves. He's tall, like a lot taller than you and he has soft dark curls. From behind he was cute, hopefully his face wasn't too bad either. Tara steps away and goes to get the ring bearer ready.

“Hi, I'm...” You trail off as you approach the guy and he turns to look at you. Your heart stops. Standing before you is Shawn. Here. In the Philippines at Nani's wedding. You have so many questions you don't know where to start. “What are you doing here?!” you manage to blurt out, still transfixed on the man before you.

Shawn laughs, his eyes crinkling and mouth open wide as he throws his head back. “I have my ways. I'll tell you later, we have a wedding to attend right now.” He put his arm out for you and you loop yours with it.

“You look good in a suit,” you whisper as you walk beside him to the altar. “I like the pink shirt.”

“You look stunning,” he grins, kissing your cheek before pulling away as he goes to join the other groomsmen. You can't help but stare at him in awe as the music begins to play and Nani walks in with her father. How did he get here? Who did he plan this with? So many questions and you would have to wait forever until you got any answers.

The ceremony is nearly over and Nani and Erik are exchanging the last of the vows. You glance away from them to see Shawn mouthing the words Erik is repeating and you raise your eyebrows. He hasn't seen you yet, and you're glad because you find yourself mouthing along to Nani's repetition as well. Erik's brother Jason elbows Shawn and he looks at you. You flush and he grins nervously.

Pictures follow the ceremony and you're sick of sucking your stomach in and posing after the first few minutes. You don't want to pose for a billion photos, you just want to talk to Shawn. Not only was he here and you don't know how, you need to know if he said I love you in the airport.

Another hour passes and you go from the chapel to the lawn of the resort that was set up for the reception. It's not until several toasts are made and food is served that you get to talk to Shawn.

You're on the patio turned dance floor when Shawn wraps his arms around you and lifts you up from behind, spinning you around. “You look so pretty I can't deal with it,” he mutters, pressing his face into your hair.

“Stopp,” you giggle and he sets you down, hands going to your pinned up hair. “Don't you undo this bun. Nani will kill you.”

“But...please? Your hair is so beautiful when it's down.” Shawn twirls his finger around a stray piece along your cheek. “I'm so glad I got to see you like this.”

“You still need to explain to me how and why you’re here.”

“Well,” he grins, looking over at Nani and Erik. “Erik and I actually went to school together. You were talking about Nani the other day and the name seemed so familiar but I couldn't figure out why, but then you mentioned the wedding and her fiance's name was Erik. And I knew the Erik I know was getting married soon too. I texted him and found out that it was the same person all along.”

“Wow, that's crazy. Of all the people you went to college with... ohmygod. Had Nani met you already?”

Shawn nods. “I've met her a few times in the past few years. Mostly at parties and stuff. Small world huh?”

You lay your hands on his chest and smile up at him. “Do you love me?”

“Wh-what?”

“At the airport, I swear I heard you yell that you love me when you told me to be safe. Am I wrong?”

Shawn flushes and clears his throat. You know you've caught him and he can't lie his way out of this. Not that he seemed like he was going to. “I uh...I said that. It was a slip of the tongue. Instinct y'know.”

“Mhmm, I hope so. It's a little early for I love you's.”

“It is, but I do care for you deeply and I'm very into you.”

“I'm very into you too,” you giggle. Shawn goes to say something but the high-pitched feedback of the microphone grabs your attention. It's Nani, she has grabbed the DJs microphone and is announcing she is going to throw the bouquet now. You roll your eyes as she points at you and urges you to join the crowd of single and unwed ladies around the front table.

Shawn kisses your cheek and pushes you forward. “Go get the bouquet, you know you want it.”

You laugh, yelling back, “You do know what it means when someone catches it right?”

“Of course I do! Go get it!”

You hurry to the front and Nani turns around, counting down from five before tossing it back. Pink petals fall across the table as the flowers soar through the air towards the group. An eruption of giggles and squeals break out around you. It's headed for you but you're pretty sure it's going to go over your head.

You reach for the bouquet as it sails past your fingertips. You turn to look back and see who has it and you're met with a solid chest to the face. It's Shawn. You look up and he's beaming. He lowers his arm and in in his hand is the bouquet.

“I think these are yours,” he whispers, handing you the flowers. “Good thing I could reach them for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take them and smell the roses.  “I dunno if the superstition of the bouquet applies to groomsmen.”

“We'll have to find out.” Shawn grins and leans down, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you closer against him. There's an eruption of applause and whistles followed by someone shouting to look at the sky.

You pull back from Shawn and look up just as a falling star soars overhead, streaking across the darkened sky. “You should make a wish.”

Shawn hums, catching your gaze as you look to see if he is wishing. “I don't want to be too greedy. I made a wish on a falling star a long time ago. I think it already came true.” He leans down and kisses you softly, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Mine did too.”

_____________________

Ten Months Later

A small two story brick house sits across from the newly opened Roselake West Clinic on Main Street. It's old, an original Roselake residence that has been remodeled recently. In the driveway are two cars, a Jeep and a small hybrid car that's bright blue. Sitting in the window is a large black cat, staring at the birds landing in the trees in the front yard.

Inside there is a half put together home. Boxes labeled laundry, living room, bedroom and kitchen. Furniture sits where it was left by movers, an air conditioner hums throughout the house, cooling it on this warm summer day and in the bedroom is you, four months pregnant and frustrated.

“Shawn, do you know where my yellow sundress is?” You yell across the house as you dig through  yet to be unpacked boxes littering the bedroom of your new house. “I can't wear jeans again, I'll suffocate!”

Shawn walks into the room and goes to the closet. He pulls out the exact yellow sundress in question and holds it up. “You hung it up with your other dresses last night.”

“Oh,” you walk over and grab it, flush with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“You're starting to get baby brain.” Shawn steps close, hands on your belly that's starting to show. “Don't go totally crazy on me now.”

“Oh shut up,” you giggle. He rubs up and down your sides and pulls you into a hug. “I'm not going crazy.”

“I'd love you even if you were.”

You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head. “I sure hope so. You signed up for this.”

“And I'd never back out,” he smiles, kissing your nose. He looks down at your belly and rubs gently. “Even if you make your mom crazy.”

“Shawn,” you groan and he chuckles.

“Alright I'm done teasing you. We need to get to the appointment with the wedding planner.”

“We need to get our house together too.”

You pull your sundress over your head and fluff your hair out behind you. Shawn gathers and braids it down the back for you before pulling you into a hug.

“Planner first, then lunch, then house? I know it's stressing you out and you need to nest. I promise we'll get it all sorted out today.”

“Pinky promise?”

Shawn hooks his pinky with yours and kisses your cheek. “I always keep my promises.”

“I know,” you rest your head back against his chest.

“Love you the most,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

“Love you more.”

The End.

______________________________________

Please reblog if you enjoyed it. Please send me feedback via ask, reblog, reply or message. Thank you so much for everyone who supported me while writing this, I never could have done it with out you all. - A.

[nygmobblepot-trash]

Untitled

Part 1 out of ?

I wanted to write a fanfic that takes place after Endgame that deals with Dr. Strange, Peter Parker, and Thor. Someone else too, but they will show up later. They never got closure after the hell they went through. The movies and tv shows don’t come out for a while and i have had this idea for a while now. 

*******************************************************************************************

Stephen Strange laid on the cold wood floor of the New York Sanctum. Outside he could hear the busy traffic and people living their lives. The commotion used to be welcomed, now it was a reminder that they had won. Now it was a constant reminder of danger growing every day. He had used the time stone months ago to see how Thanos could be beaten. The only foreseeable outcome involved messing with time. Countless times he has been warned not to mess with time, yet he never listened. What else could he have done? Allow half the universe to vanish? Would he let Thanos win if he saw what winning really meant? Strange didn’t know. He wanted to stop thinking about it. He wanted the questions to stop more than anything. One by one the Avengers had come by with their questions and one by one he could see that they blamed him for their fallen. No one had actually blamed him out loud, but he could see it in their eyes. If only he had looked farther in time or used the time stone sooner to see the incoming threat. If only they knew sooner Thanos may have not even won in the first place. Now he had no time stone and no idea how to fix the mess he made.

At first Stephen couldn’t stand any type of quiet. After the snap that was all that there was in the soul stone. Absolute nothingness and never knowing if he would ever be freed. Now quietness is all he wanted. He wanted the natural disasters to stop and he wanted to get Loki as far as possible from the space stone. The theory is that the two are connected. Fix the changes made and things should go back to normal. If he could get Loki away from the space stone maybe just maybe he can fix that time line thus fixing his. It was only a theory of course and it was possible he could make things worse, much worse.

The overwhelming nature of the situation made Stephen take solace on the floor of the sanctum while trying his best to ignore the outside world. The door had not been opened for anyone for months. The windows had all be blocked off. Dust was accumulating on everything, except his spot on the floor boards where he spent most of his days at nights. He does not know how long it has been since he has closed himself from the outside world, but he does not care. He just needs to rest for a little while longer then he will figure it out like he always has.

Arguing from outside brought Strange’s attention to the living world. He should really find some ear plugs.

He watched as the handle tried to turn slowly and carefully. He heard more arguing and then the handle jiggled harder. Strange tried to closed his eyes and go to sleep. The door had a spell and there was no possibility of intruders. 

At least he thought there wasn’t until he watched from the top of the stairs the door get off its hinges and land at the bottom of the stairs.

“THOR! What are you doing?! I told you that I could come back later. He’s probably busy and does not want to talk to me,” a panicked voice yelled.

Strange watched as Thor walked his way into the Sanctum followed by a terrified Peter Parker. “Nonsense Young One. If you wish to talk to the wizard you shall.”

Strange quietly groaned and put his hands over his face praying that they would leave.

“It’s dark in here. He isn’t here. Thank you Thor, but I am going to leave.” Peter turned to leave, but Thor simply smiled and held the Spider-ling by his shoulders. Thor then pointed to the top of the stairs where Strange laid. 

“Wh- Why is he laying on the floor like that? Is he okay?” Peter whispered to Thor. “Why is there no lights in here?”

“Go ask him while I fix this door. If he does not respond simply kick him.” Thor turned to the door to “fix it”.

“That will be quite unnecessary” Stephen muttered pushing himself off the floor. “I was only napping, Peter. I was up all night doing research.” Strange lied as he met the two men at the bottom of the stairs. Well half it was a lie to be fair.

“I am sorry to wake you. I tried to tell Thor not to break down your door. Oh is there a light switch somewhere?” Peter looked for a switch in the almost dark Sanctum.

Stephen paid no attention to Peter. Instead he focused on Thor trying to fix his door. Fixing in this case meant setting it carefully against the wall so it doesn’t fall through the hole. “What?” Strange quickly turned to Peter realizing he was talking to him. “Lights. Of course” Strange answered himself and snapped his fingers. All at once the lights flickered on, the door was placed back on its hinges, correctly, and all three were sat upstairs. Thor and Peter sat together on a gray couch while Stephen sat across from them.

“Do not start doing that again.” Thor warned.

“You were the ones who barged in here. Now can you please tell me what was so important that you had to disrupt my peace?” Strange shot back. He was in no mood to deal with the Odinson. He had not seen Thor since the funeral no words had been exchanged between them. After that he ran off into space. Stephen hoped it was because Thor had not business with him, but apparently that is not the case. Strange then laid his eyes on Peter who had not stopped fidgeting the whole time.

Thor put his hand on the boy’s shoulder once again. “I am going to looking around this sad place while you talk to him.” Thor then met eyes with Stephen. “I know he will answer every single on of your questions.” Stephen almost laughed. Was that a threat? Of course it was. Add pissing off the God of Thunder to the very long list of fuck ups.

Stephen watched as Thor left them alone to undoubtedly mess with the way he had left the Sanctum.

Peter. He had been dreading this day. He hoped it never came, but here they where. Maybe he isn’t here to talk about what happened. Maybe he just needs help. Fury did call him a while ago. That has to be it. Fury wants a team and desperately needs him to join. No Thor said he had questions. Of course he wants to talk about what happened.

‘Tell him you are busy. He obviously doesn’t want to be here. You can deal with Thor too.’ Stephen’s inner voice pleaded.

Peter suddenly stood up. “I-I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

‘You’re right. Leave.’

Strange watched as Peter started to make his escape.

“Peter... come back here. We need to talk, please come back and sit down.” Strange commanded. 

Peter slowly made his way back to his seat. Strange sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I am not feeling myself currently. Please tell me what you have come here to say.”

“Well, its about what you said to... Mr. Stark after you used the time stone to figure out how to win.”

‘Just yell at me already.’

“Go ahead Peter.” Strange faked an encouraging smile.

He asked you how many outcomes there were for everyone living. You said there was one. Did I do something wrong? Mr. Stark and the others should still be here. Is it because I couldn’t get the glove off?”

‘He blames himself. Good you should keep it that way.’ Strange shook his head in hope the voice would stop.

“No Peter. Stark asked me how many we won.” Stephen admitted against his own wishes.

“But that’s the same thing! Why would winning mean Natasha and Tony dying! If that’s winning what is losing?” Peter yelled tears streaming down his face. “Was this the outcome you were trying to get to happen?”

“Peter unfortunately this was the best one. Sacrifices had to be made. I never made them do anything, Peter. I am truly sorry.”

“You never got along with him. How do we know that you...” Peter trailed off not wanting to finish the accusation.

“Go ahead. I want you to say it.”

'Say what they are all thinking.'

“You told him this is the only way when in reality this is the one that benefited you. It’s your fault. He thought there was no other way, because you lied!” Strange could see the hatred burning in his eyes. He could also see his own reflection in the boy’s eyes. He looked pathetic and not like himself at all. He deserved this.

“I did not do it to burn Stark. You’re right though. I lead him to his death. I knew if I told him he would chose not to leave his family behind. It was two people or the entire universe. It was not fair for me to be the decision maker Peter, but I didn’t know what else to do. I still don’t know what to do. The Chosen One was wrong about me.” Strange bent over and out his head in his hands.

‘It’s your fault. It should have been you. They had a family. What do you have? Nothing.’

He heard Peter’s shallow breaths become more calm as he sat down next to Strange. “Listen, i’m sorry. I don’t really think you did what you did to hurt him or Nat. I fought someone a while ago. He was my friend, I trusted him. He lied to me and tried to kill me and my friends all because he was angry with Mr. Stark. I trusted you. No I still do. I’m just afraid to get hurt again. I had to make sure you weren’t lying to me.”

“Lies may not escape his lips, but he does keep the full truth to himself. Isn’t that right, Strange?” Thor said while rejoining them.

“What am I keeping from you?” Strange sighed tired of Thor’s game.

“Loki.”

“What are you talking about? You watched him die with your own eyes!” Strange yelled getting throwing his hands in the air.

Peter whipped his tears away. He promised to help look after Thor after Bruce had explained to Peter that Thor had lost mostly everyone. “Thor, he’s gone.”

Thor crossed his arms. “Scott told me what happened.” He said simply.

Damn it Lang. Stephen told him that under no circumstances he could tell Thor about Loki.

“It’s clear that you are lost. You desperately need help, but you won’t ask for it because your ego will not allow it. I will not allow you sit here and feel bad for yourself.”

“Thor what are you talking about?” Peter asked clearly confused.

“Stark and the others accidentally created a universe where Loki escapes with the Tesseract after the battle of New York. I may need help Thor, but you are not the one to give me that help. I thank both of you for the talk, but I have had enought for tod-” Before strange could finish Thor grabbed his arms.

Thor leaned in close to Strange, his voice shaking with anger, “I told you, you were not going to do that anymore. I am not going anywhere. You are not the only one who feels guilty, but unlike you I am trying to do something about it. He promised me the sun would shine on us again. It will Strange.”

‘He’s right.’ 

“Alright, you win. Do not blame me when this does not go the way you want it to. Now if you please you can let go of me now."

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Thank you for reading and I hope it wasn’t too terrible!

[torendheavenandearth]

2.4

“In the end of all things, there will be light, like a pinprick thou canst not see. But the darkness will be too familiar, and you will wish you never left the Shadow of God’s Wing. Then you will learn the truth of martyrdom, the hell of guilt, the inferno of penitence. Then you shall learn the Eight Cardinal Sin, both a Virtue and a Vice: Regret.” 

- Mga Kanta sa Pangatlong Libro (Songs from the Third Book)

▼

Back in Barangay Laurel, a statuesque angel-being looks over the buried body of the crimson anghel. Dante, he knew him as. With a single whiff, he can smell the burning flame of Gahum.

He is in white military rayadillo uniform, black gloves, and high boots. His sabre hangs on one side, lazy. On the other side hangs a firecaster: a firearm that has a mini-spirit house sculpted onto its back, where a diwata of fire is enslaved.

A group of men and women in similar suits, albeit without a firecaster and only bolos for weapons, are bustling around the area. Some of them are acting as a human barricade to stop the townsfolk from interfering with the investigation. Others are going around collecting evidence, picking them up with gloved hands, and putting them in sanitizied pouches, mostly flesh tissue left over as well as spiritual residue from the dead anghel. Some of them are going up to the man with the firecaster.

“Kapitan Briogo, we’ve scoured the area. No other people nor corpses were found.”

Kapitan Briogo’s face is a mask of sculpted stone. It is shaped in the visage of the perfect white man: an aquiline nose, full lips, high cheekbones, eyes made of azure lapis lazuli. His hair is not hair but a twining of wires and clockwork. When he moves his head to look at the reporter, the machinery within him whirrs.

His wings are connected together by interlocking plates and clockwork. Clinging to his elbows are pistons. Rivets moving through imperfect seams along his perfect white-gold carapace betray complex machinations underneath.

“Go around for another round. Make sure no stone is unturned.” The Kapitan’s voice is a hollow monotone filtered through a mesh.

The one that spoke with him--a young tao--salutes once and moves away to relay the order. He turns again to the corpse. Slowly, the little light encapsulated within their little clockwork heart seeps back to heaven, to Pugad Langit.

“Kapitan,” another voice, this time also as mechanical as his. This one has the body of a young mortal boy, although he is blindfolded, and from his wrists and ankles hang broken chains. Despite having the countenance of a young handsome boy with golden hair, the seams running through his arms betray his true form.. “Do you have any conclusions? I can think of one.”

The Kapitan speaks. “There are times when a razor must cut through smoke and find the fire. What does this Gahum smell like, Antonio?”

“Brimstone.”

“This Gahum belongs to someone who is powerful. Someone we have felt before.”

“The winner of the Hagdanan,” says the young man.

“Correct, Antonio. The Winner of the Hagdanan. The Swordbreaker. Ang Nilapastangan.” He stares at the body of Dante, the killed anghel. “We ride, soon. We must.”

“To where?” asks Antonio.

“We follow the road.”

▼

Ang Nilapastangan clambers over the barrier, and so does Angela. Wooden chairs almost hit her due to the barrier basically falling apart. “I told you to go home. It’s not safe here.”

“I feel safer when I’m with you!” exclaims Angela as she pulls herself up and onto the top of the barricade.

Past the barricade is a strange sight.

There is the plaza, usually a site for lively recreation and jubilant mingling, now reduced into a greyed out silence pit. A fine sheet of ash has covered the area, draining the color out of the place.

In the middle of the plaza is that small park area with a statue in the middle. The statue in the middle is supposedly a statue of Yezu, raising his gun and proclaiming victory to the heavens, wearing nothing but a padded coat, pants, high boots and a trench coat.

Corpses pile up by the base of the area. Unmoving. Untwitching. Deader than dead.

“What the fuck?”

Angela’s gaze looks further and past the plaza she sees the town hall and the church. The church’s double doors are destroyed: one is lost and the other hangs by a single hinge. It's too dark for Angela to see what’s inside. Other than that, it's a simple stone church with a few carvings onto the doorway made of stone and with that inverted triangle at the top, where crosses from churches back at Angela’s universe would be.

Although now looking at carvings, they have been defaced, one way or another. Their faces shattered, hands and feet missing.

The town hall doesn’t look any better. Its walls have been dilapitated, covered in the sheet of ash. A dark cloud passes over it. Not literally, but Angela can’t help but feel dread claw from the bottom of her stomach as she looks. As if the town hall is about to open its eyes and stare back at her.

“D-Do you see anything?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “No. Her Gahum is in there, somewhere. Deep in there. But I can’t pinpoint where.”

“Shit.”

“Let’s go back to the commune first and have a plan before we do anything rash.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

▼

They get on their horses and trot out. It's not twilight yet. Jaime and the others are nowhere to be found.

“Looks like we’re going back before they do,” says Angela. They’ve done a few stops to pick up some extra supplies--clothes, salt, sacks of rice--so that they have something good to bring back at least.

They gallop across the field going back to the commune and then they slow to a trot as they reach the flanked path. As they trot along, Ang Nilapastangan says, “We should get out of here, soon.”

Angela raises an eyebrow. “Why? What’s the problem?”

“It’s not going to be long until they find us here. And this is the closest barangay to Laurel. We should get going by tomorrow at least.”

“All right,” says Angela. “If you say so.” Now at the bottom of her gut, she wants to go back and find the albularyo so that they can get out as early as possible. Yet, at the same time, she can’t help but feel bad about the people still here, surviving in the commune. Will they ever get out?

“You can help them get rid of the amalanhig, right?” asks Angela.

Ang Nilapastangan shrugs. “If my guess is correct, the anghel or whoever the Trinity makes follow us can take care of whatever problem they have. What we need to do is find the albularyo. Got that?”

Angela nods. They reach and cross the stream.

Babaylan Salinas greets them as they enter into the commune. “Ah, o great and mighty Ang Nilapastangan!”

Angela sees Ang Nilapastangan manage a small smile. She shakes her head and says, “Please, lola, simply Nila is fine. I don’t seek to be treated as a great hero.”

Babaylan Salinas stares at her for a few moments, before smiling herself and nodding. “The others are surely still on their way back. Please, take a moment to rest and recuperate.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Wait, uh, lola, can I ask you a few questions before that? Regarding the barangay.”

The Babaylan dips her head in a slight, reverent nod. “Yes, please. Would you like to have it over coffee and bananacue?”

Angela usually eats bananacue every afternoon, made by her mom. But now, her mother is gone. Well, no, technically it’s she who’s gone, not her mother. But what does that mean for her?

Sitting there, on a nice textile fabric on the floor, eating out of a porcelain plate a few nice bananacues and some really strong coffee, she’s suddenly transported home. Back to where she’s supposed to belong. Sitting on her plastic chair in front of their wooden table, where bananas and apples would be lying. Leftovers from last night’s dinner would be kept in an ice cream tub.

Tears well up in her eyes, bleeding sadness.

“Anak,” says Babaylan Salinas. “What’s wrong? You are…” Angela glimpses up and looks at Babaylan Salinas, and the Babaylan peers into her eyes. Through the veil of her tears, the Babaylan sees something that makes her frown.

“You are lost.”

Angela wipes away her tears. Ang Nilapastangan watches her for a bit, before she coughs and says, “Let her deal with it. Babaylan, I seek answers to a few questions.”

The Babaylan gives Angela one last sad glance, before nodding and turning to Ang Nilapastangan. “Yes, I will try to answer to the best of my ability.”

“The barangay, it has been like that for how long now?”

“Since… Unangaraw.”

“Today is Pangatlongaraw, so that means it’s been that way for 2 days?”

The babaylan nods.

“Very well. Was there anything strange going on before the day it happened?”

The Babaylan shakes her head. “I was a busy one, doing many healings during that time. It was an Unangaraw, so I thought nothing of it. I guess that should’ve been the first evidence that something wasn’t right.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Amalanhig are usually brought about by either the residue of yawa souls… or aswang witchery. You, being the babaylan, would know if there was a yawa in the vicinity, would you not?”

The babaylan nods. “There weren’t any during that time,” she replise. “Nothing out of the ordinary. However, when I consulted with the Diwata, they answered nothing. It was strange, for sure.

“And then, when it happened, it did so quickly. Like a wink lost in the crowd. That night, most of the barangay had been turned into amalanhig. Mostly those that lived in solitary homes were able to get out in time.”

“So you are implying that it was indeed the work of an asuwang?”

The babaylan nods, without hesitation. “We barricaded the plaza because we think that’s where the asuwang might be, but we’re not so sure.”

“A simple barricade will not stop an asuwang,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

“I know. The barricade had the secondary purpose of keeping in the corpses.”

“Then we should do something. Tonight, I will try to get in and see if there is asuwang within the vicinity. The earlier the better,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “If we manage to end the asuwang, the amalanhig menace will be gone as well.”

“But… that would mean--”

“The means to bring a soul back to life is gone with the Karanduun of old,” says Ang Nilapastangan, solemn.

There’s a choking silence that follows. Darkness glows. Candlelight flickers. Angela wipes away the last of her unfounded tears, eyes wide, still unknowing why she’s crying.

“It might be the albularyo,” mutters Ang Nilapastangan.

Babaylan Salinas nods. “She was certainly acting strange before the happening, but I cannot in good conscience think she has done… that.”

“You’re right. There’s nothing in it for Gumamela. Either she’s had something to do with it, or she’s in there, somewhere, doing something.”

“What do you plan to do?” asks Babaylan Salinas.

Ang Nilapastangan sighs. “I’m going to face whatever is in there. Tonight. If I don’t find the albularyo, taking care of what has caused the amalanhig menace will definitely be a help. I need to know if Gumamela has been taken by whatever is in there or if she’s still alive.”

Angela’s eyes widen. She rubs away her tears. “Then I’m--”

Adlay’s voice cut through Angela’s protests: “Jaime! Jaime is missing!”

Ang Nilapastangan is already on her feet, rushing forward and out of the door. The babaylan is raising her hand to stop her, but Ang Nilapastangan is unimpeded. Angela blinks, wondering why she is so quick to respond to that news. Is Jaime somewhat important to her? Or is it something else?

She leaps from the door and over to Adlay in a single bound. “What? What happened to Jaime?”

“O, O great Ang Nilapastangan!” says Adlay, shuddering. “Jaime has been taken captive by the great devourer!”

“What? Take it slow. What happened?” Against the bonfire light, Ang Nilapastangan’s face is a shadowy mask.

“It-It was like a dark shadow!” shouts out the tikbalang, Damian, getting off of his horse. Angela sees this, and stifles a chuckle at the absurdity.

“It plucked Jaime out from the darkness when he got too close to the barricade!”

“Shit. I know what it’s trying to do,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She runs over to Stella, her horse, and is off, galloping back presumably into the barangay. She doesn’t stop. It’s as if her spirit is guiding her.

Angela watches her ride off, and then she’s running toward her own horse as well.

“Hoy, where do you think you’re going?” asks Adlay.

“Going after her.”

Damian grabs her by her bicep. “I’m sorry, girl, but you will not be rushing headfirst into danger. We have to protect our own.”

Our own? Angela stops. She turns and looks up at Damian. “I can’t leave Ang Nilapastangan alone.”

“I know,” says Damian, patting her head. “But she can handle that better alone than with you. Think of it: she’d rather not have you there to protect. She wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you. I’m sure of it.” There’s a pained wistfulness in Damian’s voice. It breaks Angela.

Realization creeps up to Angela, and she releases her tension. “What if she dies?”

Adlay, from behind them, shouts out: “Hah! Her? Die? Ang Nilapastangan faced GOD and lived! We don’t have to worry about her!”

Angela releases her fists. She balled them up while trying to get to Ang Nilapastangan. “You’re right.” Her shoulders drop.

“Ang Nilapastangan will be fine. She is sung. She will be known. She will save Jaime.”

“Babaylan Salinas, why did you not simply call upon help from other barangay? Or from the Kingdom? Ang Nilapastangan told me there was a kingdom that ruled over you.”

Damian turns around and shakes his head. Adlay sighs and scratches his head.

The Babaylan gingerly picks her way down to the ground. She walks over to the bonfire and lets out a sigh. The wind rustles her bramble hair. “Iha, we have tried,” says Babaylan Salinas. “We have tried. But do you think… do you think the Kingdom listens?”

Angela swallows.

“Us being off dead is better for them. They can build more estates upon the graves of our people. We went to Biringan, the capital of the Kingdom, a long time ago. We tried fighting for higher wages, for better treatment, for we were being killed because we are trying to protect the farmlands that are ours.

“But no. They did not listen. They will never listen. The Kingdom does not care for us. None will care for us but each other.”

Angela breathes. She lowers her hands. She realizes she’s raised them. “I’m sorry. Has it always been this way?”

The bark-skinned spirit medium simply nods.

Damian stares at the path that Ang Nilapastangan has left behind. He chuckles. “You can’t really stop someone that is resigned to death, huh?”

Return to Table of Contents

[bluerosewrites]

You Will Be Found

Wrote a thing. Just the first chapter, though there will be more, I promise. It’s full of ansgt, but I plan to have a happy(ish) ending. 

TW: Suicide, Anxiety, Self-Harm. Read at your own risk.

Summary:

Have you ever felt like nobody was there? Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere? Have you ever felt like you could disappear? Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

It’s all too much and Peter can’t keep himself from the edge tonight. He’s tried SO hard to keep it together. For May. For Tony. For MJ. For Ned. But tonight? He can’t convince himself that they wouldn’t all be better off. That he could fall, and disappear, and no one would hear, or care. But is he right?

Read here or on AO3.

Peter doesn’t remember when he started feeling this way. All he knows is it keeps getting worse.

His state of mind after surviving Toomes burying him under a building wasn’t great. That was when the nightmares started. The panic attacks. The erratic sleeping patterns. Peter doesn’t remember if he bit his nails or left red crescents on the palms of his hands before Toomes or just after.

The Blip doesn’t help. He’s so disoriented and trying to get used to how life on Earth apparently kept going while he and half of the world’s population was trapped in the soul stone.

Not to mention this summer’s adventures with Mysterio. Peter just couldn’t catch a break. He was literally hit by a frickin’ TRAIN. If Peter hadn’t already struggled with feelings of worthlessness and dissociative episodes, he sure as hell did now.

Which brings us to tonight. And the rooftop where Peter has sat, for an unknowable amount of hours. He’s just stuck. Not able to convince himself to take the next step, but also not able to go home.

He’d been out on patrol, doing his best to Do Good and Be Normal. He’d foiled some muggings, avoided getting stabbed by one of the attackers. You know, the usual. But his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t come up with his usual snarky trashtalk, and was only putting half of his energy into the fights. One of the would-be muggers had almost gotten away, and Peter had almost not followed after him to track him down. Why was he trying so hard? Nothing really mattered. At least it felt like nothing did. He could spend 24/7/365 chasing after guys like this and the next day there would always be more. Or an alien race invading earth hell-bent on destruction and hostile takeovers. Or someone who was determined to seek revenge, not caring who they hurt or what they damaged in the process.

What’s the point of anything?

Finally Peter just sat on one of the highest rooftops on his route and watched the world go by. The sky dimmed, giving way to night. But the city never slept. If anything, it got busier after dark. Peter let himself zone out while watching the traffic go by. Watched the streetlights come on and heard the hum as the city’s nightlife got into full swing. After a while the noises of the night started to get to Peter and he realized he was still in the suit. Suddenly he couldn’t stand to be anymore, and to hell with the consequences. He ripped off his mask, ignoring Karen’s entreaties into his well-being. He’d stopped listening to her hours ago.

Peter took deep, gulping breaths of the cold air, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get enough air. The suit clung to his skin, and he felt itchy all over. As quickly as humanly possible, Peter ripped the suit from his body, being forced to stand up as he did so to free himself from the constricting tech. He felt the icy wind bite into his exposed skin as he stood on the rooftop, shivering in his boxers.

He made his way to the edge of the building, still taking care that he wouldn’t be drawing anyone’s attention. Not yet, he told himself. And he knew the thought should scare him. Peter was never one to give up, he always tried his best to find the silver lining. But right now he just couldn’t. He was teetering on the edge of numbness in his soul. He was tired to his very soul, deeper than bone-tired. Exhausted, really.  And he didn’t know how much longer he could fight the shadows in his mind. The whispers in the dark.

You’re not good enough.

Why try? You’re a burden.

No one loves you. They’re all just putting up with you.

You’re an imposter. If they knew you who really are….they’d RUN.

They’d be better off without you.

Peter took his arms from where they were coiled tightly against his abdomen to make two fists and rub them against his eye sockets. Hard. His body gave another violent shudder, but Peter didn’t even feel the cold anymore. Didn’t feel much of anything, really.

Is this how it ends? Peter thought to himself, Not with a bang, but a whimper. Huh. Maybe that’s what that writer was talking about. Interesting. Peter knew that if he disappeared he would be missed. He didn’t want to hurt May. Or Ned. Oh, God, or Tony. Peter closed his eyes and sat on the roof. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, bringing his arms around his shins. There were so many people counting on him, and he’d be letting them all down if he–Peter couldn’t bring himself to think the words, but the idea was there. He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut and willed the tears behind his lids not to fall. He bit down on his bottom lip and tried to ignore the shudders racking his body. He knew not all of them were from the cold, but enough of them were. He didn’t thermoregulate well after the Bite, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. You don’t deserve to be warm. That’s a comfort, and failures don’t deserve comfort. Honestly–

“Shut UP,” Peter ground out between gritted teeth. Great, now I’m talking to myself. He let out a humorless chuckle. Just one more symptom to add to the rest of the crazy I’ve already got going on. Peter could feel the harsh grit of the pitch on the roof through the thin cotton of his briefs. There was gravel stuck to the soles of his feet. God, I’m a mess. Can’t even do this properly.

Peter willed himself to stand. But his limbs were no longer listening to him. “Come on, Parker, get the fuck up. Surely you can manage that,” the teen rasped out, but it was to no avail. He managed to stretch out his limbs, but remained in a seated position. Every joint from his shoulders through to his fingertips ached from being held in one place for so long, and the pressure exerted to be wrapped around his legs. Eventually Peter was in a starfish position, as if he was going to make a snow angel there on the roof. He dragged his heels across the harsh surface and grabbed at whatever he could with his hands. It was painful, scraping his skin against such a jagged and cold exterior of the building. But the pain meant he was feeling something, which both helped to ground him a bit as well as serve as enough of a punishment to shut the dark whispers up for a time.

Peter stared into the sky as he continued to move his hands and feet, further chafing the skin there. He wished he could see the stars, but he was too far into the city to see any major constellations. It would be nice, to see them one more time before I–go.  Peter closed his eyes and tried to remember what the night sky looked like out at Tony and Pepper’s cabin. Oh, God. Pepper. Morgan. At the thought of Tony’s real family, Peter couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. As he began to sob, he brought his grit-covered, bloody hands to his eyes and covered them. Salty blood mixed with the salt of his tears, and he didn’t know which he could taste more.

They say that when you’re close to the end, your life flashes before your eyes. Peter just saw all of the people he’d lost. His mom. His dad. Ben.  And all of the people he’d failed. May. Ned. MJ. Nick Fury. The Avengers–Cap and Bucky and Nat and Sam and Rhodey and Clint–and so many more. Pepper and Morgan. Tony. TONY. At the thought of his mentor, Peter broke down even further. He’d failed Tony on so many levels. As a mentee, intern, and a son.

He was still thinking of Tony when Peter thought he heard the familiar sound of thrusters. Wait. It can’t be. Even if he knew where I was, Tony has been benched since the Snap. Recovering and such. Peter couldn’t bring himself to remove his hands from over his eyes and check to see if the mechanic was indeed with him on the roof. Because if he was, Peter was still a bloody, nearly naked MESS on the roof of a building at God-knows what hour of the night. Might even be early morning at this point.

Sure enough, Peter soon heard heavy, booted footsteps approach. Then the sound of the Iron Man nanotech disappearing back into the Arc Reactor and Tony hitting his knees beside the distraught teen. Peter hears a soft, “Oh, kid,” and his hands are gently pulled away from his eyes. Which are still scrunched shut. Peter still isn’t sure he believes Tony is here, with him, on the roof. And if he is, Peter isn’t sure he wants to face him. So instead he sets his jaw stubbornly and keeps his eyes shut, ignoring the tears continuing to stream down his cheeks and the shudders still racking his body. He feels Tony’s hand on his shoulder, and his eyes fly open, despite his best attempts to keep them closed. Peter bites his lip at the concern he sees in the billionaire’s eyes.

“Hey, now, shhhhhh,” Tony mutters soothingly. But the warmth and the kindness in his voice undoes Peter completely. He’s openly sobbing now, and too weak to resist as Tony scoops him up into his arms. They rock back and forth, Peter contained within the strong arms of the mechanic, the latter whispering comforting words to the former until the kid’s shudders subside a bit and his breathing slows.

Finally the boy turns his tear-stained face toward the former playboy, roughly swiping gritty, bloody hands across swollen eyes. He lets out a long sniffle and then his lips part to emit a phrase at a volume Tony struggles to hear. “What is it, SpiderBaby?”

Peter tries again, “I said, are you real?” At Tony’s answering sigh, Peter begins to draw back into himself.

“Fucking Beck,” Tony grounds out, Peter flinching at the anger in his voice, “Hits my kid with a damn TRAIN, among other things, and now he can’t trust anything. FUCK.”  Once Tony notices the kid shrinking against him, he does his best to calm down. In a more subdued tone, he continues, “Yes, kid, I’m real. God, how can I prove it to you? What’s something only I know? You think chocolate ice cream is the best way to counteract heartache, you’ve seen all of the Star Wars movies at least 200 times but you’re not sure how you feel about the reboots, particularly Solo, you wanted to kiss Michelle at the top of the Eiffel Tower but were foiled, and plan to take her back someday to–” he’s cut off by Peter’s arms circling him in a crushing hug. “Ok, good, good,” Tony murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into Peter’s back. “Now, wanna tell me why you’re in boxers on the roof of the tallest building in the city?”

Tony feels the teen stiffen beneath his ministrations. Peter draws back so he can see Tony’s face once again. The philanthropist can see more unshed tears threatening to spill over his kid’s cheeks. He sighs as the teen closes his eyes and takes one of the arms still flung around the mechanic to rub his eyes once more. Tony leans over and presses a soft kiss to the top of the kid’s unkempt curls. “We don’t have to get into it all now, but I definitely want to hear what’s going on with you. What do you say to going back to the Tower, getting cleaned up and warmed up, maybe some hot chocolate?”

Peter nods and lets out a big sigh. “Alright, Underoos, let’s get that suit and head home. Happy’s waiting for us down in front of the building. Neither of us should be flying right now.” Peter nods again and the mechanic scans the roof. “Did you bring a change of clothes with you? Your backpack? Otherwise this is gonna be real awkward.” The pair each let out a wry chuckle. Peter nods once more and points. “Alright, good, good. You get changed and we’ll head down.”

While Peter changes and grabs his suit, Tony goes to the door to the lower floors of the building. To the billionaire’s relief, the knob turned. He turns to find a gently swaying Peter behind him. Tony wraps an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “I’ve got you, bimbo,” Tony feels the boy sag in relief, and they make their way downstairs and into the waiting car.

Happy’s concerned eyes meet Tony’s in the rearview mirror. “Where to, boss? The Tower?” Tony nods in assent as Peter’s head falls onto his shoulder. He squeezes the shoulders of the wiry teen in comfort as Happy drives them. He presses a kiss to the crown of the boy’s head, amongst the curls.

Soon, but not as soon as either of the adults would have wished, they three arrive at the tower. Peter has fallen into a fitful sleep, so Tony scoops the boy into his arms bridal-style for the journey upstairs.

“Do you want me to call Cho?” Happy inquires softly as he holds open the elevator doors.

“No,” murmurs the mechanic. “I’ve got him for now. But I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“You got it, boss,” Happy says as the doors close.

Tony looks down at the precious boy in his arms. In the harsh light in the elevator, taking in afresh the dirt and blood on the kid. “Oh, Peter,” he murmurs. The boy doesn’t stir as they reach their destination, and Tony is torn between letting him rest and getting him both cleaned and warmed up. Thankfully, the floor is empty at the moment, and Tony deposits his burden on the soft couch. He gently nudges Peter awake. “Hey, bimbo, what do you say we get you cleaned up and warmed with some food? Does that sound good?” Peter nods sleepily as he drags a hand across his swollen eyes. “Alright. I’ll get some food and hot chocolate ready while you get cleaned up and some fresh clothes, yeah?”

The boy gets up and makes his way to the bathroom and his room here at the Tower to do just that while Tony bustles in the kitchen. Tony knows the teen is far from okay, but hopefully some carbs will help.

[knox-knocks]

andreil for "Am i dead?"

ahhh right for the heartstrings. thank you for the prompt!! warnings: nightmare-esque imagery, vague allusions to sexual abuse, a hospital, and a near-death experience

-

It was cold in the house. The chill seeped in from the floor to the bottom of Andrew’s bare feet and soaked his bones, freezing him from the inside out. He paced the room, pressed his back against the walls, but nothing he did could lend him any warmth. Andrew supposed Cas had forgotten to turn off the AC again. She always forgot, even though she and Andrew both preferred the heat. 

Andrew peered out the window, drawing the stained, wilted curtains aside to see if Cas had pulled into the drive yet. But he saw the same thing every time; an empty driveway, a lawn with grass bled of any color, a stretch of gray sky over asphalt roads, the long line of houses that were identical to this one. The street was empty. No cars parked along the road, no children playing in the yards. It was barren of life; gray, bleak.

Where was Cas? She should be home by now, Andrew thought. It had never taken her this long before. 

Andrew let the curtain fall over the window again as he backed out of the room. He could try the phone again, the old landline Cas kept for emergencies. But whenever he picked it up and put it to his ear, he heard the same droning hum of a busy line. Maybe the phone was broken.  

If Cas didn’t get home before dark, Andrew would have to go find her. It was possible she had just stayed late at work, or she had to go pick up some groceries, since the cupboards in the kitchen were awfully bare. But Andrew couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of something being wrong. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Cas to get home before - 

Before what? Andrew’s mind blanked. He couldn’t remember. Instead of pondering the odd gap in his memory, Andrew wandered back to his room. The yellow wallpaper was peeling, revealing chipped white paint underneath. His bed was stripped to the mattress, Andrew didn’t know where his sheets were. He wished he had a blanket, he was so cold…

Andrew. Andrew.

It was that voice again. All around him, inside him, filling his head. Andrew recognized it, the strange cadence, soft and firm all at once, but he didn’t know from where. He couldn’t quite put a face to the voice. He felt the tether in his chest pull again, a sharp tug below his diaphragm. Andrew resisted it, like he had all the other times. He couldn’t just leave, he was waiting for someone.

Andrew flopped in the bed, the mattress like a hard board beneath his back, providing little comfort. He didn’t know how anyone could sleep like this. Andrew sighed and turned to face the wall, drawing his knees closer to his body. He scratched at the wall with his fingernail, flakes of paint and bits of yellow paper coming off with the faintest touch. 

She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t, Andrew told himself. She was just running late, it had happened before. Soon, she’ll walk through the front door and turn up the heater, then she’d grab a couple of blankets from the closet and she and Andrew would bundle up and ward off the cold. Then they would…what? Andrew picked at the thought like an errant thread, trying to remember, but the his mind just drifted away from him like the wallpaper falling away in long strips to the ground. 

There was a buzzing in his head. A dull, rhythmic tune that slowly filled his ears until it was near impossible to ignore, drowning out every thought. When it was so loud Andrew’s ears started to ache, it just…stopped. There, and then gone again.

Andrew…  

Andrew sat up. That strange, familiar voice, that insistent tug. “Go away,” he said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

For who, he couldn’t remember. He supposed it didn’t matter. There was nowhere else for him to go, anyway. Not outside, to the bleached sky and the deserted streets. He could stay here, in this room, with the peeling wallpaper and the hard mattress. There were cracks in the walls, tiny fractures that spider-webbed across the plaster and disappeared behind the wallpaper. If Andrew tore it all down, it would reveal more cracks. 

The room dimmed and, impossibly, grew colder. Andrew’s breath plumed out in front of him like a puffy white cloud the way it did in the winter. Andrew rubbed his hands up and down his arms. He didn’t want it to get dark. With the dark brought dread, awful, horrible dread that filled his stomach and choked his lungs. It brought pain.

The dark heralded terrible things. Andrew didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want this either. The shadows in the room grew longer, the curtains fluttering without a breeze. The wallpaper peeled down the walls in long lengths, dropping to the ground like stones. The yellow looked gray in the low light. The cracks in the wall stretched and Andrew squeezed his eyes shut. A whisper filled the room, turning to a shout, a no no no no no. His own voice, pleading, screaming, echoing around his head until it was the only thing Andrew could hear. Hands on him, cold hands, plucking at his clothes, the thin t-shirt and sweatshirt the only thing stopping them from touching his skin. Too dark, too dark. Stop, stop, stop. I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want it to be dark anymore. 

“Andrew?” 

The whispers ceased. The hands disappeared. Andrew opened his eyes and uncurled his fists, easing his fingernails from biting into the soft flesh of his palms. 

There was a woman standing in the doorway. Mousy brown hair fell limp around her shoulders. She had pale, watery eyes and her lined face made her look older than she was, kinder. 

“Cas?” Andrew dared. 

Cas smiled and Andrew remembered who he was waiting for. 

“What took you so long?” Andrew asked. 

“I was waiting for you, sweetheart.” Andrew stirred at the name. If anyone else had called him that, he would have hated it. Now, from Cas, he just felt that ache in his chest, yearning for something he wanted so badly. 

Cas reached out her hand and Andrew got out of the bed, leaving the hard mattress behind. When he was close, Cas ruffled his hair and caressed his cheek. Andrew closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, despite Cas’ hands being ice to the touch.

“We’re going now, Andrew.” She didn’t call him AJ. Andrew was glad. “Where are your shoes?”

“Where are we going?” Andrew asked as Cas took him by the hand and led him out of his room, to the front door. She opened it, and Andrew squinted, the sudden light hurting his eyes. 

Andrew. 

“Wait,” Andrew said, grounding to a halt before he crossed through the door. Cas’ hand fell away, and she turned to look at him, her face bemused. “Did you hear that?”

Andrew. 

“Hear what?” 

Andrew, come back to me.

“Andrew, what’s wrong?” Cas asked. She didn’t call him AJ. She always called him AJ. This wasn’t right. Cas reached for him again, pulling at his shirt, drawing him to the door. 

“Am I dead?” Andrew asked instead, refusing to take a further step. “Why am I dead?”

“Sweetheart…” Cas murmured, touching his cheek again. This time, the icy touch was unbearable. Andrew brushed her fingers away. Cas’ face shattered like glass. 

“We could be happy, you know. If you follow me. We could be so happy. You could have a family, you just have to step through the door,” Cas pleaded, pulling on his arm. Andrew yanked his hand away. Tears streamed down her face and Andrew forced himself not to look. “Isn’t that what you want? A family?”

It was too much to hope for, something he could never have. Andrew remembered the price tag that came with family, with Cas. He’d paid too much already.

“I don’t want to go with you.” Andrew backed away from the door. When Cas didn’t follow, he turned and ran back to the room with the peeling wallpaper. Her sobs followed him, loud, dogging his steps. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. It was getting dark again, like a cloud passing over the sun, blocking out the light. He couldn’t leave, but he didn’t want to stay either. 

Andrew. 

Andrew, wake up.

Come back to me.

The tugging in his stomach started to fade as the room grew darker, the voice fainter, all sensation fading from Andrew’s limbs. No, wait, Andrew thought. He grasped the thread and pulled it back. 

Wake up. I need you to wake up. 

The voice was an anchor, a flicker of flame in the darkness. Andrew clung to it. It resonated through his body, feeling him with warmth, with light. Andrew tightened his hold, refusing to let go. He let the voice wash over him as the tether drew him in. The buzzing was back in his head. It turned to a slow, beeping sound.

I love you. Andrew I -

Andrew opened his eyes. For one, disorienting moment, he saw nothing but a blinding white light, flooding his vision, making his head throb. I fucked up, he thought, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw the heart monitor, beeping in time to the pounding drum in his head. I’m in a hospital, Andrew thought. Someone was clutching his hand, a source of warmth. 

Andrew struggled to move but he was able to turn his head enough to see who it was. There was a mop of messy auburn curls, dirty and greasy from going unwashed for too many days, strewn across the pale of Andrew’s bare arm. His face was obscured, head laying on top of the stark white sheets. His shoulders were moving with long, shuddering breaths. 

Andrew’s hand twitched under the one on top of his, and the man stilled, his head jerking up. Under the familiar scars, his face was puffy and streaked. His eyes were rimmed with red, making the blue in them even more electric. 

“Neil,” Andrew croaked. Neil’s face crumbled with relief and Andrew pulled him closer. Neil was trembling all over, his chest heaving and uneven. He tucked his head against Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew moved slow fingers through his hair. 

“You’re okay,” Neil mumbled against Andrew’s white hospital gown. His voice was a fragile, precarious thing. “You’re okay.”

Andrew could find out what happened later. For now, he needed Neil and Neil needed him. He tightened his grip in Neil’s hair, around his hand, and pulled until Neil clambered into the hospital bed with him, careful of the various wires and IVs Andrew was hooked up to.

“I’m okay,” Andrew repeated, pressing his face against the top of Neil’s head, flattening his curls. “I’m okay.” 

[dexmxtchxll]

dex finds out stella is escorting, laurel has let him know that she has known about it. he is drunk and pissed.  tw: blood?, idk sad dex?

98-27-66. Dexter plucked the numbers into his safe hidden in the closet of the apartment above the garage. Remnants of him living up here were still present, some old socks crumpled on the hardwood and empty white plastic hangers lined on the rod. A toaster with crumbs, a rug he needed to vacuum, his bible on the side table next to the bed - it was all just reminders of how lonely he had been in his weeks of solitude. It was a reminder that he was still lonely even living in the farmhouse. At least up here in his seclusion he could count on Laurel keeping things from him instead of it being a surprise. 

The encounter with Stella earlier that night had sent him into a tail spin. Instead of being dropped off at home, Dex had requested that the uber driver stop at the 7-11 near the grocery store, a mile or so from his house. He picked up some cigarettes and a six pack, drinking all of them on his walk home, one right after the other. He did the wrong thing of tossing them as he went, leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel on their way into the woods. How could Dex be so stupid but to allow his daughter to live in a place like Dayton? How could he be so stupid but to trust in his wife to keep Felicity from growing up near a family like the Valdez’s? Sure, he understood that Stella truly didn’t believe that she had any other options, but she did. Rico should have been the one to provide for his family, but he didn’t. Laurel was a mother hen, always trying to take care of others but in the wake of that, Dex couldn’t help but believe that she had forgotten to take care of her own for a change. Watching her slip into her episodes, forgetting how impressionable Felicity was at just three years old, willingly allowing her to go to a house where there could easily be danger? It didn’t sit right with him. She hadn’t mentioned it to Dex, leaving him to find out for himself which made him angrier. And worst of all? It seemed like Laurel cared so much for her friends but very little in regards to him. For almost a year she had shut him out completely, setting divorce papers down in front of him with her signature right on the dotted line. After begging and pleading, agreeing to move, building her a dream home, co-parenting, letting her get healthy, not questioning when her friends had followed them here, feeling alone and isolated, completely in the dark about just about everything while working his ass off to provide for them - Dexter Mitchell was cracking. 

The beer now gone and almost home, Dex sparked up a cigarette. He thought back to before Laurel and him had met for the first time in Las Vegas. Two years out of college and being prepped to take over Mitchell Farms, Dex thought there couldn’t have been anything worse than working on a cattle ranch for the rest of his life. His grandfather loved it, his father adored it, and as the first born son of a long generation of ranchers, it was expected for Dexter to want this or at least start to. How many photos had been hung on the wall with Dex on horses, herding cattle with his dad and brother? How many conversations had happened about his future at the dining table? His plans were set in stone, destined for a legacy. Even with a girlfriend he had bought a ring for with plans to propose, he had realized his dreams weren’t in Alabama the second that he laid his eyes on Laurel Thatcher. Yes, absolutely, he was drunker than hell. More gone than he had ever been in his life, probably. But it didn’t matter. Dexter left his whole life behind to be the man that Laurel saw inside of him. He craved her love and attention and hadn’t stopped for the past seven years. Somehow he had lost himself, abandoning every part of his own self in loving her. And somehow he had allowed her to manipulate his love with the threat of divorce instead of letting him in. Ashamed and sad and frustrated and drunk, Dexter’s dusty work boots finally made contact with the front porch. 

After stubbing out the remnants of his cigarette, Dexter quietly made his way into the house. By some grace of god he barely made a sound, though it was almost two in the morning and it seemed that everyone was fast asleep. Thank god. First stop, the master bedroom. The door was open slightly and Dexter’s light eyes peered inside. Laurel was in bed snoozing away, dark hair splayed around her shoulders and face like a halo on the cream colored pillowcases, a hand resting on his empty side of the bed. Dex blinked back his emotions, shaking his head as his fist turned the door handle to stop any noise when he closed the door the rest of the way. Felicity’s room was down the hall and it took everything in him to not go and check on her. Fish wasn’t at the bottom of their king bed with his wife, so he had to be with Lissy. They were inseparable, those two, and although Dex had been wary at first, the dog had grown on him more than he’d ever care to admit. Mainly because he made his daughter happier than he did himself. Quiet feet still passed her door though, a palm resting flat on her white door as if it was enough for her to know that he was there.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Dexter got his legs to work again but not well, a shoulder bumping into the edge of the wall on his way to the hutch in the dining room. His mind was set now, tunnel visioned on what he came inside the house to do. Bottom drawer, in the middle of a folder on the bottom of the stack of tax paperwork for Mitchell Construction, Dex found the documents and folded them over, a fist crumpling some of the pages. Smooth and cold, the stack of papers made him angry. How dare these even be in his house. The house he painstakingly built for his ungrateful wife. She didn’t even want to be with him in the first place, so why in the hell had Dexter agreed to move to Dayton and try and sway her into loving him with this renovation? It had been a stupid call on his part. From the dining room to the front door, Dexter was less than quiet and he wasn’t careful about it anymore. Drawer closed, boots squeaking on beautifully restored original hardwood flooring, and then with a slam of the front door, he was outside again. 

98-27-66 and his secret safe was open. Shaky hands finally opened and his drunken gaze looked down at the divorce papers. Dex flipped to the page where Laurel had signed it, sniffling as if he were too weak to really look. The line next to hers was blank, teasing him in the most macabre of fashions. For the first time Dexter wished he had a pen. Maybe signing these would set him free of this pain. Set Laurel free of him. He could go back home to Alabama and return as the prodigal son. Maybe they would accept him back, they were always trying to get him to move home anyway. Dex licked his dry lips and instead, he placed the papers in the safe under some boxes of bullets and slammed the safe’s door closed with a crash of metal. The box beeped that it had locked and Dexter couldn’t help it anymore, turning to the wall near the small kitchen. 

“Fuck!” he screamed, balling his hand into a fist and forcing it through the drywall over and over until his hand was numb, blood dripping from his knuckles like a stream of warm bath water running down his arm. Maybe Stella had been right. He wasn’t much different than Rico after all, was he?

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 14

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 6745

Chapter: 14/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon brings what he's found to the lake, and has a plan to fix it all.

Read on AO3

AN: Hey, so my essay has been kicking my ass. Editing this has been a nice break. Hope you guys like this :)

———————————————

Simon hopped off the dirt wall. Much to his surprise, and slight disappointment, Baz wasn’t there waiting for him. Instead, Baz was standing in front of the lake with his back to Simon. He was waving the wand like a conductor's baton, making water dance in slow streams in front of him. The swans on the lake were honking loudly in confusion.

“Calm down, all of you,” Baz said, exasperated but also amused. “It’s just some magic, you panicky little twits.” They kept honking, flapping their large white wings. “Gods, once again, I wish you all could actually understand me when I’m human.”

Simon’s heart was melting out of his chest and dribbling into his boots. He straightened his bag straps over both his shoulders and walked towards Baz. He put his arms around Baz’s waist, and after weeks of this, Baz didn’t even flinch when he did. He simply leaned his head back on Simon’s shoulder, sighing against his ear.

“Good evening, love,” he purred. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi,” Simon replied. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Working on water spells, I think I’m getting better.” He made a figure eight motion, and the water followed perfectly. It still wasn’t as smooth as his fire work but it was certainly improving. In almost three weeks, he was doing better than most first year mage students after six months. Simon was so damn proud.

He squeezed Baz’s waist. “You’re doing amazing.”

Baz turned his head and pressed his cool lips to Simon’s cheek. “Thank you, darling. How are you doing?”

Simon subtly gulped, and realised he was holding Baz a bit tighter without thinking. “Yeah, uh, actually, I have to talk to you about something...and we should probably sit down for it.”

The water in the air immediately dropped with a resounding splash. The swans squawked very angrily at Baz. Simon had no idea if swans could say curse words, but if they could, they’d probably sound like that. Baz was completely stiff in Simon’s embrace. He lowered his wand hand slowly, arm ramrod straight. Simon couldn’t see Baz’s face, but he had a feeling he looked very, very cold.

“Baz? What’s wrong?”

“Simon,” he said, voice like the most biting frost, “if you’re going to end this, I’d prefer you just get it over with.”

“What?! No, no!” He dashed in front of Baz. Heartbreakingly, Baz’s face was stone, completely neutral and unfeeling. Simon hated when Baz looked like this, like a complete statue. He cupped his sharp cheeks. “No, Baz, I’m not ending us. I promise, I’m not.” Baz still looked unconvinced. Simon held him tighter. “Baz, it’s...it’s about your family. I think I found out who they are, who you were, before here.”

Baz’s face went from stone to complete shock with a twinge of happiness. His free hand flew up to grip Simon’s arm a bit too tight. “Really? You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I promise. I make jokes but I wouldn’t joke about this, Baz.” They both chuckled, and Simon felt incredibly relieved. But...he still had to tell him. “You’re going to want to sit down though.”

Baz furrowed his brows. It was painfully adorable, but Simon couldn’t get distracted. “Okay, if you say so.”

They sat down together, simultaneously crossing their legs, knees touching. Simon put his rucksack in his lap. He took many deep breaths. Baz was looking at him very strangely, almost on this side of amused. Simon hoped he would still look at him like that after.

“So, uh,” Simon said, “I looked through the mage family records, but couldn’t find anything. But then I went to the back, and I-I found this weird room, and I found, well, this.”

Simon pulled the portrait out of his bag and shoved it at Baz. He was a bit taken aback, but still took the painting from him. He scanned over it carefully, analysing like Penny did with it too. Simon felt his palms get more sweaty with every passing second. But Baz didn’t shout or cry or anything. He just looked perplexed.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s a nice portrait. I’m not sure why you’re showing it to me though.”

Simon tried to suppress a groan. It wasn’t Baz’s fault. Simon hadn’t explained, but he wasn’t looking forward to doing it. He barely knew how to start. He leaned up on his knees, pointing at the people in the picture. “This is, uh, the royal family, before David and me. That’s actually Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the author you love.”

Baz’s lips quirked up. “Oh. It’s good to finally put a face to the admired name.”

“Y-Yeah. And that,” he moved his finger to the little boy, “is her son, her only child, Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. They both, uh, they died a long time ago.”

“Well, that’s morose. Still don’t know why you’re telling me about them. Or how they have anything to do with my family. Am I some distant cousin of royalty? That would be interesting.”

Simon took a very long, very deep breath. He needed to muster up every ounce of courage he had for this. Because he was scared, he was worried, he didn’t want Baz to be mad at him. But in the end, this wasn’t about him. This was about Baz. His future, his family, his escape from this hell. And he wanted to know he had people who missed him.

“Baz,” he said firmly, “I think you’re Prince Tyrannus.”

For a long, long moment, the only sound was the wind whistling in the trees and the swans softly paddling the water. Simon kept his eyes squeezed shut at first. He needed to centre himself, make sure he was calm before talked to Baz again. He had to be Baz’s rock in this insane storm. But once he was ready, he slowly opened his eyes, and looked at Baz. And well, Simon didn’t know what else he expected.

Baz looked completely, utterly, shellshocked. His face was frozen somewhere between bewilderment and horror. He gripped the frame so hard Simon feared he’d snap it in half under his incredible strength. Baz’s breathing became more and more shallow, as if his lungs were becoming smaller with every passing second. Simon almost reached out to touch him, but it felt like touching a wild bear, unpredictable and possibly deadly. He waited for Baz to speak first. It felt like Baz’s place to break the tension, when he was ready.

“Simon,” he finally whispered, “if this is the actual joke, it’s not very funny.”

“It’s not a joke!” Simon put a hand on his knee, bear danger be damned. He shouldn’t be afraid of Baz. “I’m serious, Baz. I think you wer- are Prince Tyrannus, son of Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Fuck think, actually, I know you are. I found stuff to prove it and shit. I mean, first of all, you look exactly like the prince. You’re bigger but you still look the same. You can see that, right?”

Baz’s eyes flicked up. They were narrowed, but still quivering slightly. “I suppose you have a point, but that’s not exactly objective fact. I hope you have some more solid proof. Otherwise, I'm not sure I can believe you.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Look, here.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the first proclamation. “This is an announcement about the Queen and Prince’s deaths. They died in a fire, in 1002. You would’ve been five. Queen Natasha died, but you were taken. Like in the dreams, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember. But this could just be a coincidence. You’ll need more than your dreams to convince me I’m a bloody dead prince, love.”

Simon smiled slightly. He was glad Penny had been with him to look for proof. "Yeah, I know. That’s why I have more.” He pulled out the other proclamation paper and put it Baz’s hand. “This is the announcement of the prince’s birth. This was released the day after he was born, so he has the same birthday as you. And see that symbol on the bottom of the page? Look familiar?”

Baz touched his silver chain where it peaked out of tunic collar. Just a small brush, but an acknowledgement all the same. “What is it?” he asked, voice very cautiously hopeful.

“It’s the crest of Tyrannus’ father’s family, the Grimms. And it’s on your necklace, Baz, along with the same birthday. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Baz twisted his mouth. Simon knew he was just thinking, but the movement was infinitely distracting and he needed to focus right now. “I suppose you have a point. But...you said this prince was dead. Last I checked, I’m not dead. Not physically anyway.”

Simon almost wanted to laugh. It was certainly extremely convenient how Baz’s train of thought followed their journey to find proof. Thank the Gods for Penny’s similar need for irrefutable proof.

He pulled the journal from the bag, the page he needed already bookmarked. “See, that’s the thing.” He flipped it open and pointed to the entry. “He may have been officially declared dead, but his body wasn’t actually found after the fire. These are the court physician’s notes. Because you were taken, not killed. No one knew though, since there was too much debris from the castle burning down. And Lord Grimm didn’t want to keep looking so they never realised the Prince’s- your body wasn’t there.”

Baz’s hands were shaking again as he held the journal. His mouth was pressed tight together. Simon knew that look. He had the same expression whenever he was trying to keep his feelings in check too.

“But,” Baz choked out, “why did he stop?”

Simon’s heart broke. Of course Baz felt abandoned, like he had his entire life. Simon put both his hand over Baz’s. The shaking subsided a bit. “Look at the journal, you can read it there. He was too grief stricken to keep looking. It must’ve been hard to keep his hopes up all the time and keep being disappointed. I-It was a big fire, there was a lot of stuff. And Lord Grimm, he couldn’t have known you were actually taken by some madman.”

“I know,” Baz whispered, carefully putting the book down next to him. “Still...it hurts...”

Simon immediately crawled into Baz’s lap and threw his arms around him, pressing Baz as tight against him as he could. Baz hugged his waist, burying his face in Simon’s shoulder. Simon felt tears wet his tunic. He didn’t say anything though, he just let Baz cry. It was the least he could do after dumping all this on him. And considering everything, it was a relief Baz wasn’t having a full on breakdown. Simon was just glad he was mostly alright.

“One question,” he mumbled into Simon’s shoulder, “if his- my name is Tyrannus, which is a stupid name by the way, why the fuck am I called Basil? Did the man make up a new name for me?”

“Funny story about that,” Simon chuckled. “I talked to Queen Natasha’s sister. She doesn’t like David or me, so it took a bit of convincing, but she told me something cool. Prince Tyrannus’ middle name? It was Basilton. Everyone in the castle called him that, or Basil for short.”

Baz arms somehow tightened even more. He let out a shaky breath. Simon slowly ran his fingers through Baz’s hair. He had a feeling it was finally settling in for Baz, just like Simon had felt it settle in for him; Baz was Prince Tyrannus. He was supposedly dead royalty, with a name, with a family.

“So,” Baz said, barely raising from Simon’s body, “my...my father...” He obviously struggled to get the word out, but found a way to do it anyway. “He’s still alive?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely. I see him at every council meeting.”

Baz pulled back a bit while still looking at the ground. “What’s...what’s he like?”

Simon tried to find a word to summarise Malcolm Grimm. A lot of them weren’t exactly positive. “He’s, uh, he’s...very...stern.”

Baz finally looked up a bit, his red and puffy eyes meeting Simon’s. “That’s not exactly encouraging, Snow.”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckled, “I know. It's just, he doesn’t like David that much, so he’s really cold in council meetings. He might actually be nice. I mean, I’m pretty sure he remarried and he’s had like, three or four more kids. So for their sake I hope he’s nice.”

Baz chuckled. “Well, I hope so too then.” He fiddled Simon’s trouser seam, rolling it between his long fingers. A nervous tic to distract himself. “So I’ve got siblings too?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. I didn’t connect it, but, yeah.” He grinned as broadly as he could, running a hand over Baz’s hair. “You’re a big brother.”

“Hm, that...sounds nice. And I have an aunt?”

“Yeah, Lady Fiona Pitch. She’s, uh, very forceful.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to have a high opinion of my family, Snow.”

Simon chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, it’s a good thing. She’s like, super strong and willful. She didn’t want to tell me Prince Tyrannus’ middle name at first because she didn’t want me dragging her nephew’s memory through the mud.”

“She thought you would?”

“She didn’t know for sure at first. She just wanted to protect her family.”

Baz’s mouth morphed into a tiny half smile. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. She’s fiery and sharp tongued. I think you two would get along.”

The smile got the tiniest bit wider. “That’s good.”

He kept fiddling with Simon’s trousers. Simon kept running his fingers through Baz’s silky hair. It had gotten long again. Maybe they should cut it, before tomorrow night. Before the Winter Ball. Because Simon had an idea, if Baz agreed to it, and Baz would want to look good.

Suddenly, Baz stopped fiddling, his entire body going stiff. Simon pushed himself back. Baz’s eyes were wide in what looked like shock and horror.

“Baz? Are you okay, love?”

“I’m a prince,” he said quietly. “I’m a fucking prince, heir to a throne. Fuck...”

Simon couldn’t help the little snort he made. The fact that Baz didn’t pinch his side or flick him showed Simon just how shocked he was. “It just hit you right now, huh?”

“Yeah. Holy shit, I’m supposed to be a king. That’s insane.”

Simon cupped the back of Baz’s neck, tilting his face up just enough so their eyes met. “Um, yeah, technically you are. But you don’t have to be though, if you don’t want to...”

Baz held his head higher, brows very firmly knitted together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Snow.”

“Baz,” he sighed, “I of all people know how hard it can be to be a prince. I didn’t tell you this to put that burden on you. I-I just wanted you to know you had a family and people missed you, because that’s what you wanted. But you don’t have to be a prince or a king. I can break the curse and we can just, run away together. Or you can stay, and the Court will make you the crown prince instead of me, and one day you’ll be king. It’s up to you, love.”

“Wouldn’t King David come after you if we ran?”

Simon tenderly ran his thumbs under Baz’s grey eyes. “It would be worth the risk.”

Baz’s smile was small and his gaze was sparkling. He leaned into Simon’s hands, running his own fingers up and down Simon’s sides.

“I’m not sure what I should do, Snow.” he whispered. “My...my mother, I think she would’ve wanted me to take care of the throne after her, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. But you don’t have to-”

“I know, Snow, I know. I just...I’m probably not the person she hoped for me to be, who she wanted to be her heir. She was a brilliant ruler. At least she had brilliant ideas about ruling. She certainly would have wanted to raise and teach me herself. But instead, I’ve spent almost my entire life in a bloody lake, and for six years of it cursed. Would...would I even be a good king?”

It finally hit Simon. It wasn’t that Baz didn’t want to be king and carry on his dead mother’s legacy. He loved politics and economics and every weird finicky prince thing Simon found boring as shit. But he didn’t think he could. Baz was right in way, he probably wasn’t exactly the person his mother thought he would be. Simon had no idea who he would’ve been if Queen Natasha had raised him. But he knew who Baz was, right here, right now. And he needed Baz to know what he thought too.

“Baz,” he said softly, tucking a piece of black hair behind his pointed ear, “I think you’d be a good king. Way better than David, and definitely way better than me.”

“How much of a compliment is that?” he mumbled. Simon flicked his cheek while his lovely, caring companion snickered.

“I’m serious, though, Baz. I think you’d be a good king.”

His face didn’t exactly fall, but it became serious. He was examining Simon like he was one of his books, looking for meaning and understanding. “How do you know?”

Because you’re smart, he thought, and kind, and so unbelievably strong. You’d be able to see all the small details I miss. And you would treat the people so well. But the words got stuck in his throat, and he wasn’t sure the ever self deprecating Baz would believe him if he just said it. If there was another way...

Simon held Baz’s arms, still snug around his waist. “If you were king, what would you do if you needed the wheat, but the amount you needed wouldn’t leave enough for the people farming it?”

Baz’s face pinched together. It was adorable, and Simon had to actively stop himself from snogging him silly. “What is this? Some kind of riddle?”

Simon shook his head, hands moving to hold his shoulders. “No, just a question. Please answer it, love.”

Baz tilted his head to the side, lips sliding back and forth over each other. Once again, it was a struggle to not push him to the ground and snig him senseless. “Well,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t take that much to begin with. I’d tax a sustainable amount. And if I really needed more, I’d give the farmers funds to encourage them to till more arable land. But not enough it would destroy wild lands for animals. You should always protect nature. It’d be complicated and difficult, but it would be worth it to not harm the people. Queen Nata- ...my...my mother, she wrote that at the end of the day all a ruler really has is the faith of the common people. You break that, you lose your throne, and you’ll deserve it. So never harm them with your own ambitions.” Baz nervously met Simon’s eyes. “Does that make sense?”

Simon’s grin was involuntary and broad. He didn’t know exactly how Baz would answer, but he was more than happy with what he said. “Yeah. That makes perfect sense.” He pressed a firm kiss to his cheek, trailing his lips up to Baz’s ear, where he whispered words. “You would be an incredible king, Baz.”

“Really?” he asked, voice tiny but hopeful.

“Really. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie about this. Listen to yourself. I never would've thought of any of that, but you did. You would be fucking fantastic.

Baz let out a long breath, all the tension in his muscles thawing like ice. His forehead fell against Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s fingers were pressed to Baz’s neck, warm breath heating up his tunic.

“I think,” Baz said into the fabric, “I think I want to. Take back the throne, that is. I want to show I’m worthy of it. Well, I’ll try, and hopefully I am.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” Simon asked. “Not what you think your mother would want?”

Baz nodded. “Yeah. Honestly...I think it’s a bit of both. I want to prove I’m worthy of her legacy, but I also want to myself.” He pulled back, the tiniest smile playing on his mouth. “I’ve been reading about politics and philosophy for years, might as well put all of it to use. And I’ve been trapped here almost my whole life, unable to do anything. I could do a lot as a king, make a difference. I’d like that.”

Simon almost said that he could do a lot as anything. He didn’t have to be king. But it was obviously something Baz wanted to do. Simon didn’t fully get it, what with his experience as a prince, but he understood it was important to Baz, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” Simon said. “If that’s what you want, okay.”

Baz lifted his head sharply. “But wait,” he said, voice very nervous, “will...will you stay with me? If I become the crown prince? If not, fuck the throne, we’ll run fast and far and never look back. I’d rather have you than any crown or legacy.”

Every part of Simon’s body felt so incredibly warm. Like the sun was beating where his heart should be. He cupped Baz’s beautiful, perfect, sharp face and brought their mouths together. It was an incredibly soft kiss compared to most of their others. But kissing Baz was kissing Baz, and it was always amazing. When they pulled apart, Simon hugged Baz’s neck as tight as he could.

“I’ll stay,” he said against his ear. “I’ll stay with you, no matter what, Baz. Whether you’re a prince or a king or a swan, you’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Baz let out a relieved sigh. He squeezed Simon so hard Simon struggled to breathe a bit. But he didn’t care. Fuck breathing. Baz was hugging him, that was all that mattered.

Eventually, they eased up, settling into a softer embrace. Simon shifted onto his knees to better look at Baz’s face. His black hair was disheveled from Simon running his hands through it, the area around his eyes was a little red and puffy. But he was smiling. And he looked damn gorgeous.

“Now that we’ve got that all sorted, my plan can work,” Simon said cheerily.

Baz looked confused, as he had many times tonight. “Plan? What plan? Should I be scared, Snow?”

Simon giggled, shaking his head. “Unless you’re scared of dancing again, then no.” Baz looked even more confused. Simon grabbed both his hands. “Tomorrow night, there’s going to be a huge ball at the castle. It’s a big event for the nobility, lots of people will be there. David wants to announce my...my engagement to my friend there.” Baz flinched, and Simon held his hands tighter. “But I’m not going to let him. Instead, you’re going to come, all dressed up and shit. And I’ll...do what Siegfried in Swan Lake was supposed to do, but do it right, and the curse will be broken. Then we’ll tell the whole court who you are. You can see your family and take back the crown.”

Baz took a few minutes to process all of it. His eyes moved back and forth across the air like he was reading. Soon, he slowly nodded. “Okay, okay, and what am I going to wear? My clothes aren't appropriate for a huge ball."

"Still got the solstice costume?" Baz nodded. "Then where that. Anyone asks where it's from, say it's bespoke."

Baz snorted, turning into a low chuckle. "Sure, they'll believe that. And what if my captor shows up? Here or at the ball?

"He only shows up here every few months, we should be fine. And if he's at the ball, I'll kick his arse."

Baz chuckled again, shaking his head. Simon hoped he actually believed him. "Alright, sure. And..." Baz took a deep breath. Simon watched his expand slowly, the muscles and sinew tensing and relaxing. Simon's anticipation rose in every one of those slow seconds. "You can definitely break the curse?

Huh? Simon thought. “I...don’t know what you mean. You’ve read the book, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve read it. I mean...” Baz cleared his throat and ran his thumb over the back of Simon’s hand. “You’re sure you’re, capable of breaking the curse? You...feel the way you have to in order to break it?”

It took Simon his own time to process Baz’s words. But slowly the revelation dawned on him. The nervous way Baz bit his lip, the flush covering his cheeks, how he was looking at the ground. Gods above, Simon couldn’t believe it. Did Baz not realise Simon loved him?

“Yes,” Simon blurted out, voice edging on annoyed, “yes I can! I really, really can.”

Baz eyes went wider. He was truly shocked “Really?”

Simon nodded so hard his hair flung back and forth. “Yeah, of course! I’ve never felt like this before you, like Siegfried. I absolutely I meet the curse criteria.”

“Oh,” Baz squeaked, cheeks flushing bright red. “Alright, that’s good to know.”

Baz’s voice was strained, nervous, and something finally clicked in Simon’s brain. His jaw fell open in shock. “Is that why you haven’t talked about the book since I gave it to you? You were scared I didn’t...care about you like that?” Baz shrugged, very pointedly looking at the grassy floor. Simon let out a breathy chuckle. “What, did me snogging you for three weeks and everything else before not fully convince you?”

“You can snog someone and come see them and not...feel that way about them,” he mumbled with red cheeks. Simon wanted to slap his feelings of worthlessness right out of of him. Or kiss them away. That would be good too.

“Well, I do. I mean, I just promised to stay with you forever for a damn good reason, Baz.” He pulled Baz’s face up and tapped their foreheads together. “Baz, I lo-”

Baz surged forward and covered Simon’s mouth with his, effectively cutting him off. Simon melted into it like always. His arms went limp on Baz's strong shoulders. And when Baz pulled back, Simon chased his lips, but Baz sadly kept him away with a light push of his chest.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Baz whispered playfully. “But save the actual word for the ball. We don’t know exactly how the curse works. We may only have one shot, and we need the world to hear.”

Simon nodded. “Alright, yeah, you have a point. I’ll fucking shout it tomorrow night.”

Baz scoffed playfully. “I’m sure all the nobility will appreciate that.”

“Eh. I won’t be the prince for much long after. They won’t give a shit what I do.”

“You really don’t mind losing the title?”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. You know I hate it. I think being a prince’s, uh, whatever we are will be way easier. I can do whatever I want.”

Baz smirked devilishly. “Oh dear, what will the Lords think then?”

“What?” Simon leaned back, arms lazily draped on Baz’s shoulders, “worried I’ll reflect badly on you, Prince Tyrannus?”

Baz’s smirk immediately turned into an angry frown. But Simon didn’t think he was angry at him, because he wasn’t pushing Simon onto his arse and stomping away. Rather, he was holding his waist tighter. “No. And don’t you ever think that ever again.”

Simon was a bit taken aback, but the aggressive affection was very endearing in it’s own way. He smiled all the same as his heart beat pleasantly against his ribcage. “Okay, will do, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” Baz chuckled, head falling against Simon’s chest. “It feels weird.”

“You’ll have to get used it eventually, love.”

Baz rolled his eyes incredibly dramatically. “Yeah, but not yet. I’m still just Baz right now.”

Simon instantly leaned forward to press a hard, fast kiss to Baz’s cool lips. Baz barely had time to react before Simon pulled away again. “You’ll always be Baz to me, no matter how many people call you ‘your highness’”

Simon wasn’t sure how nice that was, or how much sense it made. Things that came out of his mouth tended to be just this side of nonsensical and usually unhelpful. But Baz grinned, and he pulled Simon by his tunic collar to kiss him again, more slowly this time, carefully winding his long fingers in his curls as he languidly took his mouth. So maybe Simon was helpful for once. That was a nice feeling. Kissing Baz was a better feeling though. It was better than anything.

Baz was the one who pulled away this time. He nuzzled Simon’s cheek with his long nose. “Just curious,” he said, “what would you have done if I didn’t want to take back the throne? Would we still have gone to that ball but then dashed off instead?”

Simon giggled, pressing himself closer to Baz’s comforting embrace. “No no. I, uh, I actually thought about stealing supplies, going to the town square, and shouting it to everyone there. Then we’d get on horses and ride as far as we could in one night.”

Honestly, Simon expected Baz to mock him for such a simplistic idea, or at least laugh at him for a moment. But he didn’t, because Baz was a constant, wonderful, ever renewing miracle. He just grinned and kissed Simon’s burning cheek. “That’s a great plan, love. I absolutely would’ve done that too.”

“Well, thank you,” Simon laughed. “The ball will be good too though, I promise. I mean, it’s going to be sort of boring, but it’ll be better with you there.”

“You really take me to the most wonderful places,” Baz drawled. He reached back and touched his own hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Say, think you could give me another haircut before my big debut? I liked it just at my neck.”

“Yeah, of course. What else would my dagger be for?”

“I have absolutely no clue.”

Simon pecked Baz’s annoyingly attractive smirk, then reluctantly released himself from his embrace. As he stumbled around behind Baz, he pulled his dagger from his boot, spinning it for dramatic effect. (Baz had taught him the value of dramatics.) Baz sat straight backed, hands perfectly placed in his lap. He was doing a very good statue impression. He’d fit in quite well at council meetings.

It was quiet as Simon cut Baz’s hair, just like the first time. Simon could hear the soft wind and lapping water. But now the air wasn’t filled with tension and awkwardness. Simon’s hands didn’t start off shaking as he sliced through Baz’s raven locks. Baz wasn’t stiff and pulling away from Simon. He leaned into Simon’s hand, hummed happily when their skin touched. And Simon took every opportunity to touch Baz again and again. They weren’t the anxiety riddled loners anymore. Almost four months later, and they were so much better.

With a final slice, Simon finished. It wasn’t perfectly even, but only a very scrutinizing eye would noticed. Baz looked great. Simon kissed his cheek, his temple, and his ear. He wanted to kiss Baz all night. Of course, that was when he let out the world’s biggest yawn.

“Aw,” Baz cooed, craning his head back, “you tired, Snow?”

“A bit,” he sighed. “But I’m fine.”

“No. You should sleep. We’ve both got a big night tomorrow.” He went to his feet and outstretched his long arm. One of the floating lights illuminated the back of his head. He looked like some sort of demigod or celestial being. Simon was simply in awe of him. “Come on, time for you to steal my bed again.”

Simon rolled his eyes but still took his hand, letting him be hoisted to his feet. “You’re the one offering.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He tugged Simon forward, making him stumble into Baz’s embrace. When twisted a piece of Simon’s hair between his fingers, he practically melted. “Like I’d ever complain about having you in my bed.”

All the words left Simon’s mouth and brain. He had been reduced to a blushy, lovesick mess of a man and he never wanted to be anything else ever again. Baz giggled, then leaned forward to peck Simon’s lips. It was short, and Simon almost pushed for a longer kiss, but he was tired. There would be lots of time for that afterwards. After the curse was finally broken. When Baz would finally be free.

They walked to the cottage hand in hand. Baz led Simon to his cot for what was hopefully the last time. Simon laid down, and Baz followed, though he also grabbed a large book to keep himself entertained while Simon slept. He sat with his back against the wall and patted the space next to him. Simon happily collapsed there, head on Baz’s thigh and arm across his lap. He felt sleep wash over like a tide on the beach. Baz rubbed his back, and Simon focused on that slow, comforting motion as he drifted off.

This would be his last time in this bed. But it certainly wouldn’t the last time he fell asleep with Baz right next to him.

———————————————

When Simon woke up, it wasn’t quite yet dawn, the sky a deep violet and edging towards orange, a few grey clouds beautifully illuminated in the distance. Simon looked at Baz with blurry eyes. But he could see Baz’s smiling down at him, and that was all that mattered.

“Morning,” Baz said wistfully.

“Morning,” Simon replied.

They spent a few of their precious minutes kissing. Baz made muttering comments about Simon’s terrible breath, but didn’t actually stop. Eventually, they had to get up though, and Baz let Simon use his arms to pull himself up. As they walked outside into the coming day, greeted by soft rumblings in the sky and swan honks, Baz suddenly stopped in the doorway. Simon unceremoniously knocked into him.

“Baz? What is it?” he asked, rubbing his aching nose.

“This is all I’ve known for so long,” Baz said quietly. “And...I don’t think I’m going to miss it. Is that weird? To not miss your home?”

Simon pressed his cheek to Baz’s bony shoulder, gripping his hand tight. “This isn’t your home, love. It’s your prison. Let it burn for all I care.”

Baz snorted. “You weren’t exactly a fan when I tried that.”

“Okay, you know what I mean, arsehole.” He squeezed his hand again. “By tonight, you’re going to be free of here. You’re going to have a huge castle and a big family and me all the time.”

“Yeah,” Baz sighed happily, leaning on the top of his head. “I’m looking forward to that.”

They collected all the books and papers in silence, putting them back in Simon’s rucksack. He slung it over his shoulder with ease, then turned back to Baz.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said and started rummaging into his trouser pocket. Soon he felt something metal graze his fingers. He pulled out the gold signet ring, etched with a sword insignia, and pressed it Baz’s palm. “Wear this to the ball tonight. Tell the guards I invited you and show them it. They’ll let you in, or at least tell me, then I’ll let you in, okay?”

Baz nodded, absentmindedly slipping in onto his left ring finger. Simon didn’t know if that was intentional, but his face flushed all the same. “Okay, will do.”

Simon could see the sunlight approaching from over Baz’s shoulder. Their time was almost up for now. As his heart broke, Simon kept reminding himself of that this was the last sunrise they had to worry about. He pulled Baz for one more kiss. It was deep and sure, just like his feelings for Baz. Simon reluctantly separated from him. Soon, he thought, soon he’ll be free, and we’ll stop having to say goodbye.

“It starts after sundown,” he whispered. “Head there right after you change.”

“Okay,” Baz replied.

“Wear the solstice costume?”

“Of course.”

“And make sure you have the ring.”

“Will do.”

“And-”

“Simon,” Baz chuckled, cupping his face delicately, “it’ll be alright. You can go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Simon took a deep, somewhat calming breath through his nose. His nerves were still sky high, but Baz’s voice helped. He always helped. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

They kissed once, twice, and a third time for good luck, then Simon finally walked to the edge of the root covered wall. He turned back to look at the lake one last time. It’s lush green grass, short trees, graceful swans, and glistening blue water. It was a beautiful place. But Simon wouldn’t miss it either. Because the best part of the lake was Baz. Soon Baz would be free, and every place with him would be just as beautiful.

Simon met Baz’s grey eyes one more time, grinned, and started climbing the wall for what he hoped would be the very last time.

———————————————

Baz watched Simon ascend the wall with a smile on his face. He watched until the barrier made him invisible. He sighed, fingers instinctively touching the gold ring. It was a comforting weight, reminding him of everything. The ball, his impending freedom, Simon’s love.

Baz had spent six years listening to people from afar, figuring them out and being unimpressed. None of them compared to Simon. Brave, kind, strong Simon. Baz knew he loved Simon almost since they met. His feelings were so intense he feared they would kill him. No matter how much he tried to fight it, they stayed. Baz knew it was impossible. Even that one near kiss at the festival felt unreal, just an impulsive mistake from Simon. And when Baz pushed him away he thought that was finally it. The end he expected came but destroyed him all the same. Then Simon kissed him, saved his life, told him he would find his family, and there was a little hope again. But Baz still couldn’t believe it was love. Friendly affection mixed with physical desire maybe, but not love. No one could ever fall in love someone as strange and damaged as him. No one could break his curse, and he was too much of a coward to bring it up.

Except Simon did love him. Simon, his brave, kind, strong prince was in love with him. What a charmed life Baz had.

He looked down at his hands. They were softly glowing, and he knew his time was approaching. One last time, then no more swan form, no more painful transformation, no more prison. He wouldn’t be the nameless cursed boy any longer. He’d be a prince, someday a king, with a father and siblings and an aunt and Simon. He would be making his late mother, his idol for his whole life, as proud as he could. He would make a difference.

Fate had a strange way of working out.

Baz slipped the ring off and put it in his trouser pocket. He started unlacing his tunic. The was glow increasing bit by bit. But he wasn’t scared for once.

“It’s the last time, just one more time,” he muttered, “then this will finally be over.”

“That’s what you think.”

A large, rough hand clamped over Baz’s mouth, and an arm grabbed his waist. He screamed, but he knew no sound got past the barrier. And every time he struggled the arm held him tighter. He looked down. The arm was dressed in a grey robe.

“So, you think you can escape, huh?” the man hissed, his voice unaltered for once. It was a deep, angry baritone. “And it’s because of Simon. Damn that boy, he’s more trouble than he’s worth. No matter though. He won’t be breaking your curse. I’ll make sure he never can. And you will be somewhere he can’t find you.”

Baz screamed again but it was hopeless. The shield blocked what little sound he made. The man’s hand around his waist pulled away, but the other hand kept Baz from fleeing. Frightened tears fell down his face but the man didn’t care. Something pointy tapped Baz’s temple twice, and then everything went black.

———————————————

AN: Uh-oh, that's not good. What ever shall happen? Also I hope my reasoning got across. I'm worried Baz wanting the throne is too OOC. In my mind though, this is an extension of Baz wanting to continue his mother's legacy. But he hasn't grown up with that legacy as something crushing and love stopping in this fic. It's something he can live up to. Plus he's been isolated and alone almost his entire life, feeling like his life doesn't mean anything, like he's been a ghost in the world. Being a king would let him have a say and do something. He can help people like Simon helped him. Could he do that without being king? Yeah. But he wants to be. He likes politics and philosophy and could like being king. Simon doesn't like any of that, and while he wants to help people, doesn't know how to do it as king like Baz. I hope that came across. I need to stop over explaining my writing lol. Any who, next chapter will be on Monday :)

[patronusofthepugs]

The McCormicks Are Cursed

                This was inspired by @dodush amazing comic! The idea belongs to them!

        Karen McCormick flew through the air. The car came out of nowhere, it happened so fast, she couldn’t even scream all she could do is reach her hand out, hoping to grab onto something, anything to stop her descent. The sky is so blue, it’s all that she sees when she crashes down, hitting the hard pavement with her face. She gasps for air, it hurts so much, oh god it hurts. Her bird thin chest is caved in, she can feel it. The blood rising in her lungs, choking her, she can’t breathe. All she can do is stare at the blue sky as she drowns in her blood.

She wakes up in her bed, coughing and trembling. She hugs her bear to her chest, her heart  still racing from the horrible dream. She can’t stop shaking.

 “It’s just a dream,” she mutters, “just a dream.” The words are a prayer, an incantation to banish the darkness. Dreams can’t hurt you not when you are awake. 

“Karen? Are you alright?” 

Her head shoots up and she looks at her doorway where Kenny is leaning against. His blonde hair is mussed and his face still has the imprint of his pillow but his dark eyes are wide awake as he looks at her. He’s gnawing his bottom lip with his teeth and his shoulders are tense. Karen sighs, he worries too much and she should tell him it’s nothing. But then she remembers the coppery taste of blood  and what if felt like to hear her bones shatter in her chest. 

“I-I had a bad dream. That’s all and it’s nothing, really. But it kinda freaked me out,” she finally admits, scooting over so he can sit down next to her. She really needed one of Kenny’s famous hugs. 

Kenny’s shoulders slouches down and he smiles.

“What was the dream about? I bet I can help, big brothers have special powers against bad dreams. Was it the one where you were getting married to Mr. Garrison?” he jokes as he walks over to her bed, carefully setting his glass of water down on the floor before clambering on. 

Karen chuckles softly, and shakes her head. She can already feel the fear and pain begin to creep away and now she felt more like a little kid than ever. How dumb could she get? To get so scared of a dream like that? Kenny’s going to laugh at her.

“No, I wish. I dreamed that I died,” she smiles and shakes her head, “It’s silly right?” she says looking up expecting to see her brother’s warm smile. Instead, Kenny’s eyes are wide and his skin had turned pale. He lifts his trembling hands to bury them into his blond curls as he frantically shakes his head. Karen stares at him with alarm.

 “Kenny, are you alright? What’s the matter?” “It’s just a dream.”

“Kenny?”

 “Kenny? Please talk to me, you’re scaring me.” she pleads to her older brother as he rocks back and forth on her bed, still clutching at his hair and muttering under his breath. He lifts his teary eyes to look at her and the expression on his face knocks the breath out of Karen. His eyes look so dark and old, and incredibly sad, such sadness it makes her want to cry. She wraps her small arms around him. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” she coos against him, “I’m alright, just a dream. Nothing bad is going to happen.” 

Kenny takes a shuddering breath and turns to grab Karen into a hug. He holds her tightly, as if he’s scared to let go. 

“You’re right Kare-Bear. Just a dream. I’m bein dumb, I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Ever.”

Karen smiles and snuggles closer into him. “You big goof. Of course, I’ll be fine. I have you, don’t I? You’re my guardian angel.” 

Kenny is silent but Karen can still feel him trembling. She closes her eyes. It was just a weird dream. That’s all. Her big brother worries too much. She’ll be fine. 

On Monday, she falls down a well and breaks her legs.

   The well was hidden under centuries of dead leaves and she just happened to walk over it. She stares at the glistening white shards of bones that are jutting out of her right leg and promptly vomits. She screams for help, but her wails are lost to the wind and the happy cacophony of the carnival that rolled into town. She screams and screams until so much blood has pooled out of her leg, thick and red like cough syrup. All she can see is red when she closes her eyes. 

    On Tuesday, she is electrocuted. She is floating down the Lazy River at the water park. Ike and Tricia had gone to get ice cream but they would be back, then they would hit the wave pool. This was the best field trip ever. Karen smiles as the warm sun beats down her face, her fingers dangling in the cool water. She closes her eyes and tilts her face up, already imagining the gorgeous tan that she’s probably getting. She doesn’t notice the giant T.V that plays advertisements and water safety tips, wobbling. It hangs above the Lazy River but when the wire snaps, it comes crashing down, narrowly missing her. She is launched from her tube and into the water where the only thing she sees is sharp, blinding white light that sears into her as she arches back. Her skin blisters and fries in the water. All she can see is white when she closes her eyes. 

    On Wednesday, she is dragged by a train. She is playing with Ike and Firkle on the train tracks. Ike is pleading with Firkle to not try and summon any demons and she’s laughing because of course he will. Look at him, he already has his mom’s Yankee Vanilla Candle and a package of Twizzlers as offering. They don’t notice the train until the shrill whistle pierces the air. Ike and Firkle scramble off but she’s caught. Her shoelace is tangled in a loose screw and she’s tugging to get it out but it just won’t. She frantically tries to tug her shoe off but her hands are shaking too bad, and it’s coming closer, and closer and why won’t this fucking shoe just come off. She can hear Ike screaming but just as she’s wriggled her foot free, there is the train. Like a charging metal bull, it hits and her world explodes in metal and pain as she is caught under the wheels. At the end, she is more hamburger meat than a little girl, barely conscious, the last thing she hears is Ike’s screams and Firkle’s rage at the bastards. All she can see is the chipped green paint of the train as she closes her eyes. 

     On Thursday, she is burned alive. She’s in the car, waiting for her mom to finish buying a pack of smokes from the gas station. It’s fine, boring really as she leans her head against the window, listening to the newest tween bop song. The song had just ended when she  feels a crash that jolts the car. The air bags whip out, pressing her further into her seat as the car careens away, crushed now like a bent tuna can. Her head is still ringing when she smells the smoke. Black clouds erupt from the hood of the car, she watches transfixed as flames begins to lick the insides of the car. It’s getting hotter and hotter but she can’t move. Her arms hangs useless at her side, like a broken wing of a bird, she can’t escape. She sees the dark shadows of people thumping on the glass trying to reach her as she screams and melts. All she can see is thick black smoke as she closes her eyes. 

    On Friday, she is shot in front of the school. Eco-terrorists had taken them hostage, claiming that the Colorado school children has doomed their planet. They strut in front of the gym, holding rifles pointed straight at them. She huddles with her class, her eyes searching for Kenny. He would know what to do, she doesn’t see one of them reaching for her until it’s too late. The ring leader yanks her by her long, brown hair and drags her to the front where he throws her down. He screams more obscenities at the shocked school and places his cold gun against her forehead. She is shaking but just as he is about to pull the trigger, a hail of gun fire shoots through the windows. The Eco-terrorist reels back, his mouth open as blood streams from a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Karen sobs with relief and stands with shaky legs. She sees Kenny across the crowd of running, screaming kids. She runs to him but just as she is about to grab onto him, a shot rings out. It goes through her neck and she falls into his arms. Kenny sobs as he holds his dying sister. She reaches up to brush away away his tears but her hand falls limply back down. All she can see is the bright orange of her big brother’s jacket as she closes her eyes. 

On Saturday, she wakes up in her bed and sees Kenny sitting on the floor. His head is buried into his arms and he’s hunched forward. 

“Hey Kenny? I keep having these nightmares, every night. I keep dying but-but- god, Kenny, I don’t remember falling asleep. They’re just dreams right? But why can’t I remember going to sleep? Or coming home? Why? Wh-what’s happening to me?” 

Karen lays an arm across her face as more tears begin to flow. It hurt, every single death. It hurt so bad. Dreams aren’t supposed to hurt. Why then? Why do these feel like memories rather than dreams. Kenny slowly stands up and turns to face his sister. His eyes are blood-shot red and he has dark bags underneath. His face is pale and cold as marble. 

“Come on, Kare-Bear. I have to show you something.” 

  Karen sniffles and nods. She scrubs at her face with her chapped hands and slips out of bed. She doesn’t bother changing, it seems like she’s always in the same outfit. The two McCormick children silently walk out of the house. The whole town is still asleep as the sky lightens to a dusty pink.

   Kenny reaches the cemetery and boosts his sister over the metal gate. Karen falls down with a thud onto the grass, she warily looks at the audience of graves that stares at the two intruders. Kenny swings over the fence and lands on his feet. Without a glance to his sister, he takes off, weaving around the head stones like he’s done this so many time before. Karen follows, barely keeping up as they reach the edge of the grave yard where it bleeds into the thorny forest. 

  Kenny stops and kneels down in front of a small, stone grave. It’s barely peeping out of the ground and it’s covered with dirt and moss but as Kenny gently rubs it off, Karen is able to read the words.

“Kenny McCormick? Age 10? What, what is this?” she’s looks up at him with pleading eyes, hoping that at any moment, he would grin and ruffle her hair, saying it was all some, sick joke. 

Instead he slides down against the head stone and stares up at Karen with those sad, ancient eyes. 

“Those aren’t dreams, Karen. You are actually dying. Every day. And no one will remember, no one but you. It happened to me. Still does, actually, just not as much lately. And I’m so fucking sorry, Karen. I didn’t think this would happen, not to you. But, I-I-I can’t protect you anymore.” he bursts into tears, pulling his hoodie over his head and burying his face into his drawn up knees. Karen stares down at him, feeling her world shatter as her big brother, her guardian angel finally reveals how broken he is. She swallows, and sits down beside him. She looks up at the sky, it’s unfair at how pretty the world is, at how the birds can still sing even as her world crumbles around her. She grabs Kenny’s hand and leans her head against his shoulder.

“Don’t cry, Ken. There’s one upside to this dying business all the time.” she mummers to him. Kenny snorts in disbelief, his voice scratchy and brittle as he asks, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Karen looks up at him and smiles, “Well it means that when I’ll get older, I’m going to be just like you. I’m going to be as brave and kind as you are. You’re the strongest person, I know and you don’t have to worry. I’m going to protect you. No matter what.” 

Kenny’s eyes fill with tears once more and he lunges forward to wrap her in a big hug. 

“God, you’re the best fucking little sister. And I’m so sorry. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair. I’m so sorry.” he chants over and over again as he rocks her back and forth. 

Karen clings back just as tightly and watches as the sun rises up over the hills. She feels older now. And a touch more sadder. She smiles wistfully. 

“We’re McCormicks. Life is never fair” 

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 8 M

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, Sex (oral and penetrative), cream pie.

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

The Inbetween Calls

For days she’d listened to a voice, a mere gust of wind with no words, begging her forward, pulling at invisible tethers tied around her body. The dark waters of the lake called, black as ink, a void in the landscape. It beckoned her forward finding her finally at the water, it's cold bite nibbling at her toes.

She wasn't sure how she got there, a moment ago the sun had been high on the sky and she was inside the warm walls of Michaels home, with him ghosting his lips over her skin and whispering ‘You’ve been standing here for days looking out at the lake’. She couldn’t recall what she answered.

There were cuts all over her legs, scratches from branches and stones looking like claw marks. Like the marks the skeletons had made.

It wasn’t before she was waist deep that she heard Michael callout her name from the shore and she was jolted back into reality. The water was cold, it brought paleness to her skin and formed goosebumps over it.

“Stay there, Michael! There’s something I need to see,” she called back.

Michael ran his hands through his hair and scoffed with annoyance before stepping out into the water ruining his fine leather shoes. “Come back, Oya! You’re going to get hypothermia or fucking drown.”

Instead of listening to him, she continued until her feet didn’t touch the bottom, until her chiffon dress laciously moved around her like a veil caught in the wind. The stream pulled at her, dragged her beneath the surface with a cold hand. Invisible strings wrapped around her ankles. Underneath the surface she saw herself reflected, her hair floated around her, skin pale as the moonlight, eyes endless voids. She sank, hands reaching towards the sky. Darkness surrounded her, she felt the water press in on her, guiding bubbles out of her lungs that rushed to the surface. Her eyes closed and body began to fight against the tethers that dragged her down.

She bursted through the surface in the great inbetween, hands splashing through water and gripping the invisible foor. Suddenly she wasn’t swimming in the water but lying on the watered floor, with only inches of water between the bottom and the surface. For the first time she was completely soaked through, hair clinging to her skin, water dripping off of her.

Oya pushed to stand, her lungs filling with air, painting violently while her body shook. It was cold here, freezing. Her breath formed evaporating clouds in front of her face. Something whispered at her. Through her body she felt a hollow coldness run, fear coursing through her blood.

She ran, the water splashing up at each step until she felt stones beneath her feet, water suddenly thicker and sticky. Looking down she found that the stones were not stones at all but bones and the water were blood. Thousands of bones, millions of them as far as the eye could see were lying all around her. Mountains of them. She turned, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, constraining her breathing and drying out her mouth. So many skulls with empty hollow eyes looked upon her, their eyes sad and pained. The bones groaned and cracked beneath her heels as she stumbled through them, eyes violently skaning over the surroundings.

The sky was grey as ash and closer to her than she had ever experienced, she could almost touch the clouds. The air vibrated with pain, screams piercing through her, cries filling the air. The pain crawled under her skin, it felt so massive, so all consuming it made her head spin.

Never had she experienced the world in such complete and agonizing pain, so filled with sadness. Never had she ever felt so alone. There were nothing but death. Death and destruction.

Her eyes snapped to a figure on top of a mountain of bones. He turned slowly, pushing his hood down to reveal long golden locks and piercing blue eyes that could look straight into a person's soul. Even if he looked older with longer hair and a hint of red eyeshadow at the inner corners of his eyes she could recognize him anywhere. Michael looked down upon her with indifference.

It pained her. She began to stumble towards him, feeling her feet sink in between the bones, slip in the blood. It felt like a nightmare, watching him watching her with indifference. She felt small and insignificant. The fear of abandonment bittering her tongue and forcing tears to her eyes.

Why where she shown this? What was the meaning?

“Michael!” She screamed at him, reaching for him and wanting nothing more than for him to reach for her. But he didn’t, he instead stepped back and turned. “Michael! Don’t! Don’t leave me, Michael. Please!”

Boney hands wrapped around her ankles causing her to fall. Bones snapped under her weight, ashes stinging her eyes, bones cutting at her skin.  The world pressed in on her, the overflowing pain that shouted out from every bone, every open mouth in empty cries. Her body was dragged back, down into the mass of blood and bones, her fingers gripped at nothing in an attempt to keep above ground, to not be dragged into the darkness that felt like death. She cried for Michael, cried for him not to leave her behind and become another one of the many skeletons, just another body in the mass grave that was the world.

Her fight was futile, she had seen what it had meant for her to see. Pieces of the future entwined with pieces of her worst nightmare, one she had just realised. The future was death and she wasn’t sure if that meant her own. All the wanted was to be by Michaels side and he had left her so easily.

“M-Michael!” She screamed with what energy she had left, the weight of the bones pressing in on her with just her head above ground hands reaching for the sky as if someone would ascend down to rescue her. Blood began to fill her eyes and with one last breath she was gone.

There was an empty calm to the darkness. Nothing, no pain, no fear, nothing.

From the nothingness there sprung a fire, that burned through her lungs until water were cast out of her mouth. Something warm were lying on her chest, pressing the water out of her lungs. For a moment she laid there underneath the stars just staring up until she coughed up another breaths of water. It burned and hurt, tears mixing with lake water upon her skin.

Her body began to shake as she realised she was back in the real world, lying at the lakeside, with Michael breathing heavily above her, his hair now in wet lumps, a complete mess, water dripping from his nose and onto her skin. He looked like a drowned cat.

“What happened?” She croaked, breathing fresh air. Michael looked at her with fury and who could blame him.

“I brought you back,” he panted, trying to dry the water off his face with his wet sleeve. “What the fuck was that?” When she sat up Michael removed his hand from her chest and instead removed the hair from her face with affection. His anger was mixed with relief and relief turned to a chuckle when her teeth began to clatter from the cold.

“Let’s get back,” he said with a softer tone, lifting her up. She rested her head against his shoulder, pressing in on his warmth. God she wished he could just consume her and warm her up that way.

“You l-look absolutely terrible. I-I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you look terrible,” she mumbled against his chest. There were chaos within her mind, millions of thoughts intertwined into a big mess with no end and no beginning. The vision daunted at the edge of her mind, slowly revealing itself, cutting through the cluttering chaos with a sharp clarity.

“And who’s to blame for that?” He uttered gently.

The trees turned into walls, cold wind into a warm one, darkness into light as Michael stepped through time and space and into her bathroom. He put her down inside the shower with a gentleness only expressed towards her. The stream turned hot immediately when he turned on the shower, taking the head and rinsing off the lake water and dirt from Oya’s body.

“What did you see?” He asked and lead the stream wash over her shoulder and neck to clean it off dirt. Oya frowned, brows knitting together when she remembered. He was going to end the world, burn it down into cinder and ashes. He was going to use her and then let her burn in the fires, leave her behind to die. A blistering anger boiled within her chest.

“Nothing,” she dismissed and moved away from his touch. Michael noticed the change and stopped, suddenly confused by her distance and coldness in her tone.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing to concern you with,” she voiced without sparing him a glance. Michael grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him, the anger evident in both his eyes and voice.

“I say it’s something to concern myself with. What did you see, Oya.” He didn’t ask anymore he demanded. Nails dragged over skin when she forced his hands off of her.

“It’s none of your fucking business! You don’t tell me everything so why should I? What are you gonna do, huh? Are you going to force it out of me?” She spat at him. The muscles moved beneath his skin as he clenched his jaw, the grip around the showerhead becoming forceful and turning his knuckles white. If her anger boiled his blazed. “What is it you’re so worried I’ll see?”

Michael refused to answer. The water rose up when he let go of the showerhead before he walked out, not saying a single thing. His hands were clenched into balls at his side. Instead of yelling, instead of showing a display of anger and how far his powers really reached he choose to walk away, leaving a bewilted Oya staring after him. In truth she’d have thought he’d mirror her anger and explode. Instead he controlled it and left her with a hollow feeling inside.

Why’d he leave like that? If he wanted her to tell the truth he could easily have made her and yet he didn't.

She didn’t understand him.

This boy would bring the end of the world, he’d kill billions of people and yet he had done nothing to harm her, ever. It should scare her, the apocalypse, she should fight against it and feel for the people who’d all perish but she didn't. The world had never done anything for her, she would not weep at its end. What scared her was her abandonment, that Michael would leave her to die when the time came.

He was the antichrist and what would he need a goddess for when he had the world by its throat.

With quivering lips Oya picked up the showerhead letting the water warm her.

They avoided each other like the plague. Two days went by in the blink of an eye. Michael had become a ghost that haunted her relentlessly. She heard his steps, felt his presence but never saw him. And she were angry for that, angry that he was angry with her when he was the one that never truly let her in. As much as he spoke of the bond between them he never revealed more of himself, of his plans, of the future and instead he had focused on her, made her reveal her soul to him, made her bound not only by the bond between them but also by owing him for releasing her.

Two days turned into four.

Each night brought her frustrations when her dreams left her aching for him, for his touch, his mouth, his being. Any relief she tried to give herself never satisfied the growing need. Dreamful nights turned into sleepless ones.

One night the ache was too much and though she was still angry with him, the need drow her to his door in the middle of the night. She pushed open the glass and stepped inside, finding Michael tugged under the covers. For a moment she considered leaving, no harm would have been done if he never knew she was there. That moment disappeared when he sat up and looked directly at her, hair still tousled from sleep. The need set root, it burned out any remainder of sanity that told her that her anger was valid and she should turn around.

Softly she pushed the collar of the robe over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing her naked body for his eyes and his eyes only. With confidence she walked to him, first caressing his cheek before pushing away the covers. More than anything else he was curious as to what exactly she was doing. He didn’t oppose when she straddled his hips and leaned in to trail kissed over his neck, carefully grinding into him. Her teeth grazed over his sensitive skin drawing a deep and rumbling moan from his throat, one that she felt tremble through her lips. She sank her teeth into his shoulder hard enough to bruise, it earned another moan, hips shifting up into her. With agonizingly slow kisses and maddening nibbles, she made her way down his body, nails raking red lines over his pale skin. He marked her, he had always been the one to do so and the only thing she left on him had always been red nail marks but now, now she let her kisses become blooming flowers with purple pedals. She bit at the skin of his hip, fingers pulling at the band of his boxers until his erection sprung free, hard and needy.

Oya gazed up at him, desire bruning in her eyes. Michael was looking at her the exact same way, the blue eyes darkening when she wrapped her hand around his cock. Her tongue darted out and traced over the head, Michael mewling at the feeling, his head falling back against the pillow and hips lifting off the bed with need. Oya took her time teasing him, letting her hot breath tickle against his skin, grip loosening, tongue circling the head. He growled, fingers curling in the bedding. She smirked at him, empowered by his need for her touch and yet not begging for it.

She savored the moment before wrapping her mouth around him. Michaels eyes fluttered at the feeling, a loud moan tearing through his throat. Her mouth were hot and soft. She hollowed out her cheeks and sucked until his body was shaking. Slowly she sank further and further down, lightly pressured by the hands that were now curled in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. Around him she swallowed, eyes watering at the feeling of him in her throat and still she continued. The ache between her legs grew, she wanted to grind against the mattress just for some sort of relief. The hand not wrapped around his cock found its way between her legs, trailing circles over her clit, the feeling dragging a moan from her. It vibrated through him, his hips snapping up with a feverish need.

Oya continued through tears until she was forcibly removed by Michael, his one hand coming to wrap itself around the base of his cock and effectively stopping himself from coming right then and there. With a confused expression on her face she looked at him. Drying of her saliva with her hand.

Michael pulled her to him, pressing a kiss upon her lips. The kiss was hot and hard, almost with bruising intent and yet with tenderness enough to let them pant against each others lips, silent moans swallowed and teeth grazing the others tongue. With force Oya pushed Michael back until he laid down, straddling his hips once more. His erection pulsed with need, jittering against the skin of his lower stomach. Oya teased him by slowly rolling her hips against his, her folds lubricated him, readying for further interaction. Her eyes rolled in her head, feeling him brush against her, feeling him underneath and when he moaned she moaned with him.

In this madness she wasn’t only driving him crazy but also herself.

“Oya.” By the simple mention of her name she lined him up with her and slowly sank onto him, clenching her walls around him that dragged an animalistic growl from his lips. The sound were absolutely the most erotic thing, it burned through her body, coiled within her with immediate force. The feeling of him inside of her made her eyes flutter and toes curl.

Michaels hands glided up her thighs, holding onto her while she controlled the speed, the motion, she controlled him.

Oya opened her mouth in a silent moan, rolling her hips against his, sliding up and down on his shaft that felt so incredibly fulfilling, it made her eyes water. The pace were slow at first, letting her get used to his size, sinking down onto him until he was buried at the shaft.

With a cruel smirk she ceased to move, instead clenching around him. She kept like that even when his hips tried to jerk up into her, even when he looked up at her with burning desire, brows knitted in pleasure and a hint of pain.  She wanted to let him know she was the one who decides what happens, that this time he were a mere tool since her anger towards him hadn’t changed. It was a punishment and when he let a little whine escape she was nothing less than satisfied.

When she began to move again the pleasure washed over her with massive waves, breath caught in her chest. The pace became faster, she finally allowed him to thrust up into, the feeling making her heart flutter and cunt grow wetter.

To steady herself, she grabbed the headboard, fingers digging into the wood. Her hair hung over her shoulders, tickling against his chest while their eyes were locked on one another. She bit her lip trying to stifle a moan when he hit just the right spot that electrified every cell in her body. The metallic taste lingered in her mouth as a reminder of how hard she’d bitten herself. A drop of blood fell from her lip and onto his, licked away by that sinful tongue of his, the one who so skilfully turned truths into weapons and lies into truths.

His nails scrapped over her thighs making her eyes flutter at the pain, heart beating within her chest and blood pumping uncontrollably through her veins. He reached up, wanting nothing more than to taste the metal on her tongue but she firmly planted a hand on his chest, forcing him backwards. Instead she also leaned back, taking his hands and leading them to her breasts. No words were needed, as she continued to chase after pleasure, riding him with an animalistic need, he massaged her breasts, taking her nipples between his fingers and rolling the bud with slight hardness, a delicious pain.

Michael sat up with a suddenness, mouth taking her nipple in, softly biting at the sensitive skin as if it were the apple of eden. Oya moaned loudly not able to keep it in, breath caught in her lungs. Her hands ran through his hair, taking hold and forcing his head back to place a needy kiss on his mouth, taking his tongue in. He thrust into her and matched her moan with his own, only to be pushed down against the mattress once more.

She was so close that her legs were trembling, beads of sweat running down her back, hair sticking to her body. By the look of chased bliss on his face, she’d argue that he were close as well, his legs almost trembling as much as her own. The ache that had build up over the days apart ripped through their bodies, it burned hot and long, shot with electrifying bursts up through their bodies as they came in total and utter ecstasy.

For a moment everything turned white with pleasure, there were only the sensation of undeniably sweetness. Michael thrusted shallowy up into her a few more times, prolonging his own pleasure. Oya hummed satisfied, feeling his seed fill her. If it weren't  for her knowledge in herbs and medicine she’d have become pregnant with his child long ago by how deep his seed seemed to reach, how completely filled she felt. She remained, hands running over his skin just to feel him, feel the heat radiating off of him and bask in the glory of coming.

It took a moment until she had gathered and composed herself enough to rise from him, feeling their juices drip out of her and run down her legs when she finally stood.

He didn’t argue for her to stay, actually he didn’t say anything and she didn’t care to listen. Instead she walked to her robe and picked it up, wrapping it around herself on the way to the door. There were no words to be spoken, their fight wasn’t over, this had been a mere truce to satisfy their carnal needs.

If he had asked she would have stayed but he didn’t.

Oya turned halfway through the door. “Goodnight, Michael.”

[cerillosvillage]

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Four: Work It Out

Take it easy/ Don’t worry ‘bout it/ I got this/ I got this

The giant looked up as Ib entered the meeting place. The mercenary's face was still pale and his injured arm was in a sling, though the way he carried himself showed that either he was not in much more pain, or that he had enough experience with being in pain around enemies that he knew how to hide it. He took a seat besides Magdalena on the stone floor, crossing his legs underneath himself as she had. Unlike her skirt, though, his kilt did not reach the floor when he stood, and when he sat, it was clear that he did not bother with undergarments.

He said nothing, but made direct eye contact with the giant beastman. Omkir, for his part, did not appear fazed in the slightest.

"Your bodyguard?" He asked Magdalena.

"Her advisor," Ib corrected him in a clipped tone.

The meeting place was a great stone circle painstakingly carved out of the sandstone floor of the village. It was deep enough that most of the Cerillos clan, being just over five feet call, could not stand at the bottom of it and look out over the top. There were no chairs or seats of any kind in the meeting place. Anyone who came to have their voice heard in matters concerning the village had no choice but to sit on hard floor, so that everyone was of equal height - and therefore equal importance - during meetings. Most would bring woven rugs with them to sit on, but right now, the only people in the space where Magdalena, Ib, and the trio of mages. The mages, of course, had no rugs to sit on.

"As I was saying," Omkir continued, "we have brought with us a letter from our University explaining our purpose here. I understand that you have not heard of our University, but I believe you will find that the letter will answer many of your questions." He held a scroll up with one hand, opening his palm. The letter glowed a faint pink, and levitated on its own across the meeting place, until it hovered just in front of Magdalena.

She looked at the scroll, her face screwed up in the manner of someone deeply uncomfortable with their present situation.

Ib knew the issue without having to be asked. Not only did she not know anything about the University, she could not even read. The Cerillos people were a people who recorded everything orally. In fact, few people in the village had any education to speak of, something that Ib found quaint but frustrating.

"I've heard of your college," he said, reaching out on his own to grab the scroll. It felt warm in his hand and vibrated for just a moment, until the pink glow faded. Omkir furrowed his brow at Ib's actions.

"You lot, you're the ones that fuck around with the borders of earth and space, correct? I believe I heard stories of one of your schools exploding because a mage tried to harness cosmic energy."

Modthryth, the skinny masculine one, opened his mouth to speak, but Omkir raised a huge hand to silence him.

"An unfortunate accident. Master Scipio's work is not indicative of the rest of the institution."

"Right, right," Ib muttered, slipping a finger underneath the purple wax seal on the scroll. He unfurled it and read over it. The diction was long-winded and complex in the way only academics were, and while he was far more educated than the rest of the village, he'd never had a knack for reading such writing.

It did, at least, confirm that the trio truly were representing the University of the Arcane.

"So you have the backing of a school," Ib said, tossing the scroll aside. Omkir's brow knit together further. Ib was beginning to find amusement in antagonizing the beastman, though a glance from a worried-looking Magdalena made it clear that he needed to reign it in a little.

"So you're from a school," Ib continued, trying to tone down his natural arrogance. "But what are you actually here for? I want to hear it from you lot, not some obtuse professor."

Omkir's shoulders rose with a deep inhale, though he managed to keep his face relatively composed.

"As I said, we are mages--"

"I don't know that word," Magdalena interrupted. Ib cast a glance at her, willing her to shut up and not display her ignorance, but she continued. "I don't know what a mage is. That is not a word we have here. Before you go on, please, explain it to me."

The two smaller mages exchanged a bemused look, but Omkir did not show any signs of surprise or amusement.

"Simply put, we are practitioners of magic. Am I right in assuming you know what magic is?"

Magdalena nodded. "My husband's father was a holy man. He communicated with spirits, and they lent him their powers. Is a mage like that?"

"Not exactly," Omkir replied. He managed to say things that could easily be condescending without actually being so. He acted very much like a teacher, Ib thought.

"We do not have direct communication with spirits, though we do rely on them. We work to learn the secret names of everything we encounter; every rock, every tree, every stream. We then call upon those things by their secret name, which allows us to control them. When Modthryth disarmed your… advisor, he was using the secret name of steel. When Poe created fire, she was using its sacred name."

"I see," Magdalena said softly. "So… am I right in assuming you have come here because you want to learn the secret names of our caves, and try to control them?"

"No, you are not. We do not want to control the magic found in this region at all. We simply want to study it. Cosmic energy swirls around this village like a typhoon. Very few places in the world have such a strong connection to the cosmos, which indicates a connection to the Gods. We wish to understand this energy, to catalogue it, and, if you allow us, to help your village harness it."

"My people believe it is an affront to the Earthshaker to try to control him," Magdalena murmured. The very idea was sacreligious, and one of many reasons why both Elyakim and Ajra had been so reviled by the Cerillos people.

"My apologies, you misunderstand me," Omkir said gently. "I don't mean to suggest that you try to learn the secret names of the Gods. Rather, the energy surrounding this place runs wild and chaotic, which is why we were attracted here. No doubt other magic users will be drawn to this place as well, as long as the magic runs freely. We wish to help you contain it, to urge it into more productive uses, so as to avoid a confrontation with forces and people with malicious intent."

Ib could see that the mage's reasoning had struck a chord with Magdalena. She clutched her skirt so tightly, her knuckles had gone pale, and she sucked on her teeth. Already there had been two cult leaders try to take over the village. One, Ajra, had technically succeeded, and from what Ib had come to learn about Elyakim, he had been using the village's magical caves to create monsters. He could understand why the mage's offer was a tempting one.

Suddenly, she turned to face him. "Ib," she asked in a hushed voice, "you've heard of this… 'University.' Have they ever waged war on a region?"

Ib glanced at Omkir. The mage's face was impassive.

"No," he murmured back. "Mages are crazy, but they've always seemed too self-involved to bother trying to take anything over on their own. I've worked for kings who employed mages in battles, but the University itself has always remained neutral."

Magdalena bit her lip, looking at the floor for a moment.

"I… I'm not sure that we have the resources to provide room and board for strangers…" She said, finally looking up at Omkir.

"Money is of no concern," he said, waving a hand. "We have been given funding by our University. If you allow us access to your village, we will pay for anything that we use."

Magdalena looked down again, thinking.

"I'll allow you to stay for a month," she said eventually. "But you will be supervised everywhere that you go."

"A fair condition," Omkir said, bowing his head.

Magdalena stood up and climbed half way up the steep stone steps leading down into the meeting place. She signaled for a villager who had been sitting just above the meeting, and instructed him to lead the mages to an apartment. The mages stood and followed without a word.

Ib stood as well, watching them go. After the last of them had climbed out of the hole, Magdalena started up again. Ib reached up and caught her by the arm.

"Maggie," he said, "a word, please."

She looked over her shoulder to watch the mages follow the villager, then nodded and stepped back down the stairs.

"You think I did the wrong thing, don't you?" She asked.

"I'm not going to judge or question your decision," he said. "But I do have a concern. We have three patrolmen, and none of them has any experience fighting magic users. We're lucky that those mages didn't do anything worse. But if they're right, and this place is a hotbed for magical activity, we need to be better prepared."

"I've asked for people to join your patrol," she said. Her voice was pleading, and Ib was reminded of just how young she was. "But our people are pacifists. Even considering all that's happened to our village, it's hard to change their minds. My husband was always frustrated with that about his father."

"It's okay," Ib murmured, doing his best to soothe her before she had a breakdown. "I understand. But we do need to do something about the situation."

"Do you have any ideas?" She asked.

Ib took a deep breath. This would be a hard sell. "Let me bring in some mercenaries," he said.

Magdalena pursed her lips. "We don't have the money to pay mercenaries," she said, which was certainly true, but Ib could see the deeper meaning behind her words. She didn't trust mercenaries.

"I'll pay them," he said. "I've enough money to last me multiple lifetimes. More importantly, though, I don't want to bring in the first mercenaries who take up the job. Let me hire people from my old troupe. They know me, and they're loyal to me. They won't turn on this village."

Ib could see the calculation going on behind Magdalena's eyes. No doubt she was thinking about the fact that he was Ajra's consort, and that Ajra had once conquered the village. And he had first come to the village with every intention of helping her conquer even more. But he had found a home here, had saved the entire place despite knowing there would be no reward in doing so. He hoped that was enough for her to trust him.

"...Alright," she said slowly. "Bring your mercenaries."

[centeris2]

When Rebecca returned to the Kallters a few days later she was armed with everything the druids had ever given her, hoping something would help her get past the seals if she had a way down.

“Our ways are secret, but we have permission to help. Here,” Nanook presented her with a bag. Rebecca opened it, finding a coat, a necklace, and an ice pick.

“So...?” Rebecca looked up for an explanation.

“The coat, to keep you warm. The necklace, to still your breathing, and an ice pick to get in,” Sedna explained.

“Go to the place you jumped and use these items. Please return them to us, we do not want others to learn of them,” Nanook requested and Rebecca nodded.

“Thank you, I will return as soon as I can,” she promised, mounting up and leading Midnightwarrior to the lake.

“Okay, got Kallter coat, wearing the necklace, have ice pick, rune wand, a vial of Aideen’s tears, and the fragment of Aideen’s light. I guess this is it,” Rebecca muttered and looked at Midnightwarrior, giving him a pat on the nose.

“Be back in-”

“Well hello, Rebecca. I had hoped you would respect the wishes of the druids,” Elizabeth said, Avalon and two other robed druids with her. Rebecca knew what they wanted.

Rebecca shrugged and jumped into the water before they could say anything else. She knew what she had to do.

The water didn’t knock the breath from her again, the necklace shining a soft blue light. The cold didn’t make her freeze, the coat keeping the cold away. She still wasn’t sure how the ice pick would work, but she had to swim down first.

It was easier to reach the bottom without fighting cold and the desire for air, and she touched the stone covered in seals. Well, they said the ice pick would get her in. She slammed it into the rock, the rock and water rippling, a bubble forming around it, an air pocket forming. With the water gone, or perhaps because of the crystals in the ice pick, the crystals in the stone shone bright, as if turned on, the seals lighting up.

“Okay, now… something,” Rebecca muttered and pulled out her fragment of Aideen’s light, putting it against the stone.

Nothing happened.

So she tried shining Aideen’s light, focusing on the stone, willing it to open up to her. There was a sudden pulse, silence turning into a rapid beating, trying to get out, responding to the light.

A crack formed in the stone, unraveling like a seam, the bright seals rippling and flashing angrily before they were ripped apart and Rebecca squeezed her way inside the opening. There was so much to see now that she was inside, stone and metal and crystal and so many strange lights, even wires and cables. But that column, at the end of the chamber, had gone silent. The silence made it all the more mysterious, drawing Rebecca closer. She could inspect the room later, it was the column that was important.

Her footsteps echoed in the chamber, and she became painfully aware of the smell and feeling in the air. It was stale, and smelled of ash and rot. This was not a place of healing and rest.

She touched the column, the image of a sleeping woman carved into it. She had tears on her face, a look of despair etched into the stone. Rebecca felt around the column for a release before she tried the light once more. Nothing happened, so she tried the rune wand.

The face in column opened its eyes and mouth, turning into a face of horror and rage, and the column split open, cold mist escaping.

“Fuck…” Rebecca muttered, covering her nose, a cold chill going down her spine. She took a step back, trying to get away from the smell of a decomposing body. There was a pile of bones, vaguely still in a sitting position as the body had sunk down as the tissue broke down, the cold and stasis keeping it from decaying completely. There was still tissue and hair, not yet broken down by time and bacteria.

“You can’t be…” Rebecca murmured, pinching her nose and creeping forward, wanting to touch the corpse to make sure it was real, but the smell was enough to confirm it.

No, druids were tricky, perhaps-

She reached out and touched it, pulling away when the horrible feeling coursing through her confirmed that it was Aideen, and she was dead.

“You have no-!” Avalon’s voice carried to her in the empty chamber, the druids appearing from their own secret entrance. His words died, fading into an echo and then into nothingness, replaced by the sound of water dripping on the stone floor.

Rebecca looked up at them, tears streaming down her face, overcome with grief and loss.

“You left her down here,” Rebecca muttered, the druids gasping, one throwing up, at the sight of Aideen. Elizabeth fell to her knees, tears welling up in her own eyes and she muttered into her hands, prayers that this wasn’t real.

“She… Aideen was…” Avalon tried to form the words.

“Safe? Healing? Recovering? She looks much better!” Rebecca snapped, “Elizabeth said this was a safe place, that the person resting here would return. Does it look like Aideen is coming back?!” Rebecca shouted now, rushing to her feet and getting between the druids and Aideen’s corpse.

“Can’t you leave her alone!? You already left her here to die, now leave her here to rot!” Rebecca screamed, feeling as though she was suffocating.

“We must confirm-” Avalon tried again to form words.

“Confirm what!? What, you think Dark Core got down here and switched Aideen’s body? And then put the seals back up using your magic? If they had Aideen they would have made their move by now, they wouldn’t need The Light Ceremony book because they’d have a practical goddess!”

“Please, be respectful,” Elizabeth begged, hating the noise.

“That’s rich, coming from the ones who locked her down here and let her die,” Rebecca snarled and left the way she came. When she removed the ice pick the bubble of air around the entrance began to close and Rebecca swam up to the surface. She felt the water rumble as the druids hastily closed the door before the chamber was flooded.

Midnightwarrior greeted her with warm air from his lungs and a gentle nuzzle. Now Rebecca understood what was down there, she had learned the truth.

“It was unsuccessful?” Sedna looked disappointed when Rebecca returned to the outpost, face puffy and red from crying, tears still spilling out and she kept sniffling.

“No, it-it-it-” Rebecca gulped for air, trying to not break into hyperventilating, “she’s dead.”

“Dead?” Nanook gasped, Sedna covering her mouth.

“No… she…” Sedna muttered.

“I ca-ca-ca-came-” Rebecca gulped again, stopping and breathing hard, unable to speak and instead offering the bag of tools given to her back to the Kallters. Nanook walked over and accepted it, still in shock.

“I- I have- I can’t-” Rebecca covered her face with her hands, trying to get a grip. The druids had killed their own goddess. Even if Aideen somehow lived on in an immortal goddess way what goddess would continue to help the those who had killed her? Surely Aideen was not as merciful and loving Jesus Christ and God of the Christian religion. This wasn’t some sacrifice to redeem humanity, the Kallters had told her already about the destruction Aideen left after her companion was killed, or what was caused by what was left of Aideen.

“Thank you for your news, please, go and mourn in your own way, but do return to us. We wish to know more when you are willing to share,” Nanook touched her leg, making her look down and nod at him. Sedna said nothing, turned away and fighting back tears of her own.

Rebecca and Midnightwarrior managed to get just outside Dino Valley before the pain became too great and they had to stop, Rebecca sobbing and Midnightwarrior hanging his head low. They felt like they were dying, and hope and warmth in the world sucked out of them and leaving them as dry as that corpse in that tomb under the water.