#green jacket last time we went out for dinner i nearly passed out when he picked me up from work

[salted-caramel-tea]

the other side of him dressing like sapnap was you being like the breaking bad girl

that one audio on tiktok that’s like a mashup of mary on a cross and buddy holly

[lorirwritesfanfic]

Clingy

Author’s note: Evelyn Bennington is a creation of this author. The other characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios. Book: Open Heart Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x F!MC (Evelyn) Rating: E Word count: 1399 Reading time: ~6min Summary: Evelyn went on a shopping spree and Rafael can't hardly wait for her to come home. Based on the prompts: @choicesmonthlychallengee Picktober: Kinktober - Leather/Lace

Raindrops drum on the glass windows as Rafael checks his phone one more time. She's nearly two hours late. Though she said she'd probably arrive earlier at home, once Evelyn got Sienna's text mentioning sales at Bloomingdale's, he knew he'd have dinner by himself. Which is fine. Evelyn is currently on a diet, so he could have the greasy cheeseburger with fries and soda he has been craving for weeks. But it's so strange to stay alone at home. Didn't she say she would just take a look? Why is she taking so long?

He idly flips between TV channels eating the last of his fries, looking for any kind of distraction. He shouldn't worry so much. Their neighborhood is quite calm and Evelyn can handle herself just fine. Yet, deep down he knows this isn't about protectiveness. It's about missing her.

His eyes find his phone again, but he shakes his head and looks back at the TV. Evelyn's job is so demanding and, now that she moved in with him, she has spent so little time with her friends. It doesn't see right to spoil her rare moment of fun with her friends.

Almost half an hour passed when the door finally opens.

"Hi!" Evelyn walks in grinning from ear to ear carrying six large bags.

"Hi," he answers, glancing at the bags. "I see you didn't just look around."

"I swear I'd just tag along with Sienna and Jackie. But you're not going to believe the stuff I got here." She then puts the bags on the floor and opens one of them to fish out an orange tote bag. "Look at this! Isn't it pretty?"

"I like the color. I assume you're going to wear it to go out?"

"Yes! I got so much stuff to wear when we travel to Brazil."

His brows go up in surprise. "Did you?"

"What? You're not the only one daydreaming about this trip."

He smiles softly. "I'm glad you've been thinking about it too, meu amor. But you also said you'd save money for the trip."

"And I am! I only bought things that I'm going to wear on the trip and some essential items. By the way, I got something for you."

Rafael looks down at the bags then at her. "For me?"

Evelyn produces a leather jacket out of one of the bags. "You said you wanted a new jacket."

"You didn't have to do that…"

"I know. But I wanted to. I was wandering between the clothing racks searching for stuff that would look good on you and I thought you'd like it. It's comfy, it'll keep you warm and it's stylish," she adds.

He takes the jacket and nods. It does look nice.

"Go try it on."

"Now?"

"Yeah now!" She grins and kisses his cheek. "Go check in the bedroom. I want to see how it looks on you."

With that, Rafael goes to their room and stares at himself in the mirror while he puts on the jacket. It fits him like a glove and it feels nicer than he expected.

He is suddenly startled by Evelyn's arms wrapping around his frame as she hugs him from behind.

"You look so dapper, amor," she purrs.

"Thanks…" He smiles coyly.

"Do you like it?"

"I do." He turns around to gaze at her. "It's a beautiful jacket, amor. Thank you."

"No problem," she replies and steps back. "I also bought something else I thought you might like."

His jaw drops as Evelyn takes off her coat, revealing a set of emerald green lace underwire bra and panties.

"What do you think?"

"You look stunning, Eve. Though I have to say…" He takes a few steps closer to her. "If you've been walking around Boston wearing just a coat and tiny underwear since you left the store, you must be cold."

"So cold…" Evelyn nods, pouting a little.

"We have to find a way to get you warm," Rafael whispers, pulling her flush against him.

Making quick work with his clothes, they quickly move to the bed. On top of her, Rafael pulls the sheer fabric just enough to free her breasts and proceeds to suck one of her nipples while teasing the other with his hand.

As Evelyn moans, Rafael climbs down slowly and kisses her lower belly. He smiles at the sight of her panties drenched from her juices and pushes them aside to sink two fingers inside her while his thumb works on her clit.

His eyes sweep over her body and he smiles. With parted lips, she moans in delight as her sweat runs down her belly, cheeks flush, hips bucking to meet the thrust of his fingers. "You're exquisite, meu amor. I could watch you like this for hours."

"But I want more…" She begs.

"So do I…" He leans in to whisper. "But it'd be a shame not to fully appreciate how beautiful you look in this new underwear of yours."

She smiles, nibbling her bottom lip. "So you like it."

"Like is an understatement. I love it," he says as his fingers work faster.

"Raf, I want you…" Evelyn groans.

He then removes his fingers from her and pulls her panties down. "We won't need these anymore."

"But you said you love them!" She fakes pouts slightly.

"Oh, I do. I'll steal them whenever you leave me here all alone, missing you like crazy. But right now they're getting in my way."

She giggles.

Closing her legs, Rafael holds them close to his chest and slowly plunges into her. Both of them gasp. Once again, he thinks to himself he could spend hours like this, just savoring her warmth around him. But the best is yet to come.

He moves in and out, picking up speed as Evelyn meows louder. Taking his time, he gazes at her once again. Nipples hard, hands clenching the sheets, ragged breath, walls tightening around him. She's so ready. And he could barely wait to finish inside her.

"Faster…" She pleads.

He grins then hammers into her.

Her brows knit together as her body is about to climax. "Raf, I can't hold it…"

"It's okay. Let it go, meu amor…"

Her toes curl as she cries out in ecstasy. Yet he doesn't stop.

"One more?"

"Yes, please." Evelyn smirks.

Still holding her legs, he opens them and lies on her, pressing her lower limbs against her breasts as he sinks deeper.

She gasps as he rams into her. With their face at last so close, their lips meet in hungry kisses, fueled by their need for each other. It doesn't take long for her to find release again, followed by his grunts as he spills his seeds into her.

Once he eases himself out, he lays down beside her and brushes a few locks of hair away from her face. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" She smiles trying to catch her breath. "I'm on cloud nine, babe!"

He chuckles.

"Is there a special reason for these new moves? Besides the lingerie, of course."

"No… I just missed you while you were gone."

"You could've called me."

"I could. But I didn't want to ruin your time with the girls. You haven't gone out much lately. Especially by yourself. You deserve to have fun with your friends."

"Aw… You're so sweet." Evelyn crawls on top of him and gives him a peck. "But I wouldn't have minded if you texted me saying you miss me."

"Would it be too clingy?"

"Not for me. But just in case it felt clingy to you, you could have mentioned everything you planned to do to me when I got home."

"Very well." He grins and kisses the tip of her nose. "Get ready for some serious sexting next time."

Evelyn giggles. "Can't wait."

[slasherholic]

synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

 You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile. 

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter. 

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom. 

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa. 

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable. 

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped. 

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs. 

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question. 

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table. 

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for. 

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open. 

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out. 

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn’t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.

[taizi]

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

x

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

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A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

[writerofthecourt]

beautiful illusionist

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

summary: you are living a dream right now. it’s about time that you wake up

warning: slight time skip spoilers, some swearing, suggestive material, cheating, toxic relationship

a/n: for you, suna anon. this is a lot more mature and dark(?) than what i’ve written so far, but i hope you guys still enjoy!

EDIT: the series’ masterlist can be found here

“[Y/N], this is Suna!” Atsumu said as he dragged you along, Osamu following close behind.

“Suna, this is [Y/N],” Atsumu proudly introduced, gesturing to your form as you timidly peeked out from his back. “She’s me and ‘Samu’s cousin.”

You nervously glanced at the intimidating male in front of you. He looked tall, even taller than Atsumu or Osamu if he decided to straighten out his posture.

His eyes were narrowed, glaring at you with suspicion before he scowled and said, “Oh god. There’s three of you now.”

You blinked in confusion, not expecting such a unique response. As Atsumu began to berate Suna for his lack of manners, you felt the beginnings of a giggle bubble up in your throat.

Your giggles were soon transformed into uncontrollable laughter as you genuinely laughed for the first time in weeks.

You were depressed about the move. Having moved halfway across the country to Hyogo for your dad’s job promotion, you were forced to say goodbye to your precious Tokyo, your friends, and the life that you had grown accustomed to.

You were nervous about starting high school, but starting high school in a totally different prefecture where you couldn’t even understand the dialect? That was a whole extra hurdle you needed to overcome. However, if this Suna character was the worst that this place had to offer, then you had a feeling that you would be just fine.

“Hi, I’m Miya [Y/N],” you said after you finished laughing, stepping away from your hiding spot with a grin. “I just moved here from Tokyo.”

Suna stared at you with a confused look before he shrugged his shoulders and introduced himself as well. “Suna Rintarou. Welcome to Hyogo.”

You smiled fondly as the memory came to an end. Staring down at your left hand, you curled your fingers around your engagement ring as you began to play with the beautiful piece of jewelry.

Letting out a weary sigh, you glanced at the clock and you watched as its hands ticked away, your hopes diminishing with every passing minute that Suna wasn’t home.

The perfectly cooked dinner had gone cold hours ago, but you still held out hope that you would be able to see Suna tonight, even if it was only to wish him goodnight before heading off to bed yourself.

Sitting alone at the dining room table and dressed in one of Suna’s old shirts, you hugged your legs and brought the shirt up to your nose, finding comfort in the smell of fabric softener mixed in with Suna’s faint scent. If you just closed your eyes, you could pretend that Suna was there and hugging you after a long day of practice.

As his fiancée, you took great pride in the fact that Suna was able to live his dream as a professional volleyball player on a Division 1 team. You were his biggest fan and supporter, but you were also human.

Suna’s busy schedule left you lonely on most days, with his demanding practices requiring him to stay late at the gym on most nights. As for your own job, the long commute to work often left you scrambling in the morning, only having enough time to peck Suna on the cheek before rushing out the door. So while this deadly combination left the two of you with little opportunity to see each other during the course of the week, you still made it work.

Picking up on the faint sound of keys, your head lifted when you heard the front door open, followed by quiet footsteps and the thump of a heavy bag.

“Rin!” you exclaimed as you excitedly ran to the genkan to hug your fiancé. “Welcome home! I missed you so much! Are you hungry? I can quickly reheat dinner for you.”

“I already ate before coming home,” Suna explained as he gently pushed you away. After hanging up his jacket and stepping out of his shoes, Suna picked up his gym bag and walked off towards the bedroom.

“Oh. How about a bath?” you suggested as you followed after him. “You must be tired after practice. I can run you a hot bath-”

“[Y/N],” Suna interrupted as he searched through the closet for some clean clothes. “I’m tired. I’m just going to take a shower and go to sleep. Speaking of which, why are you still up?”

“I was waiting for you,” you lamely explained, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

“Well, I’m home now, so go to sleep,” he sighed with exasperation.

“A-all right,” you conceded, no longer having the courage to look at Suna. “I’ll just finish cleaning up the dining room…”

“Good,” Suna said plainly before approaching you and lifting up your chin with his fingers. You smiled as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead before heading off towards the bathroom.

You ignored how he smelled like sweet vanilla.

Like another woman’s perfume.

“You’re sure working hard today,” your co-worker remarked as you tapped away at your keyboard.

“Mhmhm,” you nodded excitedly. “Rintarou has a game today. If I can just finish this report in the next thirty minutes, I can still make it!”

Your co-worker smiled in amusement, watching as you typed in the last few numbers into your spreadsheet before sending it off to your supervisor with a dramatic flourish.

“And—done!” you exclaimed as you quickly grabbed your coat and purse after turning off your computer. “Sir, I’ll be leaving now.”

“All right. Be safe, Miya-kun,” your supervisor said once he received your report.

Bidding everyone at your office goodbye, you rushed to hail a taxi, quickly telling the driver where you wanted to go before settling down into the leather seats. As soon as you reached your destination, you quickly paid for your fare and ran off to make it to Suna’s game.

“Rintarou!” you happily shouted once you made it to your seat, waving to Suna as he began to turn red from your very enthusiastic display of affection.

Some of the audience members chuckled, while others glared at you in annoyance. Suna, on the other hand, simply looked away as his teammates started to tease him, elbowing him in the arms while they all laughed at his misery and embarrassment.

Letting out a small laugh yourself, you leaned back against your chair and merrily watched the game, loudly cheering whenever Suna managed to successfully block the opponents’ attacks.

When the game was finally over, you went down to the main entrance of the venue, waiting for Suna to finish up with his post-game meeting before the two of you could go home together.

Humming to yourself, you gently swayed as you observed the various people lounging around, chatting with one another and having a good time. Spotting a familiar figure, you were about to call out to Suna, but stopped once you saw the woman walking next to him. They seemed to be exchanging some words before she noticed you and indicated for Suna to follow her as she sauntered towards your idling form.

“[Y/N],” Suna called out. “Come and meet Minami.”

Meeting the pair halfway, you stopped right in front of the now noticeably beautiful woman. Her hair was a midnight black, complementing the emerald green of her eyes. Despite being dressed in a frumpy tracksuit, the outfit did nothing to take away from natural beauty and killer body.

“Uh, hi. Miya [Y/N],” you greeted before politely bowing. You were beginning to wonder if there was a requirement for everybody in the world of professional volleyball to be this good looking.

The woman said nothing, scrutinizing you up and down before she smirked once she realized that there was nothing remarkable about you. Tossing a lock of black hair over her shoulder, she introduced herself.

“Minami Sayaka,” she said with a haughty look on her face. “EJP Raijin’s new athletic trainer. You’re lucky to have Suna-kun.”

You tilted your head at her choice of words before nodding with a small smile. “Yeah, Rin’s the best.”

As you circled your arms around Suna’s waist and beamed up at him, the tall male could only look away with an unreadable expression painted on his face.

“Right,” Minami said, smirking as she passed you and Suna to make it to the exit. “I’ll see you later, Suna-kun.”

As she brushed past you, you caught the ends of a familiar, sweet scent. Calling out to Minami, she turned around and gave you a confused look as Suna did the same.

“I like your perfume,” you complimented with a grin. “What is it?”

“Oh? It’s french vanilla.”

“Rin, pay attention to me,” you pouted as the male continued to lie there against the headboard of the bed, mindlessly tapping and swiping away on his phone.

It was one of Suna’s rare break days, and you wanted to do something with your beloved. However, the lazy middle blocker seemed to prefer lounging around the house and doing nothing all day.

“We can watch a movie? Or go shopping?” you mindlessly listed off out loud. “Oh, maybe even a dinner date? We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

Suna only grunted, half-listening to your suggestions as he proceeded to type something on his phone, showing more interest in whoever he was texting than you.

Crawling onto Suna’s lap, you tried to peek over the top of his phone to see who he was texting. Unfortunately, Suna noticed your movements and angled the phone away from your curious eyes.

“Who are you talking to?” you asked with an innocent smile.

“Just some guys from the team. They want to work on a new strategy next week,” Suna mumbled as his thumb expertly moved across the phone screen.

“Well, can you talk to them later? You’ve been ignoring me for nearly thirty minutes,” you frowned with your arms crossed.

Humming in response, Suna continued to tap away at his phone, unaware that your annoyance had finally reached its tipping point. Fed up with his behaviour, you made a grab for Suna’s phone. However, your efforts were in vain, as Suna used his superior reflexes to grab you arms and flip you onto the bed.

Pinning you down with your arms above your head, you tried to shrink back from Suna’s heated glare as he practically grounded out his next words. “Never do that again.”

You felt your eyes beginning to tear up, annoyed and angry with Suna’s indignant treatment, but more so by his lack of care and tenderness after nearly a week of not regularly seeing each other.

Turning your head away, your voice trembled as you tried not to cry. “I-I just wanted you to pay attention to me…”

Seeing your forlorn expression, Suna sighed as he released your arms, proceeding to quickly type something on his phone before shutting it off. Placing the phone on the bedside table, Suna situated both of his hands next to your head, effectively caging you against the mattress.

“You really are a troublesome woman, did you know that?” Suna asked harshly as he narrowed his eyes into a glare. “Fine, I’ll play with you.”

Before you could even say anything, Suna began to attack your neck with aggressive bites and kisses, his hands wandering down to roughly grope at your chest. After a few moments of airy moans and heated touches, Suna’s mouth left your neck, his head leaning back to proudly admire the new painting across the canvas of your skin.

Diving back down to bite on a particularly sensitive part of your neck, Suna couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw how hard your hands were clenched around the bed sheets, trying to find something—anything—to keep you grounded.

“Is this what you wanted?” Suna whispered as his hands began to rub down the sides of your body, his thumbs making small circles against your skin once he reached your waist. You could do nothing but nod, letting out soft moans of pleasure while Suna simply revelled in the adorable little noises you made.

Reaching for your shorts, Suna deft fingers quickly removed your bottom layers before throwing your legs over his shoulders, darkly smirking when you gazed down at him with glassy eyes.

“Let me hear you scream,” was all he said before shoving his face between your legs.

The other subway passengers looked at you strangely as you swayed in your seat without a care in the world. You were happily smiling to yourself, and in your lap was a bag full of streamers, balloons, and other decorations needed to celebrate this wonderful occasion.

It was a perfectly normal day at the office when you suddenly had a dizzy spell while delivering some papers. Fearing for the health of one of his best employees, your supervisor allowed you to take the rest of the day off to head home and recuperate. Rather than going home, you instead went to confirm your suspicions regarding your recent bouts of sickness, and now you couldn’t be any more happy for your symptoms.

When the subway announcer finally named your stop, you happily exited the subway and made your way upstairs, beginning the fifteen minute walk from the station to your house.

As you walked up the pathway leading to the front door, you started to hum the tune of a catchy pop song that your co-worker had recently introduced to you. It wasn’t your usual cup of tea, but you couldn’t deny that it was a good song.

Silently closing the front door behind you, you slipped off your heels and hitched up your purse higher onto your shoulder before making your way into the kitchen for a glass of water. Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you stopped dead in your tracks as you noticed an unfamiliar pair of heels thrown across the genkan. It was quite strange, considering that they didn’t seem to be in your shoe size.

Your confusion only increased when you saw random articles of female clothing, along with Suna’s own clothes, carelessly strewn around the house, all leading towards the bedroom. Following the series of abandoned clothes, you stopped right in front of the bedroom door, clutching your bag of decorations tightly against your chest as you heard the muffled sounds of pleasure coming from behind it.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

“S-Suna-kun, more!”

“God, you’re so tight!”

You felt your body tremble as you brought a hand up to your mouth, being careful not to make any noise as you slowly backed away from the door. Returning to the living room, you took a seat on the couch, suddenly feeling suffocated and nauseous from all of the walls surrounding you and the accursed scent of french vanilla floating throughout the house. The initial shock and sadness soon faded into acceptance as you wiped away the remaining tears from your face.

Rifling through your bag of decorations, you pushed past the colourful streamers and star-shaped balloons to retrieve an even smaller lavender bag. Inside of this particular bag, you pulled out a miniature pair of knitted wool socks, soft and fuzzy to the touch. They were meant to be shown to Suna as a surprise, but now…

Finding comfort in the texture of the material, you began to wonder if Suna would have been just as happy as you were when you had found out about your condition. Perhaps not, considering…

Bringing a hand to your stomach, you smiled in resolution, knowing what you had to do. Picking up your bags, you quickly put back on your heels and quietly left the house.

You knew that you were making the right decision. It was time you stopped lying to yourself.

It was an all too familiar scene, your lone figure sitting at the dining room table, waiting for Suna to come home. This time, however, you were fully dressed, with two packed suitcases standing beside you. It wasn’t everything, just the essentials: your purse, phone, keys, wallet, some clothing, toiletries, and your important documents. Everything else could be left behind.

Hearing the familiar sound of clinking keys, you steeled yourself as the front door opened. Soon, Suna’s towering form walked into the living room before he stopped in his tracks to stare at you.

“What are you doing?” Suna questioned, gesturing to your current outfit and suitcases.

“I think it’d be best if we part ways,” you simply stated with a small smile.

Suna continued to stare at you before breaking off his gaze with a frown. “So you finally figured it out, huh?”

“I’ve actually known for a long time,” you admitted as you stood up from your seat, dragging your suitcases with you to where Suna was standing.

“Then why didn’t you leave?” Suna snapped, finding himself getting annoyed at your seemingly unperturbed attitude. “Why trap yourself in this loveless relationship?”

“I stayed because I wanted to believe that you would change,” you responded sadly as you removed your engagement ring, an item that once brought you immense joy at the very sight of it. It was a sign of Suna’s love for you, but now it only served as a cold reminder of what could have been.

Taking Suna’s hand, you gently placed the ring onto his open palm.

“Then you’re just an idiot,” Suna glared as he clenched his fist around the piece of jewelry.

“I don’t regret it,” you replied with your usual cheery grin. “This relationship, I mean. If anything, you taught me that I should learn to love myself first before loving anyone else.”

Gently bowing your head to Suna, you internally thanked him for all the times you two had shared together. You weren’t bitter or resentful, only glad to have known him.

Sending him one last smile, you bid him farewell. “Goodbye, Suna-san.”

With those last words, you took your belongings and slipped on your shoes, quickly exiting the place that you once called home. As soon as the door closed behind you, you let the tears begin to fall as you walked away.

Inside the house, Suna sighed and ruffled his hair, suddenly feeling even more exhausted than when he had initially left practice. Narrowing his eyes, he spotted a suspicious lavender bag sitting on the kitchen counter. Making his way over to the bag and peeking inside, Suna’s eyes widened as he took out a pair of adorable knitted wool socks, too small for anyone but a new born child to wear.

Looking back at the door, Suna didn’t have the strength to chase after you as the guilt and regret soon began to settle in his heart.

[hb-writes]

I Won’t Leave You

Summary: The Shelby boys have just returned from the war and John is lost and heartbroken after coming back to a home without his Martha. His best friend Sophie has been there for his family in every way, caring for his little ones while they’ve had no one else, but Sophie’s kept John at a distance, hesitant to intrude on what she feels isn’t hers. 

Characters: John Shelby, Sophie Mason (OC), Robbie Shelby (John’s son)

Content Warnings: canon-typical content, angst, grief, death, war, (it’s hurting john shelby hours)

--

Sophie ate a quarter of her dinner in silence before setting it aside and doing up the dishes, cleaning the kitchen until it gleamed. Then she tidied up the rest of the small two-bedroom she had lived in for her whole life, a family heirloom of sorts.

She cleaned until there was nothing left to clean, not a speck of dust left on the mismatched frames or the secondhand furniture or the tired floors that had never been hers to begin with, all of it passed down from her parents and her mother's parents before them, everything a hand me down except for two pictures Sophie claimed as her own, one from the wedding day of her two best friends and the other of the groom just a few years later, donning not a wedding suit but a military uniform. He was a boy of only nineteen in the photo, but already a father of three…four, if you stopped to count the seed sowed the very same morning he left them all behind at New Street Station.

Sophie figured John had met the new baby by now, little Robbie Shelby who was more like the father he had yet to know than any of the other children before him had been, breaking and healing all of their hearts for the last three and a half years with the smiles and gestures they assumed they'd be going without while their proper owner was off in France.

The boy inhabited the space between pain in the arse and little charmer as if navigating a sailboat on calm waters, with the sweetest grin and the silliest comments and getting up to casual mischief integral parts of the boy’s typical way, full of words that had no business coming out of a three-and-a-half-year-old’s mouth and actions that had no business coming to fruition at his innocent little hands and his sweet, gentle way. 

It was the thought of Robbie after her second over-poured whiskey that had Sophie slipping into her coat and shoes. Either John would have the kids put to bed and she’d find him alone, quiet. Or the devils would still be up, driving their father mad with their demands for more attention, more stories, more dinner, more sweets. 

More, more, more.

John and Martha’s kids hadn’t always seemed hungry from the start, but they had been that way since Martha had gone from them. But with their father gone for so long before their mother’s passing, they just always seemed starved for something these days, anything—the food, the touch, a loving word or a stern one, the answers to a million and two questions.

Sophie imagined those babies had passed John’s first day back gorging themselves on their father’s mere presence, filling themselves to the brim with his laughs, drinking up the blue shine in his eyes, hanging off his every word and limb, stealing away the little insignificant moments in the off chance they’d need to one day make a meal of the meager memories they’d been fed.

It wouldn’t be the first time John and Martha’s babies had subsisted off nothing more than distant memories of John Shelby. Sophie knew that life too, though her memories of John and Martha were far from dim, polished by her mind to shine and shimmer just like the trinkets she’d just spent the evening rubbing a tired cloth over, willing the attention to detail to quiet the particulars running about wild in her mind. 

Sophie focused on her steps on the walk over, willing herself to focus on the cool of the wind through her jacket, willing herself to empty her mind of the details. Sophie wasn’t certain of what she’d find in John Shelby after these four years and when emptying her mind failed, she set herself to the task of avoiding expectations, of breaking up any of the pictures that formed in her mind’s eye, unimagining his smile, disassembling his eyes, and shattering the imagined sound of his laugh, but as she stood on Watery Lane, shivering in the damp night’s air, she couldn’t stop herself from picturing him coming to answer her calling. 

It felt odd to Sophie for her to be knocking on the door she’d become accustomed to passing through as if it was her own, arriving without notice and towing whichever child was wailing or meddling or in some sort of immediate danger up into her arms as she came through, an act she’d engaged in for months out of some unspoken obligation she felt to John and Martha, to the babies who didn’t ask to be born on the cusp of war, wailing for their father for four long years while everyone thought they were just after a bit of milk or food or kiss and a cuddle to heal an injury away. 

And that was all before they’d lost Martha.

A little over four months had passed and the loss of her still felt fresh. Sophie thought maybe because it was, in a way, because they’d all been anticipating the boys’ return, anticipating the fresh wave of pain that would come from another person learning the new way of things, from coming back to a house that felt empty even though it was filled with kids, from the sense of camaraderie that had swiftly left the home, the lost sense of partnership that had once come from a shared glance fraught with laughter when the kids were getting up to something that warranted a snicker, but wasn’t to be encouraged, the shared frustration when all four of them were sick, a shared drink after they all went down, when the exhaustion finally distributed through the limbs and you couldn’t remember what had passed during the three or so hours after dinner. 

Those things had all continued to feel fresh to Sophie every single day since Martha had gone. She had thought it would subside, thought that she’d stop looking over her shoulder or imagining telling Martha whatever story about her child when she returned from this outing or that, but those urges, the deep-seated need… it didn’t wane with time, but it was more painful in the start. 

That was really what finally pulled Sophie from her kitchen chair, the thought of John alone once the babies went down, alone in the house he’d dreamt of for four years, fantasized about while he tried to sleep in the mud and the dust. At least that’s what Sophie imagined he’d been dreaming about in France—his little house on Watery Lane, filled with his wife and his babies, so loud and chaotic and lovely. They wore those words like a badge of honor, even their sweet, quiet Martha who had barely spoken when they first knew her.

Sophie started when the door creaked open and stepped back onto the cobblestone, nearly tripping over her own feet. 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Sophie hadn’t allowed herself to imagine what words would be the first exchanged between them, and the ones she heard stumped her, confused her enough that John’s rough voice could’ve been speaking French and she’d not have known any better how to respond. 

His voice, the first part of him she took in, even before she pulled her eyes up from the wet cobblestones to observe his face, was just as she remembered even if it had a little edge to it, and that had her mind crafting the types of responses they’d once been prone to, the cheeky comments that earned reciprocal grins and friendly shoves in the arm, laughter hidden behind hands or an impromptu cough to cover it all. 

There was no grin on his lips though and no laughter either as she dragged her eyes from his face, running her gaze over the body he’d leaned against the door frame, focusing on his clothes, just a simple undershirt with sleeves pushed up to his forearm, an old pair of pants that hung a bit loose now, things he’d probably dug out of the bottom of his drawers. 

“They’ve been asking after you all afternoon.”

Sophie met his eyes then and found them tired and red, fatigued from more than just being with a bunch of rowdy kids all day. John seemed tired in a way the kids couldn’t touch, and Sophie had a feeling their presence, their shouting and scrambling and squealing had made him look a bit better, a bit more alive, even though she couldn’t make herself imagine him looking worse.

“I only asked after you once,” he continued in her silence, backing through the door. “Pol said, ‘Let the girl have a day off. She’s been with those kids every—’”

“I wanted to give you time with your family, John. I—” Sophie followed him, stepping in off the lane and securing the door behind her, dealing with the lock that always caught with a certain ease as John watched her, a bit of sickness settling in his stomach. It was why he rarely locked it. He could never get it on the first try and somewhere along the line, he'd just decided it wasn’t worth his trouble. 

John cleared his throat. “So, you’ve really been with them every day?” 

Sophie caught his gaze as he turned back to her, his eyes sweeping over the simple green dress she’d exposed by taking off her coat before he settled back on her face, her cheeks warmed by the journey his eyes had just made.

She shrugged. “Someone needed to be.”

John nodded, reaching behind him to grab the glass of whiskey he’d set aside to answer the door.

She’d spent the last four years accumulating questions and comments for him, four years of things she knew she’d one day like to ask or say, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice a single one of them, all of it seeming a bit disingenuous considering, so Sophie focused instead on picking up the toys discarded across the room, settling them in their proper place before she noticed John was watching her, taking slow sips from his overpoured glass as his eyes followed her. 

“We ate at number six,” he said as her gaze drifted to the kitchen door. 

She already knew that though, was well acquainted with the schedule of the day for the Shelby family, the 11:17 into New Street, the family lunch planned immediately after, the lunch which she supposed had spanned until dinner, drinks maybe, screaming kids covering any of the awkward silences. 

Babies always did that.

“John, I…”

John turned from Sophie as the creaking stairs sounded and Sophie wasn’t sure if she’d rather curse or thank the baby rubbing his eyes as he made his way down, heading straight for her skirts, hiding there against her side as John watched the two of them. 

“It’s past bedtime, mate. You should be asleep.”

Sophie smoothed back the sweaty hair from Robbie’s face, both of them eyeing John as he took another sip of the whiskey. 

“Your dad’s right, Robbie,” Sophie said, trying to take his hand and lead him towards the stairs, but the boy reached his arms up instead.

Sophie sighed and hoisted him up to her hip, his head immediately falling to her shoulder as she settled him in her arms.

“Can you read me a story?” 

“How many stories have you already had?” she asked. 

“Just one,” he said. “Aunt Polly told us just one because you spoiled us with too many. Can you read me a story even though it’s your day off?”

Sophie snorted. “My day off?” 

“Aunt Polly told ‘em it was your day off.”

Sophie glanced at the clock. It was seventeen minutes past midnight. 

“Good thing for you it’s tomorrow,” she said. “Go find daddy’s book.” 

Sophie let the boy down and watched him amble across the room, watched as he tugged the heavy book off the shelf, stealing a few glances towards John as he settled on the far corner of the couch with his glass still in hand. 

Sophie sat half a cushion away from him, grateful when Robbie climbed up into the space between them, settling the open book there in his lap, tilting the pages toward Sophie. 

“Maybe daddy will read with us if we ask nicely, eh Robbie?”

“Sissy says you do better voices than Auntie Sophie.” Robbie spoke the words into the space in front of him, his eyes on the book rather than his father.

“Hey, there—” Sophie tickled his side, the small squeal bringing a tired smile to John’s face. “—My voices are just fine, mister!”

“Yeah, well, Uncle Tommy does ‘em better than any of us, eh Soph?” 

Thomas Shelby doing the voices was something Sophie hadn’t thought of in some time, something she hadn’t heard since they were kids themselves, and she found herself longing for it a bit, the tenor of Tommy acting as the villain or the hero or Aunt Polly. It brought a gentle smile to her face, a wistful sort of relaxation falling over her, a feeling she found lacking in John as he chewed his lip for a moment. 

“I’ll concede your daddy that,” Sophie finally offered. “Your Uncle Tommy does it best.”

Robbie made a face, raising his eyebrows as he glanced up at Sophie. “Really?” 

The boy couldn’t imagine the man who’d sat at the table all day doing little more than smoke his cigarettes and answer questions in curt monosyllables doing the voices.

“Put us all to shame when we were little like you.”  

“You weren’t ever little like me!” Robbie accused, poking her shoulder.

Sophie poked him back, tickling him a bit as he started to giggle. “Everyone starts out little like—”

John cleared his throat. “Alright you two, it’s late. What are we reading?”

“A good one. I just have to find it,” Robbie mumbled.

The boy flicked through the pages, slow and deliberate as he peered at the titles he couldn’t read, the symbols and pictures matched in his head with the tales they accompanied. John rubbed his eyes and settled his head against his fist, his gaze directed across the room while Robbie continued with his search for several minutes. 

With only the sound of pages turning and Robbie mumbling to himself, Sophie shifted, settling her legs beneath her and stretching her arm across the back of the couch, her fingertips barely grazing John’s shoulder. It startled him and he met her eye for a moment before reaching for the book in Robbie’s hands. John pulled it into his lap and started reading off the open page, the only complaint from Robbie a look of shock when the boy turned to Sophie, his discontent quelled by her smile and the magic that was his father reading him a story for the first time.

As John read on, Robbie leaned back against Sophie, his eyes struggling to stay open as the words lulled him to sleep. John gave it a page and a half extra after the boy's breathing deepened before he shut the book and set it on the coffee table. 

Sophie moved to shift the boy who’d curled into her during John’s performance, but John reached down, his hand sliding against Sophie’s side as he pulled Robbie up and away from her, settling the boy against his chest, the baby’s eyes fluttering open at John’s gentle repositioning.

“Sophie,” he mumbled, reaching his little hand down toward her though he stayed resting against his father’s chest.

John held a hand down and tugged her up, marching up the stairs first, his head shaking as his sleepy son extended his hand down over his shoulder, reaching out with his small fingertips to hold Sophie’s hand.

“Say goodnight to Aunt Sophie,” John said just outside the door to the bedroom where he and Joey slept, the room just across from the girls. 

Robbie mumbled something incoherent and Sophie pressed a kiss to his forehead before his father carried him into the room, tucking him back under the covers, whispering something Sophie couldn’t hear, a short set of words that elicited a giggle from the boy and a chuckle from John as he shushed him and pulled up the covers. 

“They missed you," Sophie offered as John shut the door to the boy's room and stepped across the hall to look in on his daughters.

“I don’t know. That one seemed more excited to see you than he was to see me.” 

Sophie let out a soft scoff as she headed to the stairs, John just behind her as she went. 

“Robbie’s a sweet boy…and a right pain,” she offered, turning up the stairs as she reached the bottom, a small smirk gracing her face as she delivered the teasing offense, “much like his father.”

“Well, he looks like her.” 

Sophie, stilled, a hand going to the back of the sofa for stability, her heart a touch heavier at the mere mention of the woman who should’ve been there helping John tuck the baby back into bed. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment though it didn’t stop her from seeing in her mind exactly what John had meant. 

Robbie had her eyes, not the color, but the set of them, and a dimple just to the right side of his smile. There was something about the nose, too, though Sophie hadn’t yet figured out exactly what, but somehow it was Martha’s face there in the boy, even if it was John’s mouth and mannerisms and mind. 

“Sarah, too,” he said, pouring whiskey into two glasses and settling them both on the coffee table as he sat back onto the couch. “I remember when she was born thinking she wasn’t mine. The kid didn’t look a thing like me. That’s why she was so insistent we name her after my mother.” 

Sophie lowered herself onto the cushion beside him. “Well, I’ve never had a doubt. Those kids are all a bit of you.” 

“And a bit of her,” John said.

“Yeah, well, that’s usually how it works.” 

John finished his drink, setting it aside, his gaze fixed off across the room again though he could’ve been someplace else, a different house, a different country, a different time.

His hand was shoved in his pocket, and Sophie watched as he fiddled with something.  

“How long was she sick? Was she—”

“John,” Sophie said, his name nothing more than a plea.

It was starting to grate on her, the way John wouldn’t say his wife’s name, the way 'Martha' had yet to come from their lips, but Sophie could feel the woman there, filling the room, filling the space between them, filling the hurt, but neither one of them had even said her name.

“How long?” he ground out, pulling his hand from his pocket and leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees, a glint of gold finding the light as he fumbled with a ring.

Martha's ring. 

Sophie put her hand on his shoulder, pulling back when he turned to her, repeating his question. 

“How long?”

Sophie swallowed, her eyes shifting to his hand, to the ring before she could bring herself to deliver an answer. 

“I know you were here every day, then, too. How—” 

“A few...three months,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “She was sick for three months...or just about.”

John nodded. “Seemed like it came on sudden.”

That’s what the letter had said, the one delivering the message of her passing. It had been the first that had said anything about her being sick, first and last. 

“She didn’t want you to…”

“And what about you? You didn’t write me the whole time I was away.” 

It seemed silly now, the argument that Sophie had had in her mind to explain away four long years of silence, the one that said it wasn’t her place to be writing to him. Sophie had decided that it was something reserved for family, for Martha and the kids, for Polly and Ada and Finn, but there was a lot of things Sophie had done that had seemed reserved for family, a lot of business and caretaking that traditionally wouldn’t have been done by anyone other than a Shelby, and her not writing suddenly felt selfish, because her eyes had run over the letters John sent home. She’d memorized the stories scrawled out on the backs of his letters just as well as the children had, and she hadn’t even let him know his wife was sick. 

She hadn’t written to him after either, hadn’t taken up Martha’s penning him lengthy tales of what the kids got up to on Watery Lane even though she knew whatever Polly and Ada were sending him wouldn’t be good enough because while John sent the kids tales from some fictional world he’d devised in his head, Martha had for four years sent him masterpieces of their domestic life, her tales of Sarah, Joey, Katie, and Robbie Shelby somehow coming across as epic fantasies, entertaining and descriptive, and so well done that the kids John came home to didn’t feel so much like little strangers to him. 

And their best friend Sophie was weaved in there too. Martha had always been sure to include something about her, some silly story about something she’d gotten up to with the kids or some tit for tat she’d gotten into with Polly, mischief she got up to with Ada or Finn. There was always something, but Sophie hadn’t had it in her to take it on, not after being quiet for so long.

She let out a breath, blinking away the wetness in her eyes. 

“I should have,” she said, her voice dwindling to a low murmur, the words barely coming out at all, “especially after Martha, but…”

Sophie stopped herself, so easily paused in her explanation because she'd been hoping for him to interrupt so she wouldn’t have to continue, so her voice wouldn’t break.

She thought the sound was nothing more than John clearing his throat, preparing himself to speak, but then his shoulders started shaking as he leaned forward, his silent sobs pressed into his fists as the ring fell to the floor, and Sophie sat frozen beside him, allowing his pain to wash over her, the pain she brought on just by saying Martha’s name, something they’d been dancing around since she came through the door, and just like in not writing him, Sophie realized she had been standing just outside, holding him at a distance, acting like this moment wasn’t hers to intrude on, like John wasn’t hers to comfort, just like he hadn’t been hers to write to, just the same as the way she’d barely allowed herself to cry over Martha’s death, letting those who were supposed to grieve have it even though John and Martha Shelby were the closest thing she had to family.

Sophie reached out a hand, tentative, slow, and had barely settled it on John's shoulder when he shrugged it off. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me, either one of you.”

“John, I—”

“No,” John said, his voice nearly masked by the sound of the glass shattering as he picked it up and tossed it across the room. He turned to Sophie, showing his reddened face and tear-stained cheeks. 

Sophie stood up only for John to catch her wrist, keeping her still. “You should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking told me the truth. You should’ve—” 

Sophie shook her head and held herself back from prying at his grasp, hoping her words would do the trick and he'd let her go. “John, I think I should—” 

“Don’t go.” John tugged her to him, his head suddenly set against her stomach, his arms tight around her back as he hugged her to him. 

Sophie stood there with her hands raised up in the air, unsteady on her heels, held up on her feet only by John’s crushing arms, surprised by the sudden shift in the room. As she steadied herself, Sophie was near-certain that she would break, both from the sound of John's painful wailing and the tightness of his arms wrapped around her.

Sophie took a settling breath as she lowered her arms around him, rubbing her palms first over his tensed arms before allowing her fingertips to find his hair, cradling the back of his head with one hand as her other hand found moved to his shoulder and back as she shushed him, soothing just as she'd done with his babies and his wife while he was away, easing the pain, drawing out the hurt, wishing wholly for them to find a bit of peace.

“They all leave, Soph.”

Sophie swallowed at John’s words, willing her mind to stop itself from running through the list, unable to stop once it got going.

Sophie’s mother.

Sophie’s father.

Her older sister.

John’s mother. 

Tommy’s Greta.

And now their Martha. 

It took everything in Sophie to not agree with him, to not slip down into the same pit of hurt and despair and hopelessness that came at accepting the truth of his words, to acknowledge that so many had left them behind, left them alone.

Sophie held him to her still, clinging to him even as his grip slackened and the fight that had him gripping her fell away, his sobs still echoing in the quiet as she whispered to him.

“I won’t leave you, John. I'll stay.” 

For the night, the week, for the rest of their lives. Sophie knew even as she'd said it, that's what she meant. She'd be there for John in whatever way he needed, same as always.

--

Tidy Sums (Peaky Blinders) Masterlist

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist 

[starsfic]

Family Dinner

Summary: Xiaotian is invited to be a buffer at Red’s family dinner.

Notes: So Family Dinner won the Art School poll so...enjoy!

-_-

“I need your help.”

The tone, barely audible over his music, was enough to make Xiaotian stop his music and look up from his tablet. Red looked nervous, bouncing from foot to foot, and it didn’t help that his hair was down in a poofy mess and he looked like he hadn’t slept for three days. “Sure.” he said, hoping that would help that look fade. “What do you need?”

The look didn’t ease. “Just so we’re clear, you can say no, but my family dinner is coming up and I don’t want to be alone with them but-” Realization came to life. He hadn’t heard much about Red’s parents, but enough had been heard that Xiaotian could get a picture.

“Sure.”

Red came to a stop, eyes widening. “Really?”

Xiaotian nodded, saving his work and then turning off his tablet. “Yeah! If you don’t want to be alone with them, I get it. This hasn’t been the first time I’ve been a buffer.” The other blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it, clearly confused. “Xiaojiao’s parents love me.” he said, shrugging.

Red blinked again. “...okay.” he finally managed out, clearly moving past it. “Dress up nice and I’ll pick you up on Friday. Thanks.” And just like that, he was walking away.

“You’re welcome!” he called after him, unsure of what else to do.

-_-

Thankfully, Xiaotian had two nice outfits. Unfortunately, he also had a complete unawareness if they were nice enough. A quick text to Red, asking where they were going, fixed that. Thankfully, the outfits he had looked nice enough for the place which meant he didn’t need to go shopping.

Thirty minutes before he was supposed to be picked up, Xiaotian smoothed down his shirt. He had decided to go with the dress shirt and black slacks inside of the pretty orange dress, which still left him the question of what to do with his hair. He considered his reflection, humming in thought. He could leave it like it was, with his red headband making it spike up, but that felt too casual. Maybe down? He tried it, considering it. Xiaojiao was at a race in the next town over and was probably asleep at this hour, so he couldn’t call her for her opinion.

A knock on the door made him pull his eyes away. “It’s open!”

The door creaked open, revealing Red. He was dressed similarly, what looked like a fancy jacket slung over his arm, golden earrings in, and eye bags still visible. “I was wondering if you were-” He paused, staring at Xiaotian. It might’ve been the light, but for a moment, he had thought Red had been looking him over in a... boyfriend way, for lack of a better word. “You… have your hair down.” He sounded flustered, at least.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was nice enough or I should put it into a ponytail…”

“Keep it down.” Red said, scanning him over again with a much more technical look. “But it is missing something.” He looked around before landing on Xiaotian and Xiaojiao’s shared jewelry box. “Mind if I-?” Xiaotian nodded his approval, so Red hurried over. After a moment of rustling around, he pulled something out. “Here we go.”

He had pulled out a pair of golden monkey earrings, a gift from Tripitaka when he returned from visiting New York one time. Xiaotian took it with a word of thanks and slid them in. “You ready?” he asked when he finished, stopping to grab the flowers he had ordered just in case. Red shook his head but gestured to him to go first, closing the door behind them.

Outside, the night was cool. Red led Xiaotian to a small red car and once, they were buckled in, drove silently away from the dorms. 

After a few minutes of tense silence, Xiaotian glanced over at his… he wasn’t sure what they were. In any case, Red was as tense as a board, glaring straight ahead, and looking ready to pass out. “Hey,” he finally said. The other blinked. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s just… it’s the first time I’ve brought a guest to these dinners and my mother wasn’t exactly pleased when I told her you were coming after I asked you.” His knuckles went white on the wheel. “And I’m just freaked out you’re going to hate me after this is done.”

He reached out, holding Red’s shoulder. “Hey. Nothing your parents can do will make me hate you.” Xiaotian tried his best to pour every inch of sincerity into his voice. “You’re great. And there is nothing- RED LIGHT!” At his cry, Red slammed on the brakes, an inch from crossing the red light.

The car once again went silent, except for their frantic breaths and furiously pumping hearts. Ahead of them, traffic furiously drove and drove, busy, busy, busy. The two finally managed to catch their breaths, glancing at each other. When they met eyes, they lost their breath again- this time to relieved laughter. Finally, their light turned green and Red started again.

The brush with life and death had seemed to calm him a bit. He started smiling when Xiaotian turned on the radio and started to bop his head to the music.

But, soon enough, they were pulling into a parking lot. Red went stiff again the minute they had parked. Following his gaze, Xiaotian watched as a black limo dropped off two people at the front. When it passed, he finally got a good glance at Red’s parents.

The small woman in the front must’ve been Iron Fan. She was dressed in an elegant red and gold dress. Her long dark hair was pulled away in a complex hairstyle to reveal a beautiful face with red-painted lips and sharp eyeliner. Behind her was DBK. Sharing his son’s liking of colored hair, his purple hair was pulled back into a short bun. He was dressed in a dark suit that failed to hide the fact that he was built like a tank, amber eyes scanning the parking lot. Looking for them.

Red took a deep breath before pulling on his coat. “Okay.” he breathed out, readjudting his ponytail one last time. “Let’s do this.”

“Are you ready?”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

The two bundled out of the car, Xiaotian gripping his bouquet tight. Together they headed towards Red’s parents. In a walk that both felt too long and too short, they were at the sidewalk. The two elders turned and he felt a shiver run down his spine. DBK looked… not pleased. But Iron Fan had the same look on Xiaojiao’s face whenever she was mentally planning to gut someone. Red came to a stop and Xiaotian mirrored him.

“Mother. Father. My apologies for being late.” Red’s tone was formal, apologetic.

His mother stepped forward, the gutting look replaced by some kind of look that was too cold to be maternal. “We were wondering where you were,” Iron Fan said, cupping Red’s face. And then she was squishing his cheeks. “My sweet useless boy.” Before Xiaotian could say something, she was turning to him. The look was back. “And this must be Qi Xiaotian.”

“Yes!” Xiaotian said, trying to not be cowed. He held out his hand. “Red’s told me so much about you.” A lie, but one he hoped worked. Iron Fan considered his hand before shaking it. Her red-nailed grip was ridiculously strong. “I… hope you like flowers?” he managed out, holding out the bouquet.

Iron Fan took it, considering the flowers. “How sweet.” she said. Without another word, she turned. “Come on, let’s go before our table is given away.” The boys followed, not sure what else to do.

When their backs were turned, Xiaotian slid his hand into Red’s hand and squeezed it in a hopeful attempt at comfort.

Red squeezed it back.

Inside, the decor was elegant- one of the fanciest places Xiaotian had ever been in. Their hostess led them up a grand staircase, overlooking the rest of the restaurant, and to a round table with a lazy Susan tray in the center. “We hope you enjoy it.” she said, promising their waiter would be by soon. Xiaotian thanked her before looking down to realize Red had pulled out his chair. Across the table, DBK had done the same to Iron Fan, pushing her in.

Together, they opened their menus. “I think we will get our usual,” DBK said, his voice rough. Xiaotian nearly jumped at it, since the man hadn’t said a word. “Do you have any thoughts, Xiaotian?”

He glanced at the menu, trying to figure out what would be best to say. The menu had been online and he had given it a quick scan ahead, but Red’s parents were leaving him floundering. “Do you have any recommendations?” he finally managed out.

Iron Fan’s grin, cold and cruel, showed he had mistepped.

In the end, it felt like they had ordered the spiciest things on the menu for their main courses. Xiaotian resisted a scream and the waiter had a pitying look on his face. So did DBK, much to his surprise. Now, all that was left to do was wait for the first course.

“So, Xiaotian,” Iron Fan said, all her attention on him. “What do you study?”

School. He could do school. “I’m doing a painting and graphic design major.” Xiaotian said, trying to sound confident. “I’m working on a webcomic idea. But if that doesn’t work out, I’m planning to go into museum work.” He had worked with his dads to figure out this backup plan, just in case.

“Oh, really.” The waiter returned to pour dark red wine into their wine glasses. Iron Fan took a sip. “What is your webcomic about?” Next to him, Red stiffened. Xiaotian stiffened as well.

“It’s… about my dad.” he finally squeaked out.

Iron Fan stiffened but this time DBK leaned forward in interest. “How is Wukong?” he said. “I haven’t heard much since my… return.” And there was another fact- they used to be friends. If things had been different, Xiaotian probably would’ve grown up with Red. “I only heard he adopted a son.”

“He’s married.” Xiaotian squeaked.

The dinner did not get better from there. 

When the food arrived, there was a glass of water that came with it for Xiaotian (which seemed to be the only mercy), and Iron Fan and DBK seemed to laser-focus on Red. It didn’t seem to matter that he was there, their words were cold, casual, and cruel as they picked at things here and there, no matter how trivial.

Finally, the dessert course was done, the check arrived, and DBK paid. “Remember your grades.” Iron Fan said when DBK’s credit card was returned. Without another word or an actual goodbye, she was standing and she and her husband were leaving. Red shuddered the minute they were out of view.

“That went well.” he finally managed out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.” Xiaotian said, not sure what else to say. At least Xiaojiao’s parents tried, or at least didn’t have their issues in front of him. “I didn’t expect…”

“Nobody expects my parents, Noodle Boy. Let’s go home.”

The ride back was in exhausted silence. “I have mochi.” Xiaotian mumbled out when they parked. “Want some?” He needed something to eat after trying to not burn his tongue off and he really didn’t want to leave Red alone.

“...yeah.”

[thinkingimmensely]

Like An Open Book XI

Part 1 | Part 10

A/N: Hi! How’s everyone been doing? I think this chapter’s kind of long, not sure if it’s longer than the last one though. Also, I’ve been working on a James Potter x Reader oneshot that’s already over 4k words HAHAHA, I’m nearly done with it (I think), so that’s one thing to look forward to~! uwu

IDK if it’s just me or is tumblr messing up the tags thingy? Because I can’t seem to tag some people. But anyway, if I’m missing anyone or if you want to be added to the taglist, please dm me or comment down below or even send me an ask so I can include you! <3

MASTERLIST

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the Potterverse!

___________________

He couldn’t meet your eyes. James Potter had been avoiding you and you were devastated. You were proud of yourself at how well you hid your inner turmoil since no one said anything, until Remus and you were sitting alone outside in the lawn that is.  

You sat beneath a tree, shielding yourself from the afternoon sun. The others were busy in a competition on who could throw the gnomes the farthest. Though however tempting it was to join in, you settled for relaxing since you didn’t want to soil James’ good mood. Remus, wanting to get some reading done, opted to join you.  

“I’m going home tomorrow.” You told him.  

Remus looked at you in surprise, as if you just dropped a bomb. “What?” He closed his book and set it aside, “Why? We’re supposed to spend two weeks here. We have a week left.”

You pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged yourself, “I just... I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You shrugged; you tried to act nonchalant about it but you knew he could very well see your anxiety behind your orbs.  

Remus furrowed his brows, “Why would you ever think that? Y/N, everyone wants you to be here.”

You shook your head, “I don’t think James does.” You mumbled, you didn’t want to but tears still prickled at the edges of your orbs. Remus heard you all the same. “He knows, Rem. He knows and now he can’t even look at me.” Going home to the family who all but ignored you was better than being rejected by the person who used to welcome you with open arms. “It’s been two days and he all but flees whenever I enter the same room as him. He can’t stand it, and I won’t force him to.”

“I’ll go talk to him.” Remus was about to stand up but you grabbed his arm and held him down.  

“It’s okay.” You told him, giving off a sad smile.  Remus looked conflicted but settled down nonetheless. He held your hand fondly and gave it a squeeze in reassurance, which you were grateful for. He let out a deep sigh and opened his book again.

-

You set down your quill as you folded the piece of parchment and packed it inside an envelope. You sealed it with melted wax and a stamp and handed it to the white barn-owl that perched itself on your windowsill. It was a reply to the Dumbledore’s letter to you; you had written to him immediately after returning to the Potter’s residence two days ago, your hands clammy with nerves, and your ears ringing from everything. You opened his reply once again.

Dear Miss Y/L/N,  

It is a surprise to hear of your connection to the recent incident, and I must commend how you and the others fought off the Death Eaters and helped the Aurors, though extremely reckless it was. I believe Voldemort already knows of your identity and would be ever pursuant of his current interest in you. He will try to get you to join him again, and you must stay vigilant. He will not do anything as long as you remain a student of Hogwarts, but I believe it best to relocate your family soon, in case he catches winds about your residence. If you decide to do so, I will, of course, send help.  

Take care,

Albus Dumbledore

You rubbed your forehead as you read the letter again, chastising yourself for being so stupid. Dumbledore was right, Voldemort had enough connections to easily know who you were, and you not only put yourself in danger, but now so is your family. They had to move, and you had to leave them to keep them safe. He won’t be able to do anything as long as you still went to Hogwarts, the notion was comforting yet ominous, because what would happen the moment you graduated?

The ministry was abuzz since ten muggles were murdered that night, and more people severely injured. The Muggle Prime Minister struggled to make believable alibis and he couldn’t give out an adequate one was it not for the help of the Minister of Magic. You tapped your fingers on the mahogany desk. You wondered if Severus was able to escape unscathed, but you shook your head at the thought; of course, he would go unscathed, he knew about the attack beforehand after all. You bit your lower lip; he had tried to protect you- you know that now. You may still be able to sway him away from the dark path he seemed all too eager to walk on.  

You packed what little you had and zipped your bag close. Now all that was left was to tell the others during dinner. You decided that saying that your mum wanted you home immediately because she heard what had happened at the concert and was concerned for your safety was a good enough excuse.  

A knock came from your door and before you could even walk towards it, it creaked open and James came in. He glanced at your packed bag on the bed and turned to look at you, his eyes wide in shock. He took two long strides towards you and pulled you into a hug. “I’m sorry.” His voice shook as he buried his face on the crook of your neck. His breath tickled but you were utterly confused to be focused on that right now.  

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I’ve been so stupid, and you didn’t deserve the way I avoided you. I don’t want you to leave, if I had my way, I’d want you to never leave.” He pulled away but still held you by the shoulders. His hazel eyes searched yours for something you didn’t know. “You see- what I’m trying to say is... is that I don’t care if you’re a Legilimens. I don’t care if you know every little thing about me, if you can read my mind this very instant, I don’t care. I will never turn my back on you again, never. I hold you too dearly.” You just noticed how his hands were shaking, you took them from your shoulders and held them.

“James, I-” You were about to say but someone cleared their throat by the doorway which made you all but drop his hands and your gaze immediately.  

“Uh- s-sorry to bother, b-but your mum wants to know what you want to have for di-dinner, Prongs.” Peter stammered. Sirius snickered from behind him while Remus tried to hold in his laughter as well.  

You flushed a deep shade of red as you turned away from them, hands on your warming cheeks. “Out! All of you!” James had snapped, and the boys went running away in snickers. You turned back to him and found him pretty much in the same state as you were in, flushed cheeks and all that.  

He cleared his throat, “So um, please don’t go home... yet...” He added the last word like an afterthought, as if realizing that, yes, you still have a family who might be wondering where you were if you wouldn’t return. You nodded and he grinned at you. “I’ll, um... see you at dinner then?”

“Uh-huh.” You sheepishly replied and he bit his lower lip then turned to go out, leaving the door open.  

-

“So Y/N, will you tell me what every girl at Hogwarts thinks about me next time?” Sirius grinned as all of you laid on top of the roof, watching the stars. It was a clear night, perfect for star gazing, and you took the opportunity to do so.  

You let out a dry laugh, “Of course not, Siri. What fun would that be for your conquests?” Sirius and Peter had learned of your ‘gift’ when they were busy eavesdropping earlier, and like Remus had done so long ago, the rest of the Marauders had sworn themselves to secrecy regarding your ability.  

Sirius chuckled, twirling his wand between his fingers, “Point taken.”

You stared at the twinkling stars that shone millions of miles away and listened to the voices of your friends. You wished time would stop in this moment. You wished all of you would stay like this forever... young and free; unbothered by the looming war that plagued your lives.  

You sat up as reality started sinking in. The screams of people dying too haunting to be forgotten, and the pale face of the Auror who only tried to protect you. You never even knew his name. You felt a warm jacket wrap around you, and you turned to see James beside you, a soft smile on his face.  

“Thank you.” You murmured. The others continued on their conversation while James adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.  

“I remember it too.” He told you as he ruffled his hair. You cast him a questioning gaze, prompting him to elaborate; “The concert, I mean. Sometimes I still hear the screams and see the flashes of green when I close my eyes.”

You held his hand and gave it a small squeeze which made him smile. “I reckon the five of us will carry this memory for the rest of our lives.” You pointed out sadly.  

He nodded, “True. But I feel a little better knowing that you guys will be with me through it.” He told you and you could feel your heart move by the sincerity of his words that tears prickled at the corner of your eyes.

You wouldn’t be dealing with all these emotions alone, not anymore, and that very notion comforted you greatly. You scooted closer to James and leaned your head on his shoulder, and he instantly wrapped an arm around you.  You sighed in content, because at this very moment, all was well.   “That reminds me,” You started, “You never told me why you were avoiding me so adamantly.” You turned to look up at him, backtracking when he was already looking at you, your faces inches away from each other. You recoiled and he dropped his hand from your shoulder, a deep red penetrating his features.  

He cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you someday. Promise you won’t search for the answer yourself?” Tapping his head with his index finger.

You laughed, “I’ll try.”

The rest of the summer had passed by rather uneventfully as you returned home a couple days later. You had set up some enchantments on your home the moment you arrived with the help of Professor Flitwick, who arrived a few moments after you. He thought you the charms and reinforced them for better durability.  

Your mother had invited him for tea, but he politely refused, saying that he must visit other households and left in a hurry. Your family, except your youngest sister, looked at him rather curiously and you were glad they didn’t voice out their apparent discomfort. They had also watched you and your professor in awe from the living room window as you casted the spells.

Now you sat on a chair by the dinner table as your mother rubbed her temples and your step-father tried to take in everything you just said; you had explained to them why there was a need to enchant your home.

“So... you’re saying that... that a lunatic is out there causing havoc?” You step-father asked hesitantly.

“Well he’s not just any lunatic, he’s public enemy number one in our world.” You pointed out. “And he’s not just causing any havoc, he’s killing people. Muggles, non-wizard people.” You elaborated once more, “You guys are the very kind of people he’ll be after, and I’m only telling you all these because I want you guys to be safe.” The tea had long gone cold and a tense silence hung in the air. Your two siblings were sent to bed early for you guys to have this conversation, but you weren’t surprised to hear your stepsister eavesdropping at the top of the stairs.  

"Y/N, are you sure we’re safe here?” Your mother questioned, gathering her thoughts together. She, at least, understood the gravity of the situation. You knew she liked to read the Daily Prophet when you were done with it, and you were aware she didn’t skip the latest news about the Dark Wizard.

You frowned, letting out a deep sigh, “He wants me to join his cause.” You admitted, and the color of your mother’s face drained. You took her outstretched hand and gave it a squeeze, a gesture that brought tears to her eyes, it had been years since you initiated any sort of physical contact with her. “I won’t join him; I assure you that.” You swore. “Dumbledore is certain he won’t come looking for me until I graduate. By then I’ll be out of this house and the lot of you will be moving somewhere far from here.”

Realization dawned on their faces, “You’re leaving? Why? Wouldn’t it be safer if you went with us?”

You shook your head, choosing not to answer.

 I have gathered a group of people who are willing to oppose the Dark Lord himself and thwart his plans, Miss Y/L/N, and I am formally extending an invitation for you to be part of that said group. It will be dangerous and it will require courage, you will not only be part of the heart of the war, your life will be on the line and your skills will no doubt be put to the test time and time again. But this will all be for the greater good, so I prompt you to at least consider it.

“Y/N?”

Your thoughts broken, you looked at the both of them who shared a look of concern at your lack of reply. “It’ll be better this way. This will all be for the greater good.”  

You left the dinner table at that, and sought solace in your bedroom, glad that your step-sister had retreated to her own room just as you finished your conversation. You locked your door and got your potions textbook and cauldron out of your trunk. You searched the table of contents and smirked bitterly as you found the page you were looking for:

Chapter 16: Memory Potion . . . . . . . . . . . . 394

-

“Y/N!” Lily yelled as she run to you and wrapped her arms around you, “I missed you!” The two of you reunited at King’s Cross Station, the Hogwarts Express right in front of you, smoke bellowing, getting ready for the journey to Hogwarts. Chatter rang out the entire station as friends reunited after without seeing each other for the entire summer.  

You chortled and returned the hug, “It’s so good to see you again Lily.”  

“What, no hug for me?”  

The two of you broke the hug to look at the messy-haired boy smirk at the both of you. Lily rolled her emerald orbs heavenward, “Sod off, Potter.”

James chuckled at her, “Feisty as ever I see.” He then turned to you and smiled, “Y/N.”

You nodded at him, “James.” It has been three weeks since you last saw him and it feels like it’s been forever.

Lily eyed the both of you, her eyes wide as if formulating something. She instantly grabbed you and pulled you away as Sirius called out to the three of you, much to the confusion of the boys. “Did something happen between the both of you?” She interrogated.  

You furrowed your brows, “What?”

She giggled excitedly, “You and James I mean!” She whispered-yelled. “Is there something going on that I should know about?!”  

“Um, I don’t think so?” You denied, because really, there wasn’t, wasn’t there?  

She pulled you further away, “I saw the way you two looked at each other! If there’s something going on between the both of you, I’m all in for it!”

“Lily didn’t you call him an arrogant toerag before?” You raised a brow at her.

“Oh please, that was before we all got to become friends!” She turned to look at the boys, Remus and Peter had already arrived and the four of them were talking animatedly with each other as if they haven’t seen each other for years. “I’m just saying, I think the both of you make a fine pair now that I see you guys again. It’s like a spell had been cast during summer break that changed everyone’s demeanor.”

Ah that was right, Lily didn’t know what happened yet. You had avoided writing to her about what happened since you didn’t want to worry her, and also you didn’t want to relive the memories. Your expression may have changed since Lily went from excited to concerned in an instant, “What is it? What’s wrong?” She questioned.  

“I need to tell you something...” You trailed off but before you could go into your story-telling, the train chimed out. It was time to go.  

The boys headed your way, “Ladies,” James uttered and grabbed your trunk from your hands. You tried to get it back from him but it was futile, which only made Lily cast you another knowing smirk. You frowned at her in reply.

“We have to go to the Prefects compartment.” Lily informed you as she and Remus stopped midway.

“Oh, right. Sure.” You nodded, “I’ll talk to you later then?”  

The redhead smiled at you, “Of course.” They then walked off towards the other end of the train while you, Peter, Sirius, and James easily found an empty compartment and went inside. You stood by the doorway while the boys placed the trunks up, and entered when they were done.  

James took his seat beside you while Sirius and Peter sat on the opposite side. The train took off a few minutes later, and you leaned your head on the window glass, looking at the vast terrain. The boys chatted on, paying no heed to your lack of input to their conversation.  

The cart lady soon did her rounds around the train, and James and Peter got up to buy some sweets. Sirius nudged you with his foot and you shot him a look, “What?”

He chuckled, “Nothing. It’s just- you're real quiet today. Is everything all right?”

“Of course. I... I just have a lot on my mind right now.” You confessed.

Sirius gave you a sad smile. “Well, don’t get consumed by those thoughts. We’re here for you aright?” He pulled the sleeves of his sweater.  

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

You folded your hands together in your laps, glancing outside where the others were still busy picking the sweets they want. “We both know you’re more troubled than I am. Do you want to talk about it?”

Sirius stopped pulling his sleeves instantly, “I almost forgot you’re a Legilimens.” He chortled lowly, but it held no actual mirth. “I was disowned, kicked out of the house- with all that burning of my picture in the family tree.” He shook his head as if he found it absolutely ridiculous, “I think Bella told them about our little encounter during the concert incident and that flipped them how I could stand against the Dark Lord himself and their cause. So now I live with James apparently. It’s fine though, if anything, I’m glad to be rid of all that pureblood supremacy nonsense.”

You frowned deeply; his pureblood fanatic family was not foreign to you. You knew, since before, that Sirius suffered immensely in his household, and it made your family life all the much better. “You’re worried about your brother?” You surmised.

He nodded slowly, “They’re poisoning his mind, they are. He’s my little brother and I couldn’t even protect him. I can’t stop him from walking down that path...”

Your heart ached from the familiarity, you leaned back on your seat, “Well... all we can do is not give up now.” You told him, and he understood. He understood that the both of you were in a similar boat, and that made him smile genuinely and nod. You were thankful about the fact that he didn’t even comment about how he knew you were talking about Severus. You knew they weren’t on the best terms but you were worried he might convince you to forget about that snake. That he wasn’t worth it.

James and Peter came back with their hands full with sweet treats and they set it down on the cushions. “Take anything you want.” James told you and you looked through the candies and chocolates. You took a cauldron cake, thanking him.  

Halfway before arriving to Hogwarts, you all started to change into your robes. You had to leave the compartment to change at the comfort room all the way down the train hallway while the boys had no trouble pulling their sweaters over their heads.  

“Wouldn’t mind if you changed here, Y/N.” Sirius wiggled his brows at you but yelped when James threw his robes at him.  

“Hi, Y/N.” A girl with ginger hair and warm brown eyes greeted you as you waited in line for your turn to change in the bathroom. “I’m Marlene McKinnon; we share the same dorm?” She introduced herself when you just stared at her.  

You shook your head, “Oh sorry, I know who you are, I’m just a little surprised is all. We’ve never really talked before.” She was nervous, she didn’t think she would ever get to talk to you as well.

She chuckled lightly, “We haven’t, haven’t we? I’m sorry about that; but I hope to rectify that, Lily’s friend is our friend of course.” She gestured to the person inside the room who just came out.  

“Oh, hi Y/N.” Mary Macdonald greeted, already in her robes, a kind smile on her face.  

“You can change first Y/N.” Marlene told you; you thanked her, not wanting to make it awkward.  

You closed the door behind you and discarded your sweater. You could faintly hear Marlene and Mary chatting in the other side of the door, it was a good thing they weren’t talking about you. Was it going to be like this from now on? You wondered. Were your housemates going to make pleasant conversation with you just because you were friends with Lily and the Marauders? Somehow the thought of not being ostracized by your own house anymore wasn’t so bad.  

You came out after changing and Marlene went in afterwards. You smiled at Mary, in which she returned the gesture and you made your way back to your compartment. You passed by a group of snickering students, and when you turned to glance, you frowned deeply as you took note of their green robes. It was Mulciber and his little gang; their compartment door was slightly open and they passed around the daily prophet. You squinted in disgust and continued on, missing the way Severus looked as you walked away from inside the compartment.

You dragged the door open and found your three friends tossing Fizzing Whizbees at each other and catching it with their mouths. “Does anyone have a copy of today’s Daily Prophet?” You questioned, interrupting their game as you took your seat beside James.  

“I might have one.” Peter replied, swallowing the candy, and got up the seats to reach for his trunk.  

“Did something happen?” James looked at you in question.

“I don’t know yet.” You answered. Peter fished out the newspaper from his trunk and threw it to you, which you expertly caught. You immediately skimmed through the headlines while the blonde boy closed his trunk and flopped down on his seat.  

Sirius and James huddled closer towards you to check the newspaper, and you arrived at the latest news about the Dark Lord. It said that there were three more attacks, all in different locations throughout the country. Your face paled at the list of casualties, the war wasn’t just starting, it was at its height already, you realized.  

The atmosphere in the compartment turned grim. Sirius took the newspaper from your hands and crumpled it up and threw it outside the window. “It’s nothing new. People die every day.” He shrugged then took a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and ripped it open. “Here, Peter, I dare you to eat this.” He handed the boy an earth-colored bean.  

You sighed, all of you coped in a different way, you concluded. Though not particularly healthy, denial was one way to go about it. But you weren’t one to talk since the way you stressed about it all the time couldn’t be considered healthy as well.  

You felt eyes on you and you turned to see James looking at you. You cocked your head to your side in question and there was a waver in his gaze. He felt hurt; he wanted to know what you were thinking about and it pained him to see you build walls around yourself once more. You turned away from him, guilt creeping onto your conscience.  

___________________

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[karlyfr13s]

Oathkeeper Chapter 2

It was supposed to be a CS one-shot, but then the CSMM crew got ahold of me and now we’re in multi-chapter mode. Thanks to the ladies for their inspiration, enabling, and cheering me on. Looking at you @teamhook, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @gingerpolyglot (tell me if you want added, and coach the newbie in where these actually belong).

A HUGE thank you to @veryverynotgood who is the most radiant beta and gives me flails that keep me going through the self-doubt. 

Links in case you missed Chapter 1 or prefer to read on ao3

Note: the rating is now M due to violent imagery.

Killian’s first week in Storybrooke was unconventional and more than a little confusing. Everyone in the whole bloody town seemed related, or at least so interconnected there may as well be blood involved; it drew attention to him and he spent most days certain he was being watched.

Certainly there were fewer eyes on him than on the young Lost Boy, Felix, and for that Killian was grateful. He observed the woman everyone called Granny as she put the lad to work with a nearly endless list of chores, always under her watchful, scrutinizing eye. In want of conversation one evening, he’d inquired about the choice to take on someone such as Felix. That had earned him a derisive snort and an eye-roll that rivaled Emma Swan’s when Granny explained in no uncertain terms that she was well-equipped for the job.

“Listen, Captain,” she leaned on the bar as he sipped a rum, “if I can raise Ruby through puberty as a damn wolf, I can handle one scrappy Lost Boy. What he needs is a strong guiding hand, and a good dose of responsibility--that Pan let those kids run wild.” Killian tipped his glass to her at that assessment, knowing all too clearly how the lads were deceived and used throughout their time in Neverland. “Structure, Hoo--it’s Killian, right?” she amended quickly. “Kids need structure and routine. You’d do well to remember that.”

Not for the first time, Killian wondered exactly how much Granny overheard and knew as she watched her patrons come and go. In fact, she was the only one in town who referred to him by his given name, most simply opting for Hook or Captain if they were being pleasant. Or ‘the pirate’ if they happen to be Emma’s father, he added. His ponderance was abruptly interrupted when the door crashed open and an exasperated looking Emma quickly crossed to the bar and sank down one stool from his own.

“This one calls for a whisky on the rocks, Granny,” she huffed, casting a sidelong glance at Killian’s own glass. “You too, huh? Must be going around today.” He watched as she shucked her red leather jacket, tossing it aside on the barstool between them and he gave her a moment, offering a quick clink of his glass once her own libation arrived.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Killian kept his voice light, noting the tension in the set of her shoulders and jaw.

She heaved a sigh and he made a valiant effort to focus on her stunning green eyes rather than the assets her movements showcased in that moment. “The short version? I’m sick of my mother,” she tripped on the word, “trying to be my life coach. I’m tired of inane ‘loitering’ reports from the surliest dwarf, and I cannot seem to get--” her momentum was immediately interrupted by the door and a sudden call across the diner.

“Ems, there you are!”

“--a single minute of quiet,” Emma finished lowly while Neal sauntered over and leaned against the counter, placing himself between Killian and her.

“So, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You know, you, me and Henry? Or maybe just you and me if Regina has--”

“Neal, I’ve had a long day. I am going to enjoy this drink, maybe a second, and then I am eating whatever I rummage out of the pantry at Mary Margaret’s since she and David are out on a date.”

“So you have the place to yourself?”

Killian understood the insinuation and clenched his jaw. He started counting backward from ten while he listened to Emma try to redirect Neal’s plans, and when he heard the other man’s second attempt to garner an invitation he reset the clock and started the count at twenty. Perhaps she cares for him, he reminded himself. She is tired and had a difficult day, but that does not mean she has chosen not to be with--

Her voice was suddenly raised and Killian felt like he was about four steps behind the conversation as he snapped to attention on the words she spat at the man across from her.

“Just go-- go, Neal. This isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. It is not happening .” Whatever expression she held in that moment must have been truly glorious to earn Neal’s melodramatic scoff as he stormed out the diner and slammed the door behind him.

Granny simply poured a healthy splash of whisky in Emma’s glass in reply before shuffling back to the kitchen as she had witnessed the whole interaction mere steps from Killian, who just now was actively working to control both his expression and the thoughts wheeling through his mind at her parting shot. What exactly was not happening between them? Where did that leave him?

Killian glanced over at Emma, her eyes ablaze as if challenging him to comment on the interaction. “Darts are quiet,” he offered congenially, smiling what he considered his most winning grin.

That earned him a quick bark of laughter. “And a little violent,” she smirked.

“Aye, that too, Swan.”

She held up her glass and they shared their second silent toast of the evening. “I could use a little of both,” she added as she got up, glass in hand and the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“I hear rumor they even sell food at this establishment,” Killian pressed his luck a bit as they collected the two sets of darts and set up.

“You don’t say?” She shook her head at him and he watched her consider the offer. “Loser buys?”

“Of course, love.” He sketched her a bow, flourishing his hand and making a show of it to cover up his surprise.

“Not your love,” she retorted, sinking a bullseye on her first try while Killian considered how grateful he was that Granny accepted doubloons. Where had she learned to play like this?

...

Granny hollered last call only moments after Emma bid Killian goodnight, a lightness to her steps as he watched her go. “Looks like that went well,” Granny called over as she wiped down the last table.

“Aye,” he tossed Granny a wink, “and she stayed for three games. And dessert.”

For the life of him, Killian couldn’t decipher Granny’s laugh at this simple observation until the double-entendre dawned on him at last. He was tired and perhaps he’d imbibed one too many glasses if he was the one missing the joke...it was then he noticed Emma’s jacket still laying across the barstool where she’d first dropped it.

“Seven hells,” he took off to the sound of Granny’s whooping call as she warned him the sheriff walked fast and he’d better work for it. Work for what exactly? Killian mused as he jogged out into the night, no easy feat in full leathers with more than a bit of drink in him. He spotted her golden hair in the lamplight down the street and called out, thinking it the better option than startling her.

She spun on her heel, wobbled slightly, and burst into laughter as she leaned against the lamppost for support--clearly he wasn’t the only to enjoy one too many this evening. Ever the gentleman, Killian held her jacket out and ignored her comment about being chased down Main Street by a pirate.

“Princess,” he began, calling far too loudly given the hour, “chivalry demands I return your cloak, lest you catch a chill on this dark night.” She shushed him less than successfully as she giggled and fell into step beside him-- Emma Swan can giggle, he mused. “As well,” he continued, voice full volume and bordering on a bellow, “I must see you safely to your door. No doubt there are ruffians about, and all manor of unsavory ne’er-do-wells, all seeking mischief against such an elegant,” he chuckled as she staggered slightly, “and graceful lady as thee.”

“You’re such an idiot, shut up! Do you want the whole neighborhood awake?” Her scolding was half-hearted at best considering her idea of a whisper could likely be heard across the street.

“Do you think they’ll call the sheriff, love” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his chest. “Surely you wouldn’t throw a man in the brig for an act of noblest courtesy,” at that he draped her jacket over her shoulders while she led the way and proceeded to spin a tale of his own unimpeachable valor as a young sailor. When they reached her dwelling, she turned to face him before heading up.

“Why do you always get it? Nobody gets it.” He raised a brow at her question. “Gets me. Like Neal,” she slurred the name and rolled her eyes. “I have a shitty day at work and he decides to make some weird pass at me through the kid ? But you,” she leaned in and poked Killian in the chest, keeping her index finger pressed against his sternum. “You’re the...the flirty pirate king and you just...throw sharp shit at a wall with me and buy me drinks. You didn’t even check out my ass more than once.”

He absolutely had, but far be it for Killian to correct the lady when this seemed to be going somewhere rather interesting.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she slurred.

Before he could suggest this was likely a bad idea as she would potentially regret whatever her next words were to be, she pulled him down by one of his coat lapels and whispered loudly, “My mom is Snow White, right? So she’s all about ‘true love’ and ‘happily ever after’,” her whisper became what he thought was an imitation of her mother, though he doubted that Snow White had ever been six whiskies and two rums deep.

“So she thinks that Neal is like...my Prince Charming, but here’s the secret: he’s not a prince! He’s a con-man, and he sure as hell isn’t charming. So whoops, Mom! Wrong bet!” She laughed and let go of his coat, poking the end of his nose and whispering something that sounded like the noise boop in the most infuriatingly impossible-to-understand gesture he’s witnessed yet. She gave him a glassy-eyed smile, and in a parting shot that left him speechless, she cupped his cheek and in a much softer tone murmured, “Goodnight, Killian.”

---

The morning arrived after less rest than he’d like, but Killian snapped awake as  the sky first began to turn a dusty rose on the horizon. This was very likely the best mood he’d found himself in for quite some time, and he mused on the past twelve hours as he fiddled with the magic hot-water dispenser until he got the temperature just right. Unlike the Jolly , Granny’s provisions in terms of hygiene were lavish and he assumed they cost her a small fortune if Ruby and the guests enjoyed them as much as he did, but Granny assured him the soaps and amenities were provided, so he took great joy in letting the warm water run over him as he lathered up, breathing in the herbal and lemon scent so unlike the harsh lye soap he was accustomed to. This world without magic had its  charms, and hot water on demand was his latest favorite.

He arrived downstairs for his other new-world favorite - coffee - and Killian was pleased to see Emma already at the counter, though she looked a great deal less chipper than he felt. “Good morning, Swan,” he sauntered up to take a seat at her left. “Beautiful morning, don’t you think?”

She grumbled something about a headache and before Killian could reply, Granny swooped in and all but insisted she sit and have breakfast. Despite her protests, Emma wound up delayed in her arrival to her post that morning as she was cajoled into a substantial pile of eggs, bacon, and toast. “Complain all you want, Sheriff,” Granny eyed her as she set a matching plate before Killian, “but you two need to soak up some of last night’s fun. Now, eat.” After obligingly refilling their mugs with steaming hot coffee, to which Emma added more than a bit of cream and sugar, Granny retreated to another table as the morning rush filled in around them.

They ate in companionable silence until Emma glanced over and opened with, “I beat you at darts, didn’t I?”

“Aye, two wins to my paltry one, Swan. I’m only grateful we chose not to wager more than dinner and drinks on the game, or my pockets would be a great deal more empty.” She smirked at his comment, and the two chatted as they worked through their breakfasts, both seeming to come alive as Granny had predicted.

He should have known it was all going far too well.

The bell above the door chimed, and the bustle of the patrons picking up coffee and pastries on their way to work or leisurely enjoying their breakfasts fell to a whisper. Killian stayed perfectly still as he heard the man limp toward the counter, the gentle thud of his cane giving him away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma roll her eyes at his clipped “Miss Swan,” and Killian stayed frozen to the spot, not trusting his reaction in front of the woman who not only was increasingly important in his life--a thought he’d sort out, or studiously avoid, later--but also represented the local law enforcement.

He heard few of the words exchanged between the Crocodile and Granny, though neither appeared pleased to be having the conversation. Instead, his pulse pounded in his head and his vision clouded as he clutched the edge of the counter. Killian had the distinct image of grabbing that gold-topped cane and flipping it, beating the man about the head until nothing recognizable remained. Until the gold handle dripped red. He could leave him on the floor of this place, twitching as the last impulses of his brain forced him to dance to a soundless tune; Killian could simply walk to the Jolly and set sail, free of the memory of this vile excuse for a man.

Except that he could do no such thing. He sat next to the sheriff in a small town diner surrounded by people who already distrusted him to varying degrees. He was trapped in a land that was not his own and had no way-- nor will --to return to his own. He was a captain without a crew, and as his mind raced through the numerous ways he could rid himself of this loathsome creature he knew now was not the time and certainly not the place. Simply put, Killian refused to put Emma in a position where she would be forced to see the darkness that lurked within him. So he let it pass, and let the Crocodile go for today.

It wasn’t long after the disruption that Emma took her leave, and Killian lingered at the counter as he mulled over what to do with his day. Most days he helped Granny with the more physically demanding repairs around the place, but he felt caged and in need of something more challenging.

“Appreciate you not taking his head off in my diner,” Granny remarked banally once the place emptied. “You have any idea what it takes to get blood out of white grout? Oh, don’t look so surprised; nothing smells quite like fear and rage rolled up in one, and I could smell yours from across the damn room.” She waved dismissively and filled two mugs, sliding one to him and keeping the other for herself. “It’s hot chocolate, and you need it. Little liquid comfort never hurt anyone, so drink up and tell me about it.”

He sipped hesitantly, but the woman was certainly right about the comforting power of the elixir before him. Killian thought about his next words as he breathed in the sweet steam from his mug, letting the cup warm his hand as he held it. “You could...smell my emotions?” He felt it best to begin with the obvious inquiry and prolong the tale of his darkest day.

“I could also hear your heart-rate skyrocket the second you knew who came through that door, so I’m guessing there’s some history there. You don’t have to tell me everything, Killian, but I need to know if I can trust you when you’re in here. Gold comes in to collect rent monthly, and every now and again he has lunch as well. I need to know you’re not going to take a kitchen knife to the bastard while I’m serving sandwiches.” She levelled a scrutinizing gaze at him and waited.

Killian set down his mug and scrubbed his hand over his face, realizing he was in need of a shave, then realizing he was further delaying the conversation. He sighed, knowing there was only one right way forward. “I will not spill his blood on your grounds, Granny, not unless he spills mine first. You have my word.” She nodded once, waiting for him to continue. And so he spent the sunny morning explaining how he lost his hand to the Dark One. While Killian left out much of the story of Milah, he could not entirely avoid her role in the tale, explaining simply that the man she knew as Gold had killed the woman Killian loved right in front of his eyes. Granny was sympathetic and asked few questions, letting him choose how much to reveal. It was cathartic, in a way - a chance to tell someone this piece of truth. A chance to be heard.

When they were finished, Granny spoke briefly of her wolfish nature, a truth which Killian enjoyed as it made her acute hearing and perceptiveness make far more sense. “I know your heart-rate also picks up around a certain sheriff,” she added as Killian slipped on his greatcoat, readying himself to find busywork on the Jolly . “And I know hers does around you.” She eyed him closely then, searching for he knew not what. “Be careful with her, Killian. I don’t know everything--I’m not sure anyone does--but I can see enough to know she’s been hurt, and that hurt hasn’t fully healed. In fact, I’m damn sure the source of it just waltzed back into her life.”

He nodded his understanding and left her to her work. Given the woman’s preternatural understanding of her patrons, he was not about to argue. He chewed her words over in his mind repeatedly as he spent the rest of the day checking that everything aboard his beloved Jolly was in tip-top shape. While his life may be constant chaos in this world, at least he could be assured his ship was as perfect as ever.

[lucywritesreid]

My Whole Life Waiting For You

Summary: I’m feeling fluffy. Spencer seems unusually quiet at a dinner and you worry you’ve done something to offend him, but it’s quite the opposite…

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

 “Spence, honey, we’re going to be late!” You shouted across the bedroom as you frantically searched for your missing earring. Sure, it was ironic for you to be telling him off about lateness when you’d been the one spending half an hour curling your hair.

Puzzled, you walked into the front room and tried to retrace your steps from the last time you’d worn the silver hoops Spencer had bought you for Christmas. “Aha!” An idea struck. You remembered a particularly enjoyable evening where you’d barely made it through the front door before your activities had started. You crouched down on the floor and stretched a hand out under the sofa until it reached the cool metal. “There you are!” you exclaimed, pushing yourself up to stand as you fastened the missing earring securely in place.

You almost gasped to see Spencer stood right behind you. He had an eerie way of walking around your apartment undetected, never making a sound. “God honey you scared the crap out of me,” you laughed, raising one eyebrow. Spencer didn’t react, slipping a hand into the pocket of his tweed jacket. That was odd. He normally loved teasing you when he scared you, and nearly always refers to that time you spilled a whole glass of juice all over your face when he jumped up from behind the sofa wearing a scream mask.

The silence was not like him at all.

“Are you ready to go?” he said softly. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice that only you would be able to detect. You couldn’t figure out why, but didn’t want to bring it up if he wasn’t going to.

Nodding, you reached out to grab your leather jacket from the back of the sofa and slipped it over your shoulders before following him out of your front door. Spencer always drove to these group dinners, mainly because he preferred to stay sober and you normally tried to drink Prentiss under the table whenever you were together. Of course, she always outdrank you.

The car ride was oddly silent. Your favourite radio station was playing and you hummed along to some of the songs. It was really hard not to stare at Spencer, not to ask him if there was any issues. You looked across at him in the driving seat a few times but his eyes were firmly fixed on the road ahead. There were no quips or comments about street names, car types, or any of the usual things he would talk to you about when you went driving. You noticed his hands were firmly gripped on the steering wheel and his face was flushed. Something was up, you just didn’t know what.

When you arrived at Rossi’s, you noticed that all the other cars were already outside. The air was chilly as you stepped out of the car and an involuntary shudder moved through your body. Spencer was quick by your side and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you went up to knock on the door.

It was Penelope who answered, a grin beaming from ear to ear as she saw who it was. “My sweet genius lovebirds! C’mon in. Emily’s convinced Dave to open the good stuff,” She winked and stepped aside.

You quickly hung up your jacket and walked into the dining space where all your friends gathered. Sure enough, everyone was being handed a glass of red wine. You didn’t even want to know what year the bottle was from, or how much it had cost. Spencer placed a delicate hand on the small of your back and leaned in to speak to you. “Just going to speak to Rossi for a bit, save me a seat at dinner?” Before you had chance to reply he’d made his way across the room. You watched curiously as Dave nodded at him, as if knowing what he wanted, and they both disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door behind them.

It took you a second of confusion before you were able to engage with the people in front of you. You walked over to where Emily and JJ were stood caressing their glasses and smiling. JJ passed you a glass as you walked over, and you took a sip as you joined in their conversation.

“Where’s the dashing Reid tonight, y/n?” Emily asked. You quickly glanced around the room but saw he hadn’t come back.

“I don’t know, he’s been acting kinda funny today,” you shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. JJ reached out and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, y/n. You know Spencer. He’s always thinking.”

You nodded and bit your lower lip. “You’re probably right,” you sighed, still not sure of yourself. Still, you’d come to have a good time with your friends. You hadn’t had any arguments or disagreements with Spencer, so maybe JJ was right and there was something else bothering him.

Spencer and Rossi returned from the kitchen a few minutes later. You watched as Rossi shook his hand and gave him a smile, before Spencer made his way over to where Morgan and Garcia were flirting in the corner and struck up a conversation with them instead of coming back to you.

“Dinner is served!” Rossi declared. The grumble in your stomach told you just how much you were looking forward to it.

You all took your places at the dinner table. You had Emily on your right and sure enough, Spencer took the seat on your left. He still didn’t attempt conversation or make eye contact with you. By dessert, he’d barely said a word to you, except to ask you to pass him a napkin. Tears began to sting the corner of your eye but you wiped it away. Stop being dramatic. There’s nothing wrong. He’s probably just worried about something. After dinner, you all sat back after opening another bottle of wine, laughing at Morgan’s crude tales of hook-ups and Rossi’s detailed instructions of how he made the beautiful pasta you’d all enjoyed. You listened intently, chiming in to some of the stories, but your mind was firmly fixed on why your boyfriend seemed so distracted.

More wine followed, and then coffee. The coffee was just what you needed to perk up. There was something about red wine that made you sleepy, or perhaps it was because you were so full. As soon as people started to excuse themselves and say their farewells, you automatically looked around the room to find Spencer. This time you saw him leave the kitchen, again, closely followed by Morgan. Derek turned to face him and brought him in for a hug. That was weird too. What on earth was Spencer saying in these private conversations?

He walked over to you before you managed to look away and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Shall we head home, y/n?” He smiled softly and you nodded. It took a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye to everyone, mainly because a slightly intoxicated Garcia was intent on stroking your hair and telling you just how pretty you were.

“Goodnight my sweet geniuses. Tell me when you get home. Well, you don’t need to, I have the GPS location of your phones…” she hiccupped and stepped backwards.

“Speak to you tomorrow P,” you kissed her forehead and gave everyone a wave before stepping out into the cool night.

Ten minutes into your journey home and Spencer hadn’t said a word. The anxiousness was burning up inside you. Why was he acting so strangely? And what were those weird, private chats all about? Just as you were about to air your concerns, Spencer indicated at a turning that was unfamiliar to you. He turned the car into an alleyway and put it into neutral.

You could see he was breathing deeply. He took his hands from the steering wheel and turned to face you. “I wanted to do this at dinner but I got too nervous. So I thought I’d wait until we got home, but I can’t hold this in any longer…”

“Spence, what is the matter…” But all your questions were answered in an instant. He took hold of your hand and rubbed your palm with his thumb. With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, and brought out a little black box.

He set the box into your open palm and carefully opened it. Inside, was a gorgeous ring. The centre was a diamond and on either side were two little rectangular emeralds. Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You stared down at the ring in wonder for what felt like a lifetime before he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ve wanted to ask you this question for so long now, y/n. But I’ve found it hard to put into words just how much you mean to me. And I always have the words for everything,” you both giggled. “I want to marry you y/n. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. You are my best friend, my soulmate, my first and last thought of every single day. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His fingers traced over the edge of the box, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the tears trickle down your face. “Y-yes. Yes of course I will!” You held out your left hand and could see it shaking. There was no better feeling in the world. Spencer reached into the box, unable to control the smile that was now beaming on his face. The ring fit perfectly, and you held it up to the window to admire just how beautiful it was.

“You know why I chose emeralds?” he asked, now running his hand up your arm.

You had an idea, but didn’t want to be wrong, so turned and faced him waiting for his explanation.

“Your favourite book is The Great Gatsby. And Gatsby stands on the dock staring at the green light across the bay every night while he looks out for Daisy. That’s what I feel like when I’m not with you. I’m always looking for my light across the bay. The light of my life.”

It was just as you thought, but even more perfect hearing the words come out of his mouth. You’d barely said anything and still couldn’t, so reached across and held his face with your hand. “I love you Spencer. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you,” you peppered kisses across his cheeks, his closed eyelids, and finally his lips. “Now, can we go back to our friends and give them the good news?”

He laughed and turned the ignition back on. “I was hoping you’d say that, future Mrs Reid.”

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Me And You (Pt. 02 of 04)

A/N: This GIF isn't mine. So if you're the original owner, let me know so I can give you the credits.

Pairing: Rick Grimes X Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Summary: You and Rick got married on the farm, some time after he divorced Lori for cheating on him with Shane. Now, several months later, setting and fortifying the prison as your home, Lori hasn't accepted your relationship yet, doing everything she can to turn your lives into a living hell.

<- Previous part (01)

Next part (03) ->

{The Walking Dead Masterlist}

×

The guard tower is completely different. There's a mattress on the corner, covered with pale green sheets and some blankets. A table is set with a hell of a good meal, and the whole place is lit up by candle lights. With your mouth half-open, you take it all in, not quite believing it, still by the door frame.

“(Y/N), I'm so sorry but I didn't know,” Rick says, and it makes you look at him. “I wasn't counting and–”

“Counting what?” You inquire, happy to know what was the secrecy about, but still confused about why this was made.

“Well, somebody was countin',” Daryl mutters, a low chuckle coming out of his mouth.

“Yes, someone has too.” Carol has both hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. “Today is your one year anniversary and the only reason why I'm not disappointed at you two was because I successfully managed to pull this off behind your backs.”

“One year?” You mutter, mentally counting. Checking the calendar daily was never one of your priorities. And being with Rick sometimes feel like forever already, and yet not long enough. “Holy shit. An entire year!” Turning at your husband, you tiptoe to kiss him, happiness overcoming you for being able to celebrate this date in such a wrecked world. It's a true blessing.

“Well, Daryl and I will leave you alone,” Carol speaks up, and you break the kiss just to give her some attention. “Have fun. The guard tower is yours alone all night.”

“Thank you so much you two.” You can't help but say. “Actually, I must thank everyone because I bet they all had a part in it.”

“That's true. Now, let's go, Daryl. Let them enjoy their special night.” With that, Carol pushes the door closed, and soon enough you can hear their footsteps as they walk down the stairs.

“That's absolutely amazing.” You breathe out, taking off the jacket and laying it on a small side table by the door. Holding Rick's hand, you pull him towards the table, checking on your dinner. Deer and potato salad, one of your favorites meals when it's cooked by Carol.

“Not nearly as amazing as you.” He gives you a gentle pull, and you turn towards him. You can't help but blush under his eyes, as you did on your first date. Well, on the run you went alone with him, when things started getting clear between you two.

“Well, this is the dress you got me a while ago and the hair was all Carol's doing.” Slowly, you step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You're gorgeous. Well, you're gorgeous every day, actually.”

“Even when I'm covered in dirt and bone meal?” Giggling, you stand on your toes, eyes closing when your lips brush against his.

“You get more beautiful every passing day and I have no idea how you do that.” Then the kiss comes, and it's different now because there's no risk of being interrupted. No risk of being seen.

You and Rick barely have the chance to be alone. It usually happens when you go on a run together and that's why you do it every now and then, just to spend a night or two away from everyone. But you usually have to stay in the car since sometimes is hard to find a house you can secure to spend the night in without having to worry too much. But there's nothing to worry about here, you're safe inside the fences. And you are safe in his arms.

“Dinner first.” You tell him with a giggle when you pull apart to breathe. “We have all night.”

“When was the last time we had all night for ourselves like this?” He asks as you move to seat on the small table, across from each other.

“On our three days honeymoon on Hershel's cabin a few miles from the house.” It quickly comes to your mind, and you can't help but giggle as you remember how terribly nervous you were back then. And how kind and caring Rick was. “And it's been a year.”

“A wonderful year.” Rick takes your hand over the table, a bright smile on his lips.

“The very best.” You agree, biting your lip. The only reason why you want to eat first is that you're really hungry since you had lunch a little too early today.

But something like an hour later you're lied down, Carol's good work on your hair ruined ever since you stumbled from the table to the mattress because you just couldn't get there fast enough. You'd be freezing it is wasn't for the warmth Rick provides, with his chest pressed against your back. As you look at the night sky through the windows, to the many stars, tiny diamonds scattered across the Universe, Rick places soft kisses on your bare shoulder, all the way up to the back of your neck.

“Your beard is tickling me.” Giggling, you mutter, playfully trying to push him away, but that only makes him hold you tighter, placing a delicate bite on your neck. “Ouch! I thought you said you didn't bite unless I asked.”

“I don't remember saying these vows.” And he starts kissing you again, making sure to gently rub his beard on your neck.

“Rick, c'mon.” You whine, the laugher coming from your lips suddenly interrupted when your eyes find a figure in the distance, on one of the bridges that connect two different cell blocks. “Hey, wait up.” Your voice gets a little more serious as you squint your eyes. The figure is quite familiar and it takes only two seconds for you to recognize Lori.

“What?”

“Over there. On that bridge.” You know when he sees her because a sigh escapes his lips. “Is that...?”

“Yeah.” Rick sounds frustrated, a little angry even. But then again, everyone feels like that when it comes to Lori and you don't know for how long it can go on. Whenever she's in the room, the atmosphere changes, and people always expect some kind of confrontation.

“That's creepy.” You mutter, pulling the blankets up to cover your body. She can't see anything from this distance, but even so, it makes you feel a little better. “Do you think she was watching?” The thought comes to you suddenly, and it doesn't help one bit.

“I don't know. I don't know what to expect of her anymore.” As he speaks, you see someone else on the bridge, talking to Lori. You recognize Carol as an argument begins. It takes only a few seconds before Carol steps back, giving a look your way before disappearing.

“You know, sometimes I...” Taking a deep breath, you give up giving your thoughts a voice. “Nevermind.”

“Hey.” Rick moves away from a little, and you take the space to turn around so you're facing him. “Tell me what's bothering you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I'm the other woman.” Avoiding his eyes, you look at his chest, sadness spreading through your heart. “Like she's the wife and I'm the lover.” You never intended on being a homewrecker, but even though you and Rick only started dating months after him and Lori broke apart, she still manages to make you feel this way.

“But you're not. Look at me.” With his index finger on your chin, he moves your head up until your eyes meet his. “I divorced Lori. If the world still played by the old rules, I'd have the papers to prove it.”

“I know, it's just that...” Tilting your head at the bridge, you stare at him as his eyes move there. And by the looks of it, she's still there.

“You're my wife. You.” As his eyes fall on you again, Rick takes your hand, placing it over his heart. “And the love I have for you haven't changed at all. Well, it only gets stronger, and sometimes, in the morning when I wake up and see you there, on my chest, I feel like my heart could explode.” It makes you giggle, a heat spreading through your cheeks. “It's me and you, remember? This is between me and you, and nobody else has a say in it so it doesn't matter if she was staring or not.”

“I love you so much.” Smiling, you place kisses all over his face, pushing him to lay on his back as you move to lie on top of him. “You know what, I should bite you.” You decide to push all those thoughts away because this is your anniversary after all. Well, it's probably after midnight, but the night is yours and you intend to enjoy it.

“Oh, I'm terrified.” Chuckling, he quickly moves, a strong hand holding your hip as he switches positions, lying now above you. “How are you planning to do that?”

“Are you challenging me?” Raising an eyebrow, you wrap your legs around his waist, since it's pretty much the only way you can cage him in this position.

“Maybe.”

“Alright then. I'll–” You suddenly feel eyes on you, and when you look at the bridge to check, there she is, still staring. “...We could maybe look for some curtains and put them here so–”

“Or we could do that.” Rick pulls the blankets over both of you, and soon enough you're surrounded by darkness. “Now, where were we?”

“I was about to bite you.”

“Good.”

•••

It takes quite a while for you and Rick to finally get to your feet, get dressed, and head out. You didn't want to leave though, and an agreement was made. At least once a week you'll clean up the tower and use it to spend the night. You'll make sure it won't be on either yours of his watch, so it won't mess up with anyone else's life. And you're very happy about it. Even more, because he'll use some dark piece of fabric you have here to cover up the windows.

Hand in hand, you walk through the patio, giggling like two kids.

“I need a shower.” You tell him as you get into the prison, walking backwards, pulling him to the bathrooms. “Join me?”

“Starting the day with multiple good ideas.” He mutters, ending the distance between you in a sudden motion, an arm encircling your waist, pulling you into a kiss.

“You seem to be quite happy today.” Carol's voice reaches your ears and pull away.

“Morning, Carol.” You say with a bright smile, blushing slightly. “We'll take a shower and start the day.” As you speak, you start pulling Rick again, ignoring her smirk.

Soon enough you hit the showers after stopping by your cell to get something clean to wear. As you get rid of your clothes, Rick makes sure the door is locked before joining you under the water.

“Damn, it's cold!” You exclaim, bracing yourself.

“I'll warm you up.” When you feel his hands on your waist, you turn around, tiptoeing and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Better hurry up because I'm freezing.” Whispering, you connect your lips to his, and it takes no time for the cold water to stop bothering you.

“Give me a little jump.” He mutters and you do as he says, moving up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Rick firmly holds your thighs, and you use his shoulders to steady yourself. “Still cold?”

“You have no–”

Loud bangs on the door cut you short, startling you a little. They go on for long seconds until they finally stop.

“You can't monopolize the showers. There are more people here who want to use it.” It's Lori. A very angry Lori, once again making sure she'll get on your way.

Taking a deep breath, you exchange a glance with Rick. “We'll be out in a minute.” He says.

“You can't–”

“Who's in there?” Another voice says and you whine, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Rick,” Lori answers, and after the other person makes a funny sound, you hear footsteps walking away.

“Rick, man. Daryl and I were talking and you know those books I found? I read them and I think I could maybe install those solar panels.” Glenn's voice sounds muffled by the door, and you raise your head to look at Rick, eyes rolling.

“Glenn, can we talk about this in a minute?” Rick snaps back.

“I just thought it would be urgent news. I mean–”

“Hi, Glenn. What about you and my husband discuss this awesome news when we're done here.” Deciding to make your presence known despite knowing Glenn will use this against you later, you raise your voice. “I'm super excited about electricity but I'm kinda in the middle of something.”

“Oh... oh! My bad, Uhm... I'll go now.” He stutters, clearly embarrassed. But not as much as you.

“The good part is that we'll laugh about it in a few days.” You tell Rick, biting your lip. “But right now it's just awkward.”

“You know he'll pick on both of us, right?”

“Yeah, but let's worry about it later.”

•••

A minute easily became ten. At least that's what you think since you weren't really paying attention to time. But eventually, you're out, Rick going straight to see what Glenn wants as you join Carol, heading to the storage.

The day goes by pretty well until Carol has to leave the storage and you're left alone. But that's not the problem. You're humming to yourself a soft, happy song, writing down the new stuff Glenn brought when you hear someone behind you. By the way they just stand there, not saying anything, you know exactly who it is. And that's why you don't even turn around, focused on your task.

“You gave quite a show yesterday.” She starts and you sigh.

It's been a year. Well, a year and eight months if you count the time you started dating Rick. And after all this time things have only gotten worse. Lori is not letting go, and that's obvious. “I wasn't trying to give a show, I was celebrating a special day with my husband.” You don't even bother to look at her.

“What he did to you in one night, he never did to me in all our years together.”

“Really?” You breathe out, running a hand through your hair.

“He was never that intense. What do you have that I don't, (Y/N)? I'm the mother of his children. You're just young and cute.” She loves doing that, bringing up the age thing as if it meant anything to you or Rick.

“Correction.” Putting the pen down, you stand up from the table and finally turns to look at her. “You're the mother of his son. Judith is Shane's daughter. Or do I have to remember you got pregnant four months after Rick and I were dating? While you and Shane were hooking up.” You try not to argue with her, but sometimes you just can't help it. “Then Shane went mad and got himself killed so Rick, because he's so noble and kind, decided to be Judith's father figure.” Crossing your arms, you lean against the table.

“Is that what you have in mind to convince yourself you didn't steal my husband?”

“I didn't steal your husband, Lori.”

“Yes, you did. If it wasn't for you batting your eyelashes with this innocent act you know–” Lori steps closer, a finger pointed at your face. “–you know it lures men in, I would have a chance to fix my marriage, but no. You were there, stealing glances, asking Rick for gun lessons, talking to him, smiling and flirting.”

“I never–”

“Then I get the full view of what you do, you little slut. I got to see exactly what you did to hook him up.” She's yelling now, at the top of her lungs.

“What you saw was an intimate moment between husband and wife.” Snapping back, you raise your voice, but not like hers, just enough to make your point. “You stood there and watched it because you wanted to. But don't worry, Rick is putting some curtains so it won't be a problem anymore.” Then you walk away, meeting up with Carol by the door. She's pissed, maybe just as much as you.

“You're a whore, that's what you are!” As you walk away from the storage with Carol, you hear Lori's voice echoing.

“Now I'm a whore for sleeping with my husband.” You mutter.

“Don't even bother. People are starting to give up on Lori. I already did.”

“Yeah... I don't know why I even try.”

“(Y/N),” Rick calls and you turn to look at him. He's with Daryl, both carrying bags. “I heard Lori yelling. Is everything alright?”

“I am, babe. Are you going on a run?” Walking over him, you mutter a 'hello' to Daryl. There weren't any runs schedule for him, not in the next few days.

“Yes. Glenn is confident he can set up solar panels so Daryl and I will go and take it. Remember when I told you I found some? But didn't bring it since there was no way we could install them.” As he speaks, a hand comes to caress your cheek. “Sorry, but it's urgent. We just decided to go.”

“Don't worry. Just be safe and come back to me on one piece.” Tiptoeing, you kiss him, slow and passionately, despite the small audience. “Take care of him, D, please.”

“I will.” He assures you.

Ten minutes later you're at the gates, watching as the car disappears among the trees, a hand in your heart as the usual feeling washes over you. Every time Rick leaves, you can't help but feel a anxious. But he knows what he's doing, and so does Daryl. They'll be alright.

Without Rick, you're always cold. And as the nights get colder, it only gets worse. But during the day, you keep yourself busy between the storage and anything else there's needed. Glenn, as you expected, keeps teasing you since the showers incident, but with him, you can't help but either blush or laugh. He's very secure about the solar panels thing, and on this cold morning, as you sit on the table at the North side of the patio, he tries to explain to you how it'll work. You don't really understand it, but it's good to see him so excited.

“So this means that–”

“(Y/N).” Maggie's voice comes from the radio attached to your belt. “We have company. A man and a woman are coming our way.”

“Let's go.” You tell Glenn, and he's quick to gets to his feet and accompany you to the gates. The whole group joins you, guns in hand.

“Everybody full alert. Anything weird you notice, you know the code.” With your glock in hand, you aim and the couple as they approach the gates.

“Aren't you the first lady?” Lori says, from somewhere behind you. “Deal with it by yourself.”

“We're family. We do things together.” Hershel answers, and you smile to yourself, right after putting on a serious face.

“Hands up.” You command, and the couple quickly do as they're said. “We have the upper hand so we'll make a few questions. Is that clear?” You use the same words Rick does since he was the one to teach you how to deal with these situations. He wants you to be prepared for everything. And as much as people may look harmless, you should never trust them one hundred percent. Not in this world.

×

@bl3333h @mychemicalimagines

[queenbirbs]

on this winter night with you | Ethan Ramsey x MC

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Summary: Ethan attempts to decorate his apartment for Christmas and worries himself into the ground about it, as per usual. 

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: alcohol mention 

Notes: Takes place during book two. Title from Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night.” 

------

“This looks stupid,” he mutters to himself for what might be the fortieth time. 

Still, Ethan can’t resist reaching out and shifting the small pile of presents again. As if another inch to the right will suddenly make them fit in amongst the other decor on his mantle. They should be in their traditional place under the tree, but Jenner nearly consumed an entire bow when he turned his back. And with how much time he wasted watching wrapping tutorials on his phone -- twenty-seven minutes, according to the video length and the amount of times he replayed it -- he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that again. 

Especially when he’s spent so much of the afternoon fighting with the lights. When he pulled them from the dark tomb of his guest bedroom closet, they were wrapped neatly around a divider -- thanks to his dad, who gifted them to him years ago. Somehow, in the short trek to the living room, Ethan managed to tangle them into an incomprehensible mess. 

And there went another sixteen minutes. 

He has studies published in several dozen medical journals; he wrote his own textbook before the age of 27; he’s been the keynote speaker at the North American Diagnostics Conference for two of the past five years. But Ethan doesn’t even want to know how long he struggled with wrapping the lights around the tree, before he realized he could just pull the damn thing away from the corner. After wrestling it back into said corner, he plugged in the cord. Only to find that the lights were set on some bizarre, rapid blinking pattern that he couldn’t seem to switch off. 

There must be a joke out there about a doctor reading a wikiHow article on how to set up a Christmas tree. He sure isn’t laughing, though. Because for all his troubles, his apartment looks like the set of a low-budget holiday special. 

“This looks stupid.”

From the floor, behind the makeshift barricade around the tree, Jenner grunts in agreement. Ethan bites back the sigh that begs to form, figuring that he’s met his quota already. It’s irrational to be nervous about something so trivial -- it’s all tinsel and plastic pine needles, after all. But that’s not counting for what’s at the bottom of the box on the coffee table. Which is why he wants this to be perfect. Which is why he should stop worrying over the decor and see to dinner. 

He’s only gotten to slicing the tomatoes when Jenner races to the front door. 

“--the state with the worst drivers, I swear,” Sloane says to no one in particular as she opens the door. “I read an article about it in The Atlantic.” 

Bundled up in her coat and his scarf, she shakes the snow from her hair. Fat drops of ice plod onto the rug. She bypasses the coat rack and drapes hers across a barstool, then dumps her bag and scarf onto the island, muttering all the while about Massachusetts drivers. Her heels clatter to the floor as she kicks them off and moans in relief. It should be silly that, despite the panic he feels at her early arrival and the slight annoyance at the mess she’s made of the foyer, he’s still hit with that familiar pang of affection for this woman. He likes being on this side of the fence when it comes to their relationship. The side where it’s just the two of them, with no workplace rules or curious onlookers to spy on them. The sex is fantastic, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something thrilling about the domesticity. He certainly wasn’t ever able to say that about his other relationships. 

Now, if he could emit any sort of verbal greeting from where he’s frozen in place at the counter.

“You’re early,” he declares, wincing at the lack of subtlety. 

“Patient transfer went without a hitch. Must’ve been one of those Christmas miracles I hear so much about. So Naveen said I could head out.” 

Sloane pops open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. Passing behind him, she gives his hip a quick squeeze before locating the corkscrew. She glances up through the curtain of her hair at him and grins, reading his nervous energy as easily as a book. He’s never been good at hiding much from her which, looking back, was probably for the best. “I texted you.”

“I… you did?” 

Popping the cork, she shoots him another look as she pours them each a glass. He takes his and tries not to seem too eager to have a sip. Reflections on the bottle pull her attention from him and to the odd light show playing in the living room. Ethan watches as she rounds the couch and lets out an amused chuckle.  

“What’s with the textbooks?” 

“Jenner kept trying to eat the ornaments. And the tree skirt. And the tree.”

“Most people get those weird, little fences.”

“I’ll get a ‘weird, little fence’ next year.”

“Don’t. I like it. It’s very…” she tips her head to the side, as if she’s assessing an art piece and not the Great Wall of Oxford University Press, “...you.”

“Thanks. I think.” Coming to stand beside her, he gestures to a plastic storage bin on the coffee table. “I didn’t have a chance to hang the ornaments yet.”

“Good. We can do it together.” Bumping her nose against his arm, she drops a kiss to the fabric there, and then another on his jaw. “After dinner, though, because I’m starving.” 

Leaning down, he hauls her close with his arm around her waist and captures her lips with his own. After a long, long moment, he pulls away and lets them both catch their breath. 

“Me too,” he says, grinning when she rolls her eyes at his antics. 

“Yeah, I got that. C’mon, you take care of the main course and I’ll handle dessert.” 

------

“Isn’t this supposed to accompany dessert?” he questions as he reads the label. 

“Hush. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re both adults with high-stress jobs working on a veritable sinking ship that we’re choosing to go down with.” Sloane ticks off the reasons with her fingers, though she only gets as far as those two before he passes the bottle of Marchese dell’Elsa to her. “And it’s Christmas Eve.”

“You already said that.” 

“Enough backtalk.” She uses her stern voice, but the effect is diminished by the sleeves of his sweater sliding back down over her hands. “It’s time for the best part.” 

Reaching into the plastic bin, she pulls an ornament free from the tissue paper. It’s a green, silk ball, shot through with a gold stitching that’s coming loose. Ethan thinks it’s old enough to be his paternal grandmother’s. A woman he has few memories of, but the ones he has -- orange parquet floors, low, throaty laughs, and the spicy scent of menthol cream -- are fond. Sloane moves over to the tree and settles it near the top.

Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album and the hiss of the gas fireplace accompany them as they make slow work of emptying out the bin. Glittery snowflakes and chipping snowmen hang amongst the cheesy doctor phrases his dad insists on gifting him.  

“Aww look at you,” Sloane drags out the word as he lifts out one of the last ornaments. Crafted from popsicle sticks glued together, the makeshift frame holds a glossy picture of Ethan clutching a first place trophy for the fourth grade science fair. “What was your project?” 

“A lemon volcano.” 

“That’s so cute. Mine was on the different decomposition rates of plastic in fresh versus saltwater.”

“Nobody likes a braggart,” he mumbles, prompting a laugh from her as she snatches the ornament from his hand and hangs it dead center on the tree. 

She turns back to rifle through the bin for any small baubles they may have missed, only for her to lift out a gold key tied with a ribbon. Confusion draws her brows together as she inspects it. Though he despises hyperbole, he can’t deny the near-feeling of his heart in his throat. He gulps down what’s left in his glass and sucks in a breath. Sloane moves to place it on the tree when he reaches out to stop her. 

“No, wait -- it’s… it’s for you,” he manages to stutter out.   

She shifts to face him.

“What?”

“This year has been challenging. Probably the hardest and most grueling in a long time.” Ethan rubs his palm along his jaw, unable to suppress the smile that comes with his next words. “But you -- you made it all worth it. I can’t help but be thankful that I’m here with you, at the end of this awful year. And I know that we don’t know what’s going to happen with the hospital, or where we might be next year, but I don’t really care about any of that right now.” 

And hadn’t that been a revelation, that the career he’d spent a decade dedicating his life to cultivating had fallen to the wayside when it came to his future with Sloane. Because that’s what he wants, at the end of the day, at the end of this mess. “Having you here with me -- I’ve gotten used to it. And I’d like for you to continue being here with me. If you want to, that is.”  

Her green eyes are wide as they flicker from his face to the key and back again. The lights shimmer against the auburn waves that have come loose from her bun. She clears her throat and gives her head a little shake, as if waking herself from a daydream.  

“I -- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I lied about needing to donate my clothes. I mean, I am still doing that, but the reason wasn’t just for a yuletide cleaning. I was making space. For you to move in with me.” 

He steps forward and settles his hands on her waist, kissing her once on the forehead. The smirk appears on his face, unbidden. “I thought I was being pretty obvious, what with leaving the top drawers empty and moving my suits to the guest closet.”

“I thought you were going to embrace the leather jacket look you picked up in Brazil and expand your wardrobe beyond grandpa sweaters and khakis,” she serves right back.

Ethan rolls his eyes at the dig. 

“Big talk for the thief currently wearing one of these so-called ‘grandpa sweaters.’” 

Sloane snuggles close, right into the space where she fits so well against his chest. Her fingers trace over the key. 

“My answer is yes, by the way.”

The confirmation warms him, right down to the center of his chest. Or maybe a little to the left. Cupping her face, he slides his lips along hers, sighing with content when she deepens the kiss.  

“I’m glad to hear it.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

Another fic that’s mostly dialogue? Absolutely unheard of from me. Another fic that should’ve been posted in a timely manner? Yet here we are, day after Christmas. Oh well. 

Was the hospital talk vague enough for it to be obvious that I… haven’t exactly finished book 2? I got to chapter 14 and then work hit me like a category five hurricane for two and a half months, so I haven’t gotten a chance to actually play the last few chapters. I’ll get around to them eventually. 

Also: the Atlantic article is fake, though MA did receive the worst driver award back in 2014. As of 2020, Massachusetts was rated as the best for drivers (using data from 2017 through 2019).

Happy holidays and warm wishes to everyone still chugging through this wild, wild year. 

[bitchapalooza]

Sail to sea

Lukas sees the Sea Spirit.

Tw death mention, past death, child death, drowning mention

Lucas scanned the horizon. The sun was setting, ending his third day on the job. Orange reflected off the waters of the quiet Norwegian town. The clouds were a beautiful cotton candy pink, soft enough to touch, good enough to eat. As the night closed in, the atmosphere changed. Everything calmed to a relaxing still. The wind blew gently. Jostling his hair. Messing it up.

The boat swayed as the crew readied themselves to port. Lucas drew in the last of the nets. Nothing in them. Same as the previous evening. A low frustrated growl rumbled from Lukas' throat. He tossed the net aside, it hitting the deck with a thud.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Thomassen." William, his cousin and crewmate, frowned. His larger, rougher hand clasped Lucas' shoulder firmly. Grounding the younger worker from his rising emotion.

Lucas jerked away. "How are you so calm? The haul is lighter than yesterday. And the day before." William shook his head as he gathered the empty nets.

"S'way it always is, kid." He tossed the nets back to Lucas, the young man falling back a step but otherwise catching it without further struggle.

"Wasn't this way when I was a kid." Lucas muttered. "There were netfulls everyday. More than my father could handle sometimes."

Erick pushed past his fiance's cousin, bumping shoulders with the shorter man. "Things change. Get used to it."

Lucas wouldn't accept it. His father had run this small fishing business for years. Spent his life on it to provide for his family. Then he passes it down to his brother and it goes to shit. The amount of fish fluctuates daily, he's been told. He was instructed to deal with the dead ones they haul in. Do not question the half eaten fish. To throw back the younger ones to avoid killing off the supply. Most shops relied on them for stock. Restaurants relied on those shops. Families relied on both. The whole town will collapse if nothing could be done to fix this.

But Lucas let it go for now. He stored the nets away in the proper place. And then he caught something unusual in the corner of his eye.

Glistening violet in the setting sun. He scanned the landscape but saw nothing more. He was about to turn away, thinking it was a trick of the light, when he saw it again. In as much detail as he could capture.

Out in the distance, a glimmer of purple soared through the air. Lucas swore it was a body. Small and slim. Jumping from the water like a dolphin. "What," Lucas began, not looking away from the ocean. "What was that?"

"What was what?" William asked from the other side of the boat.

"The— whatever jumped into the air just now!"

"Oooooh," Finnigan, the old self appointed crew captain, came up from below the deck stroking his salt and pepper beard. "Sounds like little Lucas has seen it." He trotted over, ruffling the younger one's head of hair. Lucas swatted him away.

"It? Hell is 'it'?" He demanded.

"It," Erick sat down on the gunwale of the boat. "Is the Sea Spirit. Kids these days say it's a mermaid."

"Others say it's a lost spirit. And that's where my money lands honestly." Finnigan finished.

Lucas turned back to the open sea. "So," He looked over the edge, brows furrowed. "It's definitely paranormal?"

The crew nodded.

"Interesting.."

Later that night, Lucas helped his uncle and aunt clean up the dinner table then snuck off, telling them he was going out for some air. He took down a path where he knew the tide would be low, leaving the rocks dry and exposed. He climbed down the now rusty latter. Maneuvered over the rocks. And sat huddled on the flat bare stone that acted as land. The water was calm and the wind chilly.

Lucas dipped his hand into the cool salty water closing his eyes as he remembered a time long past. When the latter was brand new. Built by his neighbor and son. Kids used to come down here to play with their toy boats. It was once a tradition for the graduating seniors to let go a paper boat in preparation for their free life. Some even set the boats on fire, making a bigger deal out of it than needed. Lucas came out here to play too, once upon a time. When things were simpler. Happier.

But it looks like things have changed. The rope blocking kids off from the deeper parts is gone. The dock where, on occasion, a lifeguard sat, was in shambles. Barnacles hug every nook and cranny possible of every rock in sight thanks to the change in sea level.

And to think it's only been eight years.

"Hey spirit." Lucas called out. Back in the day, their town was home only to humans. No paranormal being could be found. It's a pretty foreign deal to these folk but to Lucas it's become normal. His parents moved him to the city where creatures did reside. Hostile ones. Friendly ones. He met a Fossegrimmen in the surrounding forest he observed everyday as a teen, always trying to muster the courage to ask him to teach him how to play the fiddle. He did always have the stolen meat prepared but never did approach him. He also met trolls and an usual Danish Nisse when he visited the countryside. Lucas is still convinced, after all these years, he even saw the winter spirit when he first moved. His parents continue to deny it.

Lucas was no stranger to these creatures. In fact, being told there was a spirit here, in this boring old port town, was just the pick-me-up he needed after leaving his parents' comfort and care nearly a week ago. Back in the city, he kept journals about the creatures he found. He found them intriguing. Fun to study.

Lucas swirled his hand in the liquid a few more times before retracting it, wiping it dry on his pant leg. "If you are out here, Sea Spirit, you don't have to be shy. I'd like to meet you if that's okay."

Nothing but the sounds of the sea answered.

A few more good bouts of silence and Lucas got up, ready to leave. And then something splashed his shoes as he turned away, soaking them to the bone. He faced the water again, looking down at the edge of the rock. And there it was, the top of a head and a pair of bright violet eyes reflecting the moon poked out of the water's surface. Lucas carefully sat back down a good distance away, never breaking eye contact.

"So," Lucas began. "You're what I saw this evening, huh?" The spirit popped their head further out of the water, revealing their beautiful spots of purple that glimmered in the moonlight. Lucas also noticed it's features. Very child-like, he thought.

"What is your name?" They tilted their head. "Your name. What do they call you?" He repeated.

The spirit suddenly came ashore. With the moonlight as his only source, he could just make out how sickly green and pale their skin was. Their hair covered their eyes, touching their shoulders. Gills sat on the sides of their throat while more purple scales littered their exposed skin. They wore tattered cloth, most likely a torn sail they fashioned into some clothes. Most of all, it was a child. A young boy by the looks of it. Perhaps around four. Or six in human years.

This was unlike anything Lucas has read about.

"If you don't have a name, may I call you something?" The spirit nodded slowly, hesitantly. "Okay. Hm..." Lucas thought hard on this. He's never come across a completely nonverbal creature before. Much less one he's never seen before. This felt like a huge deal to him so the pressure was on.

And then he snapped his fingers, spooking the spirit for a second. "I got it! Emil. You can be called Emil."

Emil grinned from ear to ear at that. Lucas chuckled. "I see you like that, hm?" Emil nodded, more vigorously this time.

"Well my name is—" Without any warning, Emil came over and took Lucas' hand in his. Clasping them together tightly. The two met face to face, Emil smiling with big bright eyes as he shook their hands up and down in an incorrect hand shake. Lucas laughed a little again. "It is nice to meet you too, Emil. I'm Lucas." Emil let go and plopped down on the rock in front of Lucas.

"Can you not talk, Emil?" Emil frowned. He shook his head. "Seems you can understand well enough however. That's good."

With the young spirit closer, Lucas got a better view. His hands seemed to be webbed, feet too. Good for swimming of course. His ears were not human but fin. Small but still stuck out away from the face.

"Hey Emil," The spirit's eyes swam with curiosity. "Would you like to know why I named you Emil?" The boy nodded, leaning forward in anticipation.

Lucas gave a small smile. He took a breath and began. "I had a younger brother. He was around your age even. A small, skinny kid. He was going through this difficult picky eater phase that made mom worry for his future health on a daily basis."

"His name was Emil. A shy kid that had this fixation of collecting rocks and picking up strange bugs every chance he got. He opened up around me, mom, and dad a lot more than he did strangers.. He loved to fish with dad and I. We went every weekend to the docks to catch a few and throw them back. Dad would sometimes make us kiss the fish as it would apparently give us good luck. What a fool.." Lucas chuckled from fond memory.

Emil scooted closer, listening intently as Lucas carried on. "One day, dad thought it would be a good idea to show us how he worked. He took us out on the boat. Put life jackets on the both of us as he knew us kids would want to look out over the boat's edge. But Emil's hardly fit on account of his small body. He." Lucas took a shaky breath. "He fell overboard. And he couldn't swim. Emil had already fallen under before dad jumped in to save him himself. He died. And we never did retrieve his body either."

The spirit layed a cold hand across Lucas' warm one. Emil pointed to himself, tilting his head.

"Yeah. I named you after my brother to honor him I suppose."

Emil shook his head. He quickly retracted his hand and retreated back to the water in the blink of an eye.

Lucas stood, confused.

Now what was that about?

[uwua3]

drivers license.

🍁📸 fushimi omi

summary: omi receives his license and goes to the cemetery to celebrate

warnings: angst, anxiety, arguments, car crashes, driving, family trauma/issues, grieving/mourning, major character death/parental death

author’s note: if you are going through the loss of a loved one, please remember you will always have people in this world who support and love you endlessly ♡ you are not alone and you will make it through. i believe in you with all my heart—i cannot tell you it’s okay, but i can tell you it’ll get better. please keep trying, it’ll be worth it. i hope you wake up tomorrow with a lighter heart, i love you

this is not romantic! this is a headcanon i have of omi’s family history as he only lives with his father and two brothers (ＴｗＴ。) thank you!!!

word count: 2,619

music: drivers license – olivia rodrigo

I GOT MY DRIVER’S LICENSE LAST WEEK

JUST LIKE WE ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT

‘CAUSE YOU WERE SO EXCITED FOR ME

TO FINALLY DRIVE UP TO YOUR HOUSE

Omi was the first person to pass his driver’s license test in his family.

His father wasn’t getting any younger, so his hands were hesitant and shaky every time they hovered over the stick shift. The buttons out of the corners of his eyes were much too confusing for his old brain so Omi’s father insisted on walking everywhere. As he grew older, the Fushimi household reached a compromise of taking public transport during the weekdays.

Omi’s two younger brothers weren’t old enough. They were still in their early preteen years, so getting behind the wheel wasn’t a legal option. As the oldest son, Omi took it upon himself to get into a four-wheeler and figure out all the tricky mechanics for himself. Hours and hours passed borrowing his friend’s vehicle, spinning around in circles in abandoned parking lots, and studying road laws.

When Omi learned all by himself and paid for it with his own money, his father clapped his shoulder with his usual proud smile and congratulated him.

The leather beneath his father’s wrinkled hands suddenly felt like skin, as if he could see right through him. When Omi took a moment to take a deep breath in, he closed his eyes and could almost see a younger version of his father. A father that wouldn’t be so close to retirement, that wasn’t so fragile and slow.

What did his father see? Could he see Omi was still the little boy sitting in the backseat all those years ago?

“That’s my boy! You’re just like your—” Omi didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence, so he hurried upstairs and left his father alone in the corridor. Sometimes, he regrets it. But, most times, Omi’s glad he didn’t stay.

Whenever Omi got into a car after that, he sometimes still heard it in his head.

Omi knew he was like his mother.

BUT TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

CRYING ‘CAUSE YOU WEREN’T AROUND

YEAH, TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

‘CAUSE HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE?

The first thing Omi did after receiving his license was visit his mother.

The car wasn’t preferable by any means, but it did its job. The seat creaked every time Omi had to adjust it, the air freshner didn’t make anything better, and there was no possibility that the air conditioning worked. But, the windows rolled down all the way, the wheels rarely ran out of air, and the car door only jammed sometimes. At the red light, Omi shifted and heard the crease of his jacket.

Omi didn’t know why he still wore it. Those days were long past him now, but the aged material made this whole experience a little easier. Before Omi could let himself reminicse, the light turned green and Omi automatically pushed forward.

Check the rear-view mirror. Two hands on the wheels at all time. Eyes on the road. Pay attention to stop signs. Be aware of everything around you. Omi repeated this again and again until the GPS on his phone announced he reached his location. Parking carefully, Omi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding until everything stopped moving.

Picking up the small bouquet of flowers on the passenger’s seat, Omi locked his car and nodded at the security guard at the gates.

“Hi, Ma.” Omi said, pausing at a worn-down grave with the same flowers as last time.

“I got my driver’s license last week.”

AND I KNOW WE WEREN’T PERFECT

BUT I’VE NEVER FELT THIS WAY FOR ANYONE

AND I JUST CAN’T IMAGINE

HOW COULD YOU BE SO OKAY NOW THAT I’M GONE?

Omi sat besides her, leaning his head upon the cold grey stone. Like her tombstone, she was always strong, resilient, and offered a shoulder to cry on. Omi shuddered and wrapped an arm around the grave, as if she was still here.

“I did it.” Omi breathed and closed his eyes shut, hearing the distant rumbling of a thunderstorm. Even though Omi knew he should’ve left to get ahead of the rain, his legs were too weak. He couldn’t move without feeling like he was going to crash and burn.

“Ma... it was so hard.” Omi finally admitted to himself, squeezing the plastic of the bouquet in his hands and distracting himself with the crinkle. “Every time I sat in the driver’s side, I thought of you. I was... I’m so scared.”

Silence, before a clap of thunder. Omi flinched, hiding his face in the grey. “You were such a good driver, you followed every single rule. You should’ve been the one to teach me...”

Omi hated this feeling, like he was selfish for wanting his mother to be here with him. But, he knew he was right. Omi shouldn’t have had to suffer through panic attacks by himself. Make close calls with no one by his side. Balance school, work, family, and driving every single day. Omi could feel the exhaustion in his bones, as if he was the one who was dead.

“Pa couldn’t. Ever since...” Omi didn’t dare relive the tragedy. All he could bear was the inhumane screams, shattering glass, and alarms of the ambulance from miles away before snapping back to reality. “... the accident, he’s been so, so sad.”

It was an under-statement to say the Fushimi boys were struggling. Losing a parent didn’t hurt just emotionally, but financially as well. As Omi’s father picked up more shifts, more and more of that money went to medical bills that should’ve been years down the line.

“Your boys miss you so much. I miss you, so much. You would’ve been so proud... just like Pa. He said—” Omi’s voice cracked and he hated himself for it. Pulling the jacket tighter, Omi winced as the sudden gust of wind chilled his spine. The leaves rustled unceremoniously and Omi wished he could fly away, too.

“I’m just like you, Ma.” Placing the small flowers at the base of her grave, Omi read the faded engraving upon the surface until his vision was clearer.

Omi moved onto the next grave without a goodbye, because he’s had too many of those in this lifetime.

GUESS YOU DIDN’T MEAN WHAT YOU WROTE IN THAT SONG ABOUT ME

‘CAUSE YOU SAID FOREVER, NOW I DRIVE ALONE PAST YOUR STREET

After visiting his mother and Nachi, Omi returned to his car. It looked nothing like the car he almost died in. Back then, that car was big enough to hold a family of five snugly. Now, Omi’s car didn’t need all that room. His father would never get back into a car ever again, and his brothers could just sit in the back.

Resting his hand upon the car door, Omi didn’t have the heart to open it. Going inside meant driving home; driving home meant seeing his father flinch whenever the car pulled into the driveway. Driving home meant preparing dinner, making sure the boys did their homework, giving Pa his proper medications, doing homework, and barely sleeping. Going home meant being mom.

As the rain began to pour, Omi didn’t move. Soaked and unable to distinguish if he was crying or just stupid, Omi hung his head and let the water run over him. Was this his Ma’s way of crying for him? Omi didn’t want to know.

Omi finally yanked open the car door when a pair of glowing headlights passed by him. He nearly missed the splash of a puddle by his feet as Omi started the engine. Something was wrong. The usual ignition wasn’t audible and the lights barely illuminated the darkening path. Omi sat in the driver’s side with frustration that’s been growing ever since the car accident.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Omi swore, kicking the floor uselessly as he lifted his fist to hit the surface. Before he could slam his hand down, Omi sighed and simply hit the dashboard lightly at the last second. He had spent far too much money only to pay for repairs later on.

Omi pulled out his phone and checked, only to see no bars and no signal. Omi was cold, shivering, and crying in a cemetery and he had never felt more alone.

AND ALL MY FRIENDS ARE TIRED

OF HEARING HOW MUCH I MISS YOU, BUT

I KINDA FEEL SORRY FOR THEM

‘CAUSE THEY’LL NEVER KNOW YOU THE WAY I DO

Omi bought his first car after saving for months.

He honestly didn’t have to. Leaving behind the delinquent life meant making good friends. Friends that didn’t start fights, disobey the law, or be at risk of being put behind bars. Therefore, Omi had a friend that was willing to just give him a car.

“Come on, this is our gift to you. You don’t have to worry about this!” Omi’s friends insisted, trying to push the keys into Omi’s tight fists. No matter how much pressure was put upon him, Omi never faltered, just like stone.

“I’m sorry, but I... can’t take this.” Omi guiltily rejected the brand-new car. It was a model only rich people drove, the same exact demographic his friend was apart of. It was freshly washed with the proper tags and everything. Omi could’ve just taken it and saved thousands of dollars.

Except, he couldn’t. The car by no means was a vehicle he sat in before. But, the white color was the same. If Omi wasn’t paying attention, maybe he could ignore it. Yet every time he saw the exterior, it brought him back to that rainy day, desparately fumbling to rip off his seatbelt and wake his mother up.

“Omi... you can’t afford to say no...” They sympathetically tried to reason with him, but Omi was far gone. He backed up, nearly tripping with how hurriedly he stepped on his own heels. If he blinked, he could see the new car wrecked. If he didn’t focus, he could hear the sickening sound of the brakes failing.

“Omi, it’s been years since she—”

If he let himself get consumed by the past, he’d surely die.

“Thank you for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Omi bought a car a week later and when his father asked about price, Omi lied through his teeth.

“My friends saved up and bought me one for my birthday. Don’t worry, Pa. We can make the bills.”

Even when his friends sold it and tried to give him the money, Omi didn’t take it. His mother didn’t raise her son to take money from anyone.

Like mother, like son.

TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

AND PICTURED I WAS DRIVING HOME TO YOU

Omi left the windshield wipers on, watching as the rain drops got caught in the way. The heating wasn’t functioning, so Omi huddled in on himself and waited for some sort of sign that he could make it home tonight. The radio crackled every now and then, making Omi jump every time a voice spoke a word before getting cut off.

The world continued on as Omi lived through another rainy dark sky. Omi remembered staring up at this type of sky, his back laid out on a stretcher and hand reaching for the closest family member. Omi mentally punched himself, finding that he was getting caught up in his own trauma much more often than usual. Ever since driving lessons.

When it got too much to handle, the assignments, the expectations, the pressure, Omi indulged in make-believe. Omi imagined an universe where he was driving home to be welcomed by the warm embrace of his mother. Where his father was standing taller, where his brothers left their rooms on their own accord, where he wasn’t the backbone of the household anymore. It didn’t do him any good to hope for something impossible, but Omi did so anyways sometimes.

Perhaps it was his punishment for not being the one who died that night.

As Omi swiped mindlessly through his phone, willing for a bar, a crack of lightning made his skin crawl. Yet, beneath the pounding rain, a single yell of shock alerted Omi to look up from his screen. A deep sense of familarity forced Omi to look past his window, hoping to see past the blurriness of it all.

At the sight of a dark frame, Omi didn’t think twice before hurdling him outside, barely able to close his door before stripping his jacket and throwing it around the man. The shivering man weakly holding onto an umbrella that did nothing but cause more problems.

“Pa?! What are you doing here?”

RED LIGHTS, STOP SIGNS

I STILL SEE YOUR FACE IN WHITE CARS, FRONT YARDS

CAN’T DRIVE PAST THE PLACES WE USED TO GO TO

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“Son!” Omi’s father happily greeted despite being on the verge of catching a cold. Omi held the umbrella over his father’s head, taking the brunt of the cold willingly.

“I took the bus here. I knew you’d be visiting her today, but it was quite late.” He explained, wearing a newsboy cap that he must’ve had since youth. The sight of his father with a runny nose and wet clothes at his expense set something off in Omi.

“Why did you come?”

“To bring you home—”

“What would’ve happened if you died?”

The sound of rain was defeaning. Omi’s father stopped, staring at his son like he was seeing him for the first time. Omi’s arm started shaking, his grip on the umbrella’s handle was slacking. The truth weighed upon his shoulders, like he was about to collapse.

What if the bus had crashed? What if something happened to Pa while walking to the cemetery? What if it was Omi’s fault? Before Omi could apologize, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders.

Omi dropped the umbrella.

SIDEWALKS WE CROSSED

I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE IN THE TRAFFIC, WE’RE LAUGHING OVER ALL THE NOISE

GOD, I’M SO BLUE, KNOW WE’RE THROUGH

Omi couldn’t die.

Not when he raised his weak father that wasn’t getting any younger. He had to take care of his two younger brothers. Omi had to finish university, graduate, and be hired at a high-paying job to support his family. Fushimi Omi couldn’t die.

But, here he was, breaking.

“My boy, I’m not going anywhere.” Omi’s father said it so surely, like it was a promise he could control. Omi hesitated before resting his chin on his father’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of cologne. It was the brand his mother used to love, but he knew his father hated this one. It was so fitting, Omi refrained from crying.

“You’re so strong, I’m so proud of you.” Omi nodded, hugging his father with unsaid words he’d never be able to speak. Omi could never tell him his greatest fear was Pa dying. Could never admit that seeing his father react a second late makes him pace. Could never reveal he only went to university close-by in case an emergency occurred. Everything Omi did was for his father, his Pa, his only parent.

“She’d be so proud of who you are today. You are her son.” Omi’s father patted him once, twice, then pulled back. He rested his aged palm upon Omi’s cheek gently, just like his mother used to. His thumb ran over his scar with no judgment, just fatherly love.

Omi had never felt more loved.

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“You’re just like your mother, Omi.”

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 27: In Between

Here’s the beginning of the last set of late @felinettenovember works! Enjoy a little competition between Adrien and Felix that ends with an altogether different winner.

Around 2300 words

Marinette loved fashion design. She loved seeing the clothes, learning what went into making them, and figuring out how to make them look the best on people. What she didn’t enjoy was going to stuck up parties where most people were trying to trip up others. She thought this one would be easier as it was only a company-wide Christmas party and she already had at least two good friends attending, outside of the coworkers she had a good relationship with. What she didn’t bargain on was that both her friends would compete to be her companion for the entire night.

Upon arriving and checking in at the front, she found her good friend Adrien at her elbow. He immediately asked about taking her jacket, which she allowed, inquiring about the coat room and readjusting the bag she would keep throughout the night. Then he began to try bringing her into the main room, encouraging her to hold his arm for steadiness, and offered to find her a refreshment right away. Instead they were faced with Felix holding two glasses partway down the hallway, asking Marinette which she would prefer. She thanked him for considering her favorite and accepted the glass.

Marinette hadn’t thought ahead when she told both men about her excitement to attend and see other designers she didn’t get to see often. She and Adrien had been friends since school, her even holding a crush for a few years before moving on. She had gone on some dates after and had decided she didn’t enjoy their company enough for it to cut into her designing time, especially as she worked tirelessly to expand her portfolio for university and beyond. The two had remained good friends, meeting once every few weeks with their friend group except during busy seasons at work when one or the other couldn’t make it. 

She and Felix had connected in university, finding that they were doing complementary classes and that by collaborating, the two had excelled in their coursework far beyond their classmates. Learning that they both intended to work at the same company had resulted in weekly lunches and occasionally Felix “reminding” Marinette that she needed to go home and rest when she had been working later for too many days in a row. She needed the escort out of the building to ensure she didn’t go right back to working.

Unfortunately the two cousins had not gotten along well in the past five or so years, though the two had never elaborated on what happened to drive a wedge between them. The hostility between the two was tangible though, a whisper among their coworkers about how the two would specifically avoid meetings that the other was meant to be in or take their lunches at very select times, in areas of the building the other wasn’t likely to go to. Marinette hadn’t realized it was actually bad enough for the two to glare at each other the way they were, thinking the rumors played up this tension.

From further into the entryway, Claude waved an arm and rushed forward towards Marinette, breaking the staring contests between her friends. His dark green suit and bright red tie contrasted to really emphasize the occasion.

“Hello Claude. How are you tonight?” she greeted lightly, slightly uncertain of what to expect without as many work restrictions. He greeted her with a half hug, kissing near both her cheeks. Felix and Adrien had both turned to watch him intensely.

“Marinette! I’m so glad you’re finally here! Your dress is magnificent! Did you bring a date for tonight?” he gushed, gently holding her arm near the elbow. He was beaming, grin reaching his ears, and only glanced at the two men near her as he asked about the date.

“Not tonight. I didn’t particularly feel like finding one when we were starting to design for the spring line already. Especially since Christmas is already next week, and many of my friends are planning to spend time with their families in preparation,” Marinette casually answered, successfully hiding her wariness at his line of questioning. He had asked her out to dinner once when she first started but he quickly moved on to other targets after she had gently rejected.

“I can escort you, if you’d like! A pretty woman like you is bound to be surrounded otherwise! Plus if I remember correctly, this is the first year you’ve managed to make it so you don’t know where to find all the best food and I can help with that,” he exclaimed with what he probably thought was a charming smile, ending with a wink. Marinette hoped he got distracted soon instead.

“That’s alright Claude! I’m sure I’ll be alright without a date, and if I decide I need to find the best food, I’ll find you,” Marinette tried to dismiss his offer in a polite, but firm manner. With no comeback or ready suggestion to combat it, Claude smiled a little less brightly and informed them he would be returning to the action, reminding Marinette to find him later. With a small wave, he was gone and Marinette sighed.

After rolling her shoulders and head, she strode forward towards the main party. Both Adrien and Felix rushed to match her stride. Adrien asked if she and that man were close; Felix, if Claude bothered her at work. Both assured her that they would take care of her if she needed. She laughed a little, assuring them that Claude was not harassing her at work and she had the situation under control. They didn’t seem convinced, so Marinette made note to herself that she should follow up on this issue.

Walking through the main doors, Marinette paused to scan the room for specific people she hoped to see. She quickly decided that she should just start at one side of the room and work her way around it. She approached a pair chatting that she had worked with on a few occasions.

“Good evening! How have you been? Is your wife here tonight?” She managed to slide into the conversation easily, the pair exchanging small talk quickly before asking her opinion about one aspect of their winter line and her thoughts. She explained what she personally thought were a few pros and cons before a voice behind her chimed in his opinion. Marinette had jumped slightly as he spoke, not realizing that Felix had followed her over. She turned, trying to widen the group so Felix was within the semi-circle rather than behind her. Adrien stood right next to him, causing Marinette to jump again. The original pair looked curiously at the blonds and Marinette tried to casually laugh the interaction off.

“I didn’t see you two join us! Excuse my excluding you from the conversation!” her voice came out nervous, blood rushing to her cheeks. She wished they had said something sooner. Then she proceeded to ask if they had all met and introduced Felix when one man didn't know him. A minute or two of uncomfortable small talk followed before silence. When Marinette excused herself to talk to a woman that had recently returned from maternity leave, Felix and Adrien trailing behind her, one man speculated about her relationship with the two men that were meant to run Gabriel one day. The two agreed that if she was getting special attention, it was likely due to her talent. Gabriel must have asked them to keep an eye on her.

Marinette continued chatting, moving from person to person and, learning quickly from her first experience, immediately introducing people to the heirs of Gabriel by only their given names, as casually as they might any other random coworker or friend. Many noted to themselves or others nearby that those men seemed very attentive. One older designer chuckled quietly when Marinette made a passing statement about wanting to try some hors d'oeuvres before they were gone and both Felix and Adrien slipped away, only to return nearly simultaneously with plates piled much higher than would be deemed appropriate normally, offering them to Marinette. The young woman tried to laugh at them and asked her if she wanted to try any of their offerings. Each of them took one small item from each plate and turned away anything further. Each looked smugly at the other when Marinette took her choice from his plate.

As the night moved on and the live music started, many people moved towards the dance floor with their dates. Most songs were upbeat and catchy and Marinette had made herself at home with another young woman from another department. Felix and Adrien had been pulled away by some executives, discussing this and that, each trying to gain a small amount of favor for their futures. Keen observers may have noted the young men sneaking glances towards a young designer, laughing with another woman.

Soon a young man invited Marinette’s companion to dance. With an excited smile over her shoulder, she accepted. Marinette gave a small wave in acknowledgement and found her drink. It took very little time for the two men to approach her. Felix and Adrien reached her at the same moment. Both asked for a dance in that moment. Marinette’s eyes opened wide in her initial surprise and the swift beeline those men made to get to her had attracted more than a few watching eyes.

“Are the two of you planning on ignoring the rest of the guests here the entire night, when I’m content to stay on my own? Here you ask me to choose between my two very good friends while other young women wait to be invited to dance?” Marinette mockingly replied to the two, eyebrows raised slightly. The men flushed, but Felix took a step forward, leaning slightly towards her. Adrien quickly moved to follow step

“I would only be content to stay by your side, and I’m sure the other women wouldn’t be content in my company either. You look too beautiful for any other to keep my eyes on her,” Felix spoke in a husky whisper, just loud enough for the trio to hear. Marinette looked into his eyes and felt the impact of his words stirring her heart. She knew a blush had to be creeping up as well.

“I can’t imagine wanting to dance with another girl when I know you’re here! You enchant me!” Adrien’s exclamations were much less subtle and held an undertone of pleading. Unfortunately this attracted more eyes nearby and Marinette felt uncomfortable under the weight of their stares.

“Adrien, would you mind not loudly saying things like that? People will get the wrong idea about our relationship,” she replied in a hushed tone, her eyes flicking across the nearby faces watching them with all but outright stares. Adrien didn’t seem to read her mood.

“What do you mean? I care for you unbelievably! I would ask for a date if our careers didn’t make us too busy,” Adrien proceeded, only speaking slightly quieter. The nearest people switched from watching to fish-eyed stares. Felix put a hand on his shoulder.

“Offering her your heart does not mean you have hers. You do not yet have the kind of relationship to boldly declare your feelings for her in front of others, dear cousin,” Felix chided quietly. Marinette’s eyes were drawn to him again.

“I can’t help if I want to shout my affections, my love, from the rooftops! I don’t mind others knowing that I have feelings for her, even if she hasn’t returned them yet!” Adrien justified to Felix, no longer speaking boisterously but still well above a whisper. Felix shook his head slightly.

Marinette couldn’t help but think about the differences between the two as she watched this interaction. Felix asked nothing of her future, of commitment beyond this dance. He put in the effort to be with her in the moment, making time to see her at work often without letting himself become a true disruption. His eyes conveyed a longing for her, a desire to have her close, but he did not presume upon her heart. His words were private, personal and left their relationship as a private matter. He was giving her the option to choose how much she wanted from him and how much others could know. Adrien asked only of a dance here, in a very different way though. He was proclaiming to others that he intended to pursue her when he felt the time was right and that their relationship held something more than friendship, even if it was truly one-sided. He chose to wait, put off his pursuit until it was his sole focus, causing him to miss out on her life in the everyday mundane. This embodied one large difference between the pair: Felix tended to be reserved and only show his thoughts and feelings to those he chose and Adrien tended to be open and show his thoughts and feelings to all.

“Adrien, I work with these people and personally would prefer they recognize I got here on my own merits. There are some that would infer that I am only succeeded due to your influence and any defense you tried to pose would only make them more convinced. Also, I recommend both of you grab yourself a drink because I’m not having my first dance of the night with either of you. I’ve got my eye on someone for that already,” Marinette stated firmly before walking across the room.

The men watched as she approached an older gentleman and gently asked him to dance. He took her hand and the two proceeded to the dance floor where they did a slow sway. She laughed and smiled as the gentleman spoke. The young men looked at each other and Felix extended a hand. Adrien took it silently, the two agreeing to bide their time for Marinette’s decision. In the night after the Christmas party had ended, Felix learned of Marinette’s decision and rejoiced in his opportunity to see her more.