#he needs to be very very careful with those pearl snaps whenever he's wearing the suit under there

[t00thpasteface]

had to finally draw supermullet after fixin' to do it since i saw him at the junktique place in june. i like to live vicariously through drawing men built like brick shithouses... although coloring in the gingham pattern felt damn near pornographic

[lu-undy]

Chapter 62 - SBT

Here it is!

"Right, baby, I think we're ready." 

Mundy had put on his black three-piece suit and it had taken him an ungodly amount of time. He wanted everything to be perfect, and with his arm still in the cast, it was delicate. He shaved, arranged his hair and decided against using his hat. It didn't match with the very classy suit. 

"Pearl, come here, I need to dress you up too." 

The kitten came closer to the edge of the bed where she had been silently watching Mundy from. And that's when it struck him. She wasn't that baby tiny kitten anymore… It had been months between meeting Lucien and now; months during which Perle had grown up significantly. She wasn't an adult cat yet, but she was far from a kitten too. 

"Here, that's for your collar…" He removed the pink one and replaced it with the black one that Richard had made. Mundy delicately put the heart-shaped pendant with her name through it. "And that's the bow… Did I put it correctly? Does it itch or hurt or anythin'?"

Perle sat up proudly. 

"Meow." 

"Alright, good, come to me, baby." 

Mundy stood his back against the ladder that led to the bed and Perle elegantly went from the bed to his shoulder. 

"Good girl. Now, we'd better get goin'." 

Mundy took the bus to the cemetery that Maurice had mentioned over lunch that day. The other passengers gave him some odd looks. Mundy was impeccably dressed and his hair was neatly arranged. Even his cat's accessories matched his clothes…! 

He got off the bus and when he passed the wrought-iron gates, shivers ran through his body. He frowned and walked deeper in, on the old stone pavement. 

"Holy…" 

He soon saw a horde of people surrounding a priest and one head stood up and out of the crowd. It was Maurice's. Mundy passed the crowd and went to him. As he did so, he saw the children that Maurice was taking care of, he recognised some beggars and even the Doc' was there. As promised, Richard and his family had come, as well as Eddy, curiously enough. The rest of the crowd consisted of people that Mundy did not know or recognise but they all dressed for the occasion, either all in black or in dark blue military uniform with medals hanging from their chests. 

"Mundy." Maurice greeted him. 

"Who are these people?" He asked straight away. 

"People who knew who L was. On the day that the accident happened, I was there to confirm that both Duchemin and L… passed. And these people you see, these all knew him either by name or by reputation. Some even served with him during the war." 

"Crikey… They all came from-?"

"Oui. They jumped in a plane from France and answered the call that I didn't even have to make. The news of L's passing does not need any courier to spread." Maurice answered. 

Mundy's eyes went around and finally fell on what was in front of him, on the grass, next to a wide hole that matched the box's dimensions. The casket.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" The old priest interrupted. "We gather here today to celebrate the life of Lucien de Beauregard, who has now returned to his home with Our God, The Father."

Mundy's eyes snapped wide. That was Lucien's full name and he had never asked him. He had never thought about it.

The priest went on with a sermon and a prayer that Mundy did not fully hear. His eyes were stuck on the box not far from his feet. And what his mind imagined inside tore him apart. He bit his lip to stop himself and tried to pay attention to what the priest said, to distract himself from his own train of thought. 

But Gosh… Even something as simple as his full name, Mundy didn't know. And yet, Lucien wanted to be buried here in Australia, by his side….?! How wild was that! They had only known each other for a few months and yet Lucien had completely centered his life around Mundy, his life and his after-life. 

The priest went on and on with words, Jesus, God, the Holy Spirit and all of it.

"I was informed that some of you would like to play a song?" The old church man said. 

"Yes." 

A crew of musicians pushed through the crowd and Mundy recognised them. 

"Hello everyone, uhm, I'm Andy, my friends here and I didn't know much about Lulu but… He gave us our passion for music back and… We wanted to pay a tribute to him, modestly, with the first piece he asked us to play." Andy looked at the casket. "Lulu, we will miss your voice."

He turned to the musicians and when he raised his hand, the violins started. The brass section was added little by little, as Mundy put a hand on his mouth to cover his shock. He recognised the melody even if the velvet voice and poetic lyrics were silent. 

It was La Solitude. 

Mundy heard it though, in his head, Lucien's voice, the voice he fell in love with, the elegance, the charm, the refinement; qualities that were so foreign to him but suited Lucien like his very gloves. And the tears started to stream as Mundy realised that she would be back now, the Solitude. Bugger, no, not again… 

The musicians did their best and some of them couldn't hold back their tears either. When they finished, no one applauded but all nodded respectfully. 

"Anyone else would like to add a word?" The priest asked. 

Mundy wiped his tears with the back of his hand and when he raised his head, a forest of hands had risen. The priest let everyone talk. 

That old military man related a story that involved Lucien saving him, that other one told everyone how Lucien helped him secure a strategic place, even though he wasn't part of the mission… The tales of war went on and on from all those people wearing a képi and a dark blue uniform. Their stories confirmed what Mundy had heard from Richard and Maurice: Lucien was an exceptional man, a man who did not hesitate to help, putting his own life at risk to try and make it better for others. He wasn't all arrogance and if he was, it was only a cover, to hide a generosity that very few people could understand. 

"Anyone else?" 

"Yes, please." 

"Bastian…?" 

The young man took a step and looked down at the casket. 

"L, you… You encouraged me to work hard for what I want and uh… You've always been there for me, leaving gigantic tips… You helped me pay a new pair of shoes, you helped me get a haircut, you gave me advice, you gave me hope… I should have told you earlier, it's a bit late now but uh… They took me in the kitchen of the hotel, as an apprentice. They'll teach me and hopefully I'll be able to become a chef cook. I… Thank you so much…" Bastien wiped the tears on his cheeks. 

"And thank you, old man." To Mundy's surprise, Victoria stepped out of the crowd, holding hands with a man. "Thank you for your company, your lunches, the Spanish lessons, the advice with… everything. It's thanks to you that I found my… Well, my fiancé, and… I intended to invite you to the wedding, whenever that would be. Anyway, thank you for being the dad I'd have loved to have." 

Mundy's jaw dropped. He knew Bastien and Victoria but he had no idea about Bastien's dream to become a cook, or Victoria's Spanish lessons, or even her boyfriend…! And to think that when he had first met him, Mundy thought that Lucien was one of those like Johnson: too much money, nothing in his heart. But he turned out to be the one exception to the rule, just like for anything else. 

"Thank you, my child." The priest answered. He scanned the crowd. "You… Is there anything you would add? I see you are deeply troubled."

Mundy raised his eyes and it was to him that the church man was talking.

"I can't…" He sobbed. "I-I'd love to, but I can't…"

Mundy didn't see it but Maurice gestured to the priest. 

"You may speak freely. Tell us and tell him what troubles you." 

Mundy wiped his face with the back of his sleeve as Maurice put a hand on his shoulder to encourage him.

"He… He was everythin' to me… He came to my life like a gift from God himself. He… He was the best friend I'd ever had and I knew him only for a few months. I trusted him with my life, I… Lu'... Why did you have to go… I… I love you." 

Mundy hid his face in his hands as Perle brushed herself against him. 

The casket was slowly lowered to the ground and Mundy could not bear to see it. His eyes caught a glimpse of it and his knees gave up. Victoria went to him and crouched down, brushing his back gently. He sobbed and sobbed, covering his face in shame as little by little, the casket got covered by more and more dirt. 

"... Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

When Mundy removed his hands from his face, he had cried enough for his eyes to burn so much that he could hardly open them. He found himself sitting on the ground in front of a tombstone with the name of the man his heart beat for. Perle was lying down in front of the tombstone and crying too. 

"I'm sorry, baby cat… I'm so sorry… I didn't want that, I didn't want any of it, I… I thought we'd make it, I genuinely did…" 

The sobs went on and Mundy didn't realise that the crowd had gone and he was left alone to grieve. 

"Fuck me, fuck all of me, I'm just going from one loss to the next, I hate it! Why does it have to be like this? Does it really need to be like this? And what am I gonna lose next? You, baby cat? My van? My r-oh…" 

Mundy's eyes snapped wide and the rage boiling inside him made it out. 

"FUCK IT!"

He grabbed Perle and ran back to Maurice's street and his van. Once he got there, he slipped in and started the engine. He floored it. It was hard to drive with one arm but compared to losing his reason to live, it was nothing. 

"Meow?" Perle asked from Lucien's seat. 

"We got some cleanin' to do, baby cat, and the sooner we do it, the better…!" 

Mundy raced out of town and into the desert. He drove for long hours during which the shadows of the few cacti and boulders there stretched longer and longer on the orange and dry ground. 

"Meow…" 

Perle laid down on the seat and was staring at her Dad. He was frowning, his jaw was clenched hard and he was almost not breathing. His heartbeat was fast and suddenly his body temperature soared and more water flowed out of his eyes. He cried again and Perle understood it now. They had said goodbye to Papa and Dad was very sad about it. But it would be fine, Dad was strong and Perle wasn't a kitten anymore, she could defend them if needs be! 

Still, Dad was crying long and hot tears. His eyes were red and his breath was completely erratic. 

"Meow…" 

Perle hopped from her seat to her Dad's and sat on his lap, curled in a warm ball of fur. Dad rolled down the window and meowed louder and louder at… at the road? He meowed loud at no one, certainly not at Perle, she hadn't done anything wrong. Her ears slowly moved down and she laid her head down. 

Poor Dad… He was as mad as she was before she found Papa. In that state, he would no doubt hiss, bite and scratch anyone who would dare approach him. Of course Perle was distraught to lose her Papa, she loved him more than anyone and anything else. He had saved her, fed her, sheltered her, raised her, even loved her… Papa used to give the best kisses, those that make a funny noise, and he always smelt so good...

Oh, Dad stopped the van. 

"You can stay in the van, if you want, Pearl." 

"Meow." She stood up on her back legs and put her paws on his chest. Mundy looked down and hugged her. She had grown up so fast, that kitty. Now when she stood up, her head reached below his jaw.

"Right, c'mere then, big lady." 

He put her on his shoulder and exited the driver's seat to go at the back. Perle looked around them but here was no one and nothing. No streets, no buildings, no nothing. 

Dad went in through the back door and he retrieved a big metal box. He opened it and it contained a lot of shiny things inside. Perle had never seen those things before. As Dad was crouched down, she hopped off of his shoulder and into the box. 

"Meow?"

"Don't get in there, kitty cat. It's ugly." He took her out and turned to get his blowgun and a few other things lying around in the van. He took all the big knives out of the wall and his eyes and his entire body stopped sharp. 

"What the…?" 

As he removed the kukris from the wall, Mundy realised that one of the pictures that was stuck there was gone. The picture of him and his parents, the most recent one..!

He looked down at the floor. Maybe the old sticky tape gave up and it fell, but no. He couldn't see it anywhere.

"Bloody hell, problems never come alone…"

He decided to not worry about it just now and focus on what he had come here to do instead. When he turned to toss the big knives in the box again, Perle was sitting back in the large box. 

"Meow?" 

"Get out, Pearl. I don't have time to play."

"Meow?"

He sighed and crouched down again. He gently carried her off of the box and put what he had in his hand in there. 

"Look, these are problems." 

"Meow?" She repeated. 

"Yeah, problems. People call them rifles, kukris, weapons. I call them problems."

"Meow?" 

"Because whenever I touch one, people end up dying. And this time it's… Bugger…" He shut his eyes and looked away. 

Dad closed the big box and pushed it out of the van. He then took the biggest spoon Perle had ever seen and took massive spoonfuls of the ground. He kept meowing loudly each time the big spoon hit the ground. And he went on and on forever such that Perle took a nap on the van's door step. When she woke up, it was dark outside and Dad was still hitting the spoon in the ground and meowing. But this time, he was quieter. The hole he dug was now so big that the box fitted in there. It pushed it in and then he put back all the dust and dirt he had moved away with the gigantic spoon. It took him ages because of his broken short leg. 

"Right…"

Dad ended up on his knees, pushing the dirt back to be flat, and the box had totally disappeared. 

"Meow…" 

Perle jumped down to the ground and brushed her fluff against Mundy. 

"Yeah. It's over, kitty cat. I won't do that stupid mistake ever again. I'd rather die now and alone rather that touch these cursed things, find someone and end up killin' them."

"Meow?" 

"My Dad was right, those things kill even when you don't pull the trigger." 

Mundy sat on the ground, under the moon. 

"Meow…" Perle stood up on her back legs and Mundy hugged her. 

That night, as for a lot of the nights that would follow, Mundy would hug Perle as though she was all he had left, because that was what it felt like. And the night came back to being a moment of doubt, of dread, of distress. Every twenty-four hours, the same anxiety would creep up on the Aussie. He spent his nights talking to Perle, crying sometimes, other times he would brush her growing fur or cut her claws. 

"Pearl?"

"Meow?"

"D'you miss your Papa?" 

She raised her lagoon blue eyes to Mundy and blinked slowly. 

"Meoow…" She meowed long and sad. 

"I miss him too."

She purred as that night, weeks after Lucien passed, Perle was laying on Mundy's chest. His arm had healed and he slid a hand under his head on the pillow as he scratched her with his other hand.

"You know what bothers me?"

"Meow." 

"There's so much stuff I wanted to do with him, but I never got the time." 

"Meow?" She asked. 

"What? I don't even know… But I could see us doin'... Stuff. Y'know stuff that people do, eat outside together, just walk around together. There's other stuff but uh… You're still young."

"Meow!" She protested. 

"I know, I know, now you're as fluffy as a cloud and you're one big kitty, but you're still our baby." 

She purred and offered more of her jaw and neck for Mundy to scratch as she closed her eyes. The Aussie sighed. 

"Thanks, kitty cat… I love you." 

He wrapped his arms tighter around her and fell asleep. Perle didn't fit in Lucien's jacket pocket anymore but they both needed it to sleep anyway.

[audrey-lim]

A Rush of Bourbon to the Head - A Limlendez Fic

I am back. I am back with middle-aged ship smut fic. It’s like I never left. Tho this time it’s Lim/Melendez flavoured. And the way I see this ship is: Neil worships the ground that Audrey Lim walks upon and she permits him. Good shit. Continue reading for approxmiately 6.5k more words of that good shit. 

Title: A Rush of Bourbon to the Head

Summary: Post 2x09. Neil and Audrey meet together for bourbon and start 2x10 waking up next to each other in bed. This bridges the gap.

 A fic in which: -Audrey says the word 'fuck' a lot -Neil looks adoringly at Audrey -Bourbon is drunk -Fucking is done -Heart to hearts are had.

Teaser: 

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.” 

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

 “You found any, yet?” 

 “I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both. 

Link: AO3

On days like today, heading in to Crowley’s bar felt more like coming home than her own place. There were few problems, she’d found, that couldn’t be improved upon by mulling them over with a glass of bourbon.

She didn’t bother looking for Neil, just wound her way through the familiar layout of tables and chairs with the same surgical precision she applied in the OR until she found him at their regular places.

Surgeons could be a surprisingly superstitious lot. She had never subscribed to much of it herself. But there were certain constants in the universe you just didn’t fuck with. Like the perfect spot in your favourite bar, deduced over years of careful experimentation and testing.  

Collapsing into the chair beside him, she signalled for another two bourbons with some curt hand gestures, then shrugged off her leather jacket. It felt strange to wear it without her helmet in tow, or her Ducati, for that matter. But it had felt stranger not to wear it at all.

“I was never gonna confront Andrews,” she said bluntly, without so much as a ‘hello’ to warm things up first. She had been stewing since Andrews’ announcement, and had worked out exactly what she wanted to say to Neil. No point beating about the bush. “I was playing you. But damn if you didn’t actually make it work.”

She didn’t add what they both knew – that if she had confronted Andrews, it was unlikely he’d have reacted with anything other than resentment towards her for challenging him.

Neil shook his head. “It didn’t work for anybody,” he pointed out, flatly. “He played us both. He set us against each other.”

Audrey sighed, looking away from Neil. That was true enough. All those years of working, of grafting, of giving her blood, and sweat, and soul to this job, and that conceited bastard was just going to ‘retain his title’.

“I think you were right,” Neil continued, pulling her out of her bitter thoughts” She looked up and met his eyes again, sipping at her drink. The familiar burn was oddly soothing, purging some of her anger.

“Even if you were just bluffing,” he paused and she raised her eyebrows at him. He’d always had a penchant for the dramatic, even when they’d been residents together. And he’d never known how to just spit something out, he had to take his time, mull it over, let the moment build. “We need to stand together.” He nodded to himself.

“Where was that wisdom two days ago?” she demanded, unable to keep the distinct note of indignation from her voice.

If she was being fair, it probably wouldn’t have made any damned difference. There was no greater power in heaven or earth that could match Andrews’ sense of self-importance. But she wasn’t in the mood to be fair. Nothing else in life bothered, why the fuck should she?

Neil gave her a small half smile and raised his glass, “Still in the bottle.”

She huffed a soft laugh and they both sipped at what passed for wisdom these days.

People called Neil arrogant, but that only showed how little they knew him. He came across that way, and he could be an ass at times. But his heart was generally in the right place, and he had the rare ability to be able to back down and admit he’d fucked up. She appreciated that.

It made it hard to be mad at him. Since she wanted to be mad at something right now, she might still have ended up taking things out on him. But it had been a long day, and she knew that he was just as upset and angry as she was. Time to stand together, follow her own advice. Even if it had been mostly bullshit at the time.

“What other pearls of genius are in there?” she asked.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Well, I for one am curious to find out.”

She made to signal to the bartender to fill them both up again. Drowning one’s sorrows was a time honoured tradition, and she approved of tradition. Whenever there was bourbon involved, anyway.

Neil put a hand on her wrist, though, stopping her. “Aren’t you on shift tomorrow in the ER?” he asked lightly. There was no judgement in his voice, just practicality.

“I know my limits,” she replied, honestly. “If we’ve reached yours I can order you a water instead,” she offered sweetly.

He laughed, “Not even close.”

There. He still had a little spark of fire about him every now and then. She could see it sparking in his eyes, that light of challenge, of competition kindling there.

When they had been residents she’d had better things to do with her time than compete with Neil Melendez. She only had to prove herself better than she had been the day before. Once they had matured into surgeons at the same hospital, though…Well, a little friendly competition with a colleague had never done anyone any harm.

It had kept them both at the top of their game. It had pushed them, and driven them, and it was fun, dammit. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d called her out as an adrenaline junkie in the OR. She was.

She lived for those thrills – the wind tearing through her on her bike, nothing between it and her but leather and skill. The intensity of a difficult surgery, catching a life in your bare hands and snatching it back from the brink of death.

Sparring with Neil gave her the same high, the same rush, the same thrill. It kept life interesting. The only thing she’d ever truly feared was being bored, and he certainly prevented that. In a number of intoxicating ways.

“Good,” she said, grinning at him.

They both knew she could drink him under a table. And a second. And occasionally a third. That had stopped being a competition years ago. Now it was just the subject for gentle teasing.

“Although,” Neil added, as she made to catch the bartender’s eye again, “The residents are probably going to be here in about,” he checked his watch, “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She groaned. “I will never forgive you for telling them about this place,” she growled at him.

“It’s a good bar,” he said defensively, with the gall to laugh a little as though anything about this was even remotely funny.

“It’s our bar,” she countered, “This place is more holy than my OR.”

“I was passing on our legacy!” he insisted.

“You were giving away our closely guarded secrets – that’s a capital offence. Ten years, Neil. Ten years we’ve been coming to this bar undisturbed by work and you just open the door and bow in our residents? What the fuck.”

“How about I get us a bottle to go and we head back to mine and find out what’s at the bottom?” he said with a soft smile.

“Nice deflection,” she admitted.

“Must be those great leadership skills shining through,” he said, grinning. She glowered darkly at him. He had the sense to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’ll be quiet, no residents, and I’ll even let you pick the background music.”

A very good offer. Damn him but he knew her too well sometimes.

“You’re on,” she said, raising a finger, “On the condition that you’re buying.” He raised his eyebrows at her, “On account of you being an apple,” she said, pointedly.

He laughed at that, “Deal.”

She waited outside while he settled and came out to meet her. His sharp eyes scanned the parking lot as they started to walk through it then he said, “I don’t see your chariot have death anywhere. Does this mean you’ve finally sent it to the scrapyard where it belongs?”

She scowled at him, “The Ducati is at home, thank you,” she replied in slightly clipped tones.

He raised his eyebrows at her. They both knew it was her pride and joy, and that she’d rather cut off her own hands than willingly scrap it.

She grimaced. He was going to find out anyway, but damn…

“Technically,” she grit out reluctantly, “My licence has been suspended.” She paused then amended firmly, “Temporarily suspended.”

He laughed at that, as though he was begging her to stab him, “What? What the hell did you do?” he asked, automatically assuming she must have done something to deserve this. The fact that she technically had didn’t make it any less galling. “No, wait, let me guess – you were going way too fast on your death machine in pursuit of an adrenaline high?”

“They couldn’t prove shit,” she muttered darkly.

“Apparently they could,” Neil said, sounding entirely too amused by the entire situation.

“I’ll tell you what I can prove,” she snapped, rising to his bait even though she knew this was exactly what he was fishing for, “That judge was a power crazy bitch and when I’m through with her she will beg me to take her back in time so she can stop her former self from attending law school so she never has to deal with me.”

“Nice,” Neil said, grinning, “You talk to her like that, too?”

“Only after she kept me waiting at the back of her courtroom for six hours because I took one two minute phone call from Murphy and Reznick about a patient,” she snapped. “And I’ll have you know I was very polite,” she added.

“Oh I bet you were,” Neil said, insufferable smile widening as he let them into his building and held the door for her.

“Six hours, Neil. Six hours,” she said, stepping in before him and turning back to look at him, eyes flashing.

“You called her out in the middle of her courtroom and you’re surprised she threw the book at you?” he said, leaning past her to press the button for the lift. “What would you do if a patient called you out like that in the ER?”

“I don’t know, but I probably wouldn’t gouge their eye out and then lock them in a closet for spite, because I’m an adult,” she said, shaking her head.

“She put you in a holding cell, didn’t she?” he said, with the balls to sound amused as he locked himself into a confined space with her for the duration of their ride up to the top floor.

“For nine hours.” He snorted. “I saw things in there I can never un-see,” she said, leaning against the wall, Neil watching her, still smirking, “I learned things about humanity that almost made me quit medicine.”

He laughed at that, the sound bursting from him. He had a good laugh. Full, and genuine.

Another mistake people often made about him was assuming he was serious. He could be. And about some things her eighty three year old aunt had more levity. But he had a good sense of humour, mostly, and they’d always been able to talk about things like this without worrying about it coming back and biting them on the ass one day. They were competitive, but they weren’t bastards about it.

“It’s not funny!” she snapped, even though his laughter was infectious and it was taking all of her control not to crack a smile with him.

“It kinda is,” he said, his smile fond and affectionate, “Especially when I imagine you having to take cabs all over the city.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, “They drive like old women!” she hissed at him, “I could walk faster!”

He laughed again and she whacked his chest and stalked out of the lift as the doors opened.

“Just get that damn door open and a glass of bourbon into my hand before I murder you,” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am.”

***

Twenty minutes later, with a glass of bourbon in hand, and her choice of music accompanying their evening as promised, Audrey was decidedly calmer, and was feeling reflective again.

“Did you mean what you said in Crowley’s?” she asked, turning her head to look at where Neil was sat next to her on the couch.

He was doing what passed for sprawling with him - legs extended out before him, shirt wrinkled, posture relaxed. She sat next to him with her legs curled up under her, shoes kicked off, comfortable here after all the time she’d spent with him over the years.

He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting clarification, “About us working together,” she said bluntly.

Neil considered for a moment, taking an exaggerated amount of time to sip at his drink. “I did,” he said, finally, “We’re better that way – better doctors.”

She nodded, thoughtful, “A little healthy competition between us has historically been a good thing, too,” she pointed out. “It pushes us. That also makes us better doctors.”

“True,” he agreed, “But only when it pushes us in the right direction. Pushing us apart, the way Andrews was doing, is not helpful.”

“Agreed,” she said, toasting those words with another drink.

They were quiet for a moment, Neil tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of a careful finger, “I didn’t mean what I said to you in the OR – about you being too much of an adrenaline junkie to handle the job.”

“You don’t think I’m an adrenaline junkie?” she teased lightly, too taken aback by the sudden sincerity, the light of genuine regret in his eyes as he looked at her, to think up a more serious reply.

“Oh I do,” he said, with a wry smile, “But I don’t think you would let it compromise you as chief. We all have our vices in this job – we need them to survive it. But you’ve never let them rule you. You’d have the board eating out of the palm of your hand in less than a month.” He drained his glass.

She scoffed, “Try less than a week,” she said, tone light and playful.

Neil laughed again, “And obviously your stunning humility would be a great asset, too,” he teased, leaning forward and lifting the bourbon from the table, refilling his glass.

She held hers out, and he wordlessly topped her up, too.

She idly studied the delicate tattoo on his neck that his movement had revealed. More idly still, she imagined tracing it with the tip of her finger, and had to fight a sudden mad impulse to do it right then and there.

Where did that come from?

There had been tension and attraction between them before. They were both attractive people, they could admit that. And they were close. They had flirted with the idea on more than one occasion.

But they’d always had other partners – or other priorities. The prospect was exciting, intoxicating. She’d be lying if she said she’d never considered what it would be like. She knew he had, too. The way he looked at her sometimes, as though he wanted nothing so much as to peel her out of her leathers and experiment with the delights of human anatomy on a far more intimate level than usual.

She started, jolting herself from those thoughts. Sometimes she could be an adrenaline junkie. Sometimes those impulses could even be dangerous. Maybe there wasn’t as much wisdom to be found in a bottle of bourbon as she’d assumed when they started this.

Leaning back into the couch away from him, she found herself saying, “I didn’t mean what I said, either.”  

“You don’t really think I’m a shallow poser who’s just interested in a shiny new title?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

She groaned, covering her face with a hand. It sounded so much worse when he put it like that.

“No, I don’t,” she said, keeping her tone uncharacteristically gentle, taking care not to let his levity pull her away from the sincerity of her own guilt over that confrontation.

She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He looked down at her hand, at the contact, and only looked away when she spoke again.

“I know that you care,” she said, quietly, “I know that you want this for more than the title, and the advancement, and the prestige.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Neil, and I know you would make things better.”

Feeling a little awkward she withdrew her hand and took a large gulp of her bourbon. She wasn’t good at this shit. These gentle heart-to-hearts seemed to come so naturally to him, the sincere advice, the tender understanding. It felt sometimes he could draw that from a stone. Meanwhile she was the stone.

A lot of the staff, the nurses in particular, said that her brusqueness and aloofness were responses to the pressures of the job, that she couldn’t let herself be soft or she would collapse.

A lot of what the staff said in general was bullshit, but that particular nugget took the cake.

This was just who she was. It always had been. Straight-up, practical, composed and in control at all times. She didn’t know any other way to be.

She wasn’t a robot. She still felt, still hurt, still sought out these quieter moments even. She just...Had never been great about showing any of that.  

Neil was watching her with such a kind, gentle look in his eyes that it made her want to rip his shirt off and kiss him breathless.

She controlled that impulse by toasting him with her glass and adding bluntly, “I stand by what I said about you being an asshat, though.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.”

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

“You found any, yet?”  

“I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both.

He raised his eyebrows invitingly.

“Are you fishing for compliments from me, Melendez?” she demanded, rather than offering up exactly what kind of wisdom the bourbon had imparted to her.

“You wound me,” he said dramatically.

“You are a great surgeon, too, Neil. You don’t need me to tell you that,” he looked expectantly at her. She rolled her eyes and added, “And yes, you would have made a great chief.” He smiled knowingly at her, waiting for the quip he knew was coming. She decided not to disappoint him, “Just as long as you always had me there to steal great ideas from.”

He laughed again, that full laugh of his, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. It’s going to be in your eulogy,” she said, grinning..

“You think you’re going to outlive me?” he said, eyebrows raised, “With your mechanical ticket to an early grave? Even on temporary suspension, it’s still going to get you before anything gets me.”

“Then in that case I’m sorry,” she said loftily.

“For what?” he said, still laughing.

“For your future self - bereft, and lonely, and oh so bored without me.”

He smiled, but sobered enough to say, with all that aching sincerity he had, “I would be.”

“Hmm, the bourbon’s talking again,” she said mildly.

“I think it’s still being wise,” he murmured.  

She paused, swirling the last of hers in the bottom of her glass, considering, “That assessment is currently under review,” she said finally.

“Why’s that?”

She met his eyes. He was playing a dangerous game, teasing this out, leading them onwards. From the look on his face, he knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.

“Because,” she said, voice measured, “It’s encouraging the adrenaline junkie and giving her terrible ideas.”

“Hmm,” he mused lightly, leaning in just a little, his shirt shifting and revealing the tattoo once more. She knew his sharp eyes didn’t miss the way hers darted down to it. “It’s making the shallow poser very interested in hearing them.”

She leaned in to him, drawn in, as she always had been, by that intensity, that single-minded focus that right now was fixed entirely upon her. “You sure about that?” she breathed, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her lips, as welcome and inviting as the burn of their bourbon.

“Only one way to find out.”

She kissed him.

It started out as a gentle thing, hestiatant, testing, still half-convinced that they were talking about completely different things and he would pull away from her the second their lips met.

He didn’t. He parted his lips in invitation and she answered enthusiastically - enthusiastically and not at all gently. That had never been her style.

He smiled against her mouth, slid a gentle hand into her hair, coaxing her closer. He was always so damn tender. So careful, and precise.

She didn’t want careful and precise. She wanted hot and heavy like the bourbon she could taste on his tongue. She wanted him to want this, to need this as much as she did. She wanted him to lose that self-control for just a second, to stop being a doctor and start just being human, so painfully human with all of their raw vulnerabilities, and wants, and needs, and instincts.  

Just when she started to feel his restraint slip, he drew back, breathing hard.

She met his eyes, still half-afraid she would find regret in them.

“Interesting,” he said, nothing but heat in his gaze, “I think it merits further testing to establish its full potential.”  

Cautiously, he leaned in and kissed her back.

Maybe it had been too hasty to expect him to rip her clothes off at the first kiss. There was a lot of history between them, a lot of respect, a lot of trust. They had to be sure. Very sure. Lines were being crossed as she took his tongue in her mouth and sucked. Lines they hadn’t crossed in over a decade of knowing each other.

They broke apart again after their latest testing clash.

Sure. They had to be sure. They had to do this carefully, if they were going to do this at all. They should talk about it, firmly establish what was happening, plan this like they’d plan a surgery.

He looked up and she met his eyes and found such certainty in them that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. She had never thought that he would look at her like that, with so much raw lust it seared.

Fuck being careful. Fuck planning. Fuck lines and boundaries and history. Fuck thinking.

Before she had fully processed what she was doing, she had grabbed the glass of bourbon from his hand and shoved it towards the table along with her own. The glasses slid to the edge of the table, one nearly toppling.

Neil leaned forwards to fix it, but she was already crashing into him, momentum pushing him back against the couch cushions. She settled into his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him again.

How had she gone so long without doing this? How had she survived ten years without ever knowing what it felt like to kiss him? How could she go another ten years without spending every second with his lips on hers, his body against hers, the heat of his skin scorching her.

Problems for another time, she decided, as he moaned softly into her mouth, and she gave up on having another coherent thought again that wasn’t solely focused on how to make him do that again.

He drew back a second later and she growled faintly in displeasure. Then she forgave him as his lips found her neck and set to exploring until he found a spot that made her arch into him. Once he found it, she slid her fingers into his hair, holding him in place. He took the hint and kissed there until she tugged sharply on his hair, cutting him off with a gasp.

“I don’t intend to be gentle with you,” she warned him, breathing heavily.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She smiled and dipped back down to kiss him. Contrary to what she’d just said to him, she was gentle. She knew what she wanted from a partner in bed, and emotionally investing in a fuck wasn’t exactly her style.

But this was a little different. This was Neil. She figured after a decade of history, he was entitled to a little bit of special treatment from her. But only a little.

Neil lifted her from the couch without warning and she broke the kiss, startling, legs tightening around his waist, frowning down at him in disapproval even as he put a hand on her back to steady her.

“You good?” he asked, pausing and suddenly looking concerned.

She huffed irritably, blowing hair from her eyes, “A little warning would be nice,” she grumbled.

He smirked at her, leaning in and kissing that spot on her neck he’d identified earlier, “I thought you liked living on the edge,” he teased.

She growled and squirmed slightly in his arms, “Get on with it, Neil,” she growled.

“You’re very bossy, you know,” he observed.

“I warned you.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said, evenly.

A lot of men did. She found it...Intriguing that he was so seemingly comfortable with all of this.

She draped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in, kissing her way up his neck, following the line of his jaw until she reached his ear. She dragged his earlobe between her teeth until he groaned then hissed in his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

He laughed bt obliged, managing to kick the door shut behind them as she began unpicking the button’s on his shirt. A surgeon’s delicacy came in handy in all sorts of other places in life, she’d found.

She studied him with an appraising gaze, eyes lingering on the tattoo on his neck and chest, fingers tracing delicately over it as she’d fantasised about previously. Then she found herself pressed up against the nearest wall, his lips on hers, earning a soft, approving growl in the back of her throat.

“Was that too-” he began, drawing away a second.

“I don’t want to be made love to, Neil,” she hissed, sliding her knee between his thighs and pressing herself against him, “I want to be fucked.”

He shivered slightly, and she revelled in that, pulling him against her. Cocking an eyebrow she started slowly picking apart the buttons on her own shirt, wondering how long it would take him to intervene and speed up the process. She was wagering by four buttons. He made it two.  

His fingers were deft and practiced as he slid her shirt off of her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor at their feet to pool beside his own. He took his own time studying her, eyes trailing up and down her body, a look in his eyes that suggested he was planning something filthy to do with every inch of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absently.

She startled him by laughing, “We’re not in high school, Neil, you don’t have to butter me up with empty compliments.”

“I meant it,” he breathed, with such sincerity that she shivered.

He was so earnest, so genuine, so eager to please. She was going to wreck him.  

“Then prove it,” she breathed.

He put his hands underneath her and lifted her into his arms again but hesitated briefly, “You good?” he asked again, but there was a slight note of teasing in his voice.

“I’d be a lot better if you got on with it,” she said pointedly.

He carried her towards the bed, but she stopped him, suddenly frowning slightly. “Are you?”

A broad smile spread across his face before he covered it with another kiss, “Never better.”

He lowered her down gently onto the bed and then moved over her. He dipped down to kiss her again but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I don’t intend to work under you here, either,” she said pointedly.

He smiled and nodded before relaxing and rolling obligingly onto his back. Damn, if she’d known he was going to be this eager to please she’d have fucked him years ago. And kept on fucking him for that matter.

She straddled him and ran her hands down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his trousers and starting to work them open, but he caught her wrists gently in his fingers, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t I get to have a little fun with you first before we dive in to you fucking me senseless?”

Well, at least he was prepared.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

In answer he coaxed her out of her trousers, leaving her in nothing but her underwear then tugged her further up the bed towards the headboard. She settled in front of him and watched him idly run his fingers over the front of her underwear, brushing suggestively over her in a way that made a muscle feather in her jaw.

“Neil,” she growled.

He laughed again, “So impatient,” he teased, “You’re a surgeon, Aud, you’re supposed to be able to maintain your focus and control even under the most testing of circumstances,” his fingers deftly nudged her underwear aside, pressing against hot, slick flesh and she hissed sharply.

“We’re not in the OR right now,” she reminded him, “But if you want I’ll go get a scalpel.”

“I want you out of these,” he breathed, tugging suggestively at the scrap of fabric between them, “And in my mouth.”

She actually groaned softly at that prospect. Lifting herself up she helped him tug off the last of her clothes then hovered over him, one hand braced on the wall behind him for leverage.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, a little breathless.

In answer, he pulled her down onto his tongue.

She gasped softly, anchoring herself with one hand on the sturdy wooden headboard. At this rate, they were going to find out exactly how sturdy it was.

She let her eyes slip closed and rocked her hips against his mouth. He had definitely done this before, and she was glad she’d let him. She hadn’t needed it, not with ten years of friction and anticipation along with their rather intense session on the couch. But she wasn’t going to dissuade him from focusing all of his attention on her if that was what he wanted. It would’ve been rude.

With a soft hiss, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently, guiding him to exactly where she needed him. He was good, but he was unfamiliar with her body. Anyway, she liked steering.

She caught his eye as she shifted him into a better position and didn’t miss the twinkle of amusement in them that clearly said: You’re bossy.

She raised her eyebrows in a challenge and he smirked against her, giving her exactly what she needed.  

His eager obedience said enough: I like it.

Her back arched as he finally found the right rhythm and she gave his hair a short, sharp tug of approval which earned her a faint groan. If he was expecting shrieks of delight and repeated exclamations of his greatness in return he was going to be disappointed.

She was rarely vocal in bed - unless it was to give instruction, but he seemed to be doing just fine with the little guidance she’d already provided.

Neil didn’t seem to have expected anything else, and read her reactions eagerly in the changes of her breathing. Once she was panting, rocking into every movement of his mouth, nails scraping at his scalp, he knew she was close, and he didn’t disappoint.

“Don’t stop,” she snarled, holding him in place, even as she felt herself coming against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Mercifully he did as he was told, licking and sucking at her through her orgasm, tipping her into a second which finally coaxed a soft, hoarse, “Fuck,” from her.

Trembling, eyes still closed, she allowed Neil to place his hands on either side of her waist and help lower her back down over him, straddling his waist again.

Once she had control of her body again she dipped down and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.

“Not bad,” she said, grinning and breathing heavily.

He smirked back, one hand behind his head, the other rubbing slowly up and down her spine, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She leaned down and kissed him again, “You have too many clothes on,” she grunted, pushing the last of his clothes from between them.

He didn’t object, and settled back down comfortably in place beneath her, eyes drinking her in like she was a particularly fine bottle of bourbon.

“Do you have-” she began.

“Top drawer.”

She leaned over, feeling him brace his hands instinctively on either side of her waist to stop her tumbling from the bed. She came up victorious, condom in hand, and tore the wrapper off with her teeth before easing it down onto him, enjoying the soft, hissing intake of breath it prompted.

“I hope you have as much self-control in bed as you do in the OR,” she purred lightly, sinking down onto him and enjoying the way he arched into her before she pushed him back down onto his bed. “Because I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

“I think I can manage,” he said, his muscles tight, but his expression composed. For now. “Can you?”

She grinned at him, “Just try to keep up.”  

He did. Mostly. He held onto her hips so hard she felt sure she’d have bruises, and gasped her name so often it started to sound like a prayer. But she came again, after dragging his hand in between her legs with a short, brusque command, and allowed him to follow just behind.

She slumped forwards, panting, head braced on his heaving chest, back bowed, eyes closed, breathing in the scents of sweat and sex that mingled in the air. Her body trembled, and she made a soft sound of pleasure in the back of her throat as he gently dragged his fingers up and down her spine.

Finally, she pushed herself off of him and collapsed down onto the sheets next to him, breathing hard, pushing her sweaty hair from her eyes.

She glanced to her right and found him watching her, eyes twinkling.

“Did we really just do that?” she said, staring up at the ceiling, pleasure still quivering through her.

“I think we did,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

She’d have whacked that smug smile off his face with a pillow, but she felt too boneless and satisfied to expend that much effort right now.

“God we are such a cliche right now,” she said, shaking her head in mock-disgust, “Friends for a decade, then we get drunk and screw each other. We’re setting a terrible standard that men and women can’t just be friends with each other.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’m not that bothered right now,” he said.

She laughed a little breathlessly, “No, me neither,” she admitted, still grinning like an idiot.

“Besides,” he said, reaching over and stroking her shoulder, “We’ve always been more than friends.”

“Coworkers?” she ventured slyly, knowing damn well that wasn’t what he meant.

“Family,” he said sincerely, then grimaced as he clocked the look on her face.

“Nice sentiment,” she said, managing to prop herself up on an elbow to face him, “Terrible word choice under the circumstances.”

He shut her up with another kiss, which she melted into, still smirking. “You know what I meant,” he said as he drew away.

She drew in a deep breath and nodded, “Sure did.” She cocked her head slightly, smiling, “Are you this corny with all the people you fuck, or do you reserve it for family?” she said, laying a mocking emphasis on the last word that caused him to throw a pillow at her face in retribution.

She tossed it back at him, laughing. Then hauled herself up into a more dignified sitting position. “Are you good?” she asked, frowning slightly as she peered down at him, “I know I can be a little-”

He took her hand and squeezed, quieting her, “I’m good,” he reassured her, that sincere warmth in his voice again, “We’re good.”

“Good,” she said, nodding slightly. Then she took a deep breath and said, “I guess I should get going then.”

“What?” he said, looking taken aback, “Audrey, we’re not in college - I’m not kicking you out two minutes after we come,” he said, looking at her as though she’d gone mad.  

“You sure?” she said, not wanting him to build up any false expectations here, “I’m not exactly the ‘stay over and eat breakfast together in the morning’ kind of woman.”

“Did I fuck your brains out so much you’ve forgotten how long I’ve known you?” he demanded, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Cute.”

“I just mean,” he said, smiling and reaching for her hand, threading their fingers together to stop her pulling away, “That I’ve known you a while, and I figure I know what kind of woman you are by now.” She stared down at him and he smiled gently and said, “Stay. And sleep. That’s it. If for no other reason than to avoid taking another cab.”

“You do know me,” she grumbled, flopping back down beside him and pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. “Fine,” she said at last, “But I’m not spooning you.” He snorted with laughter. “And I sleep on this side of the bed,” she added firmly.

“Okay. Is that all? Or do you have a full terms and conditions package you need me to sign first?”

She threw her pillow at him and he wisely let it hit the stupidly large, smug grin on his face.

“Yes, I do,” she said, tartly, “It says ‘stop being an asshole’.”

He laughed again as she prised herself reluctantly from the inviting warmth and softness of the bed.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“For a shower, relax,” she replied, snatching up his shirt and draping it around her shoulders as she padded for the door.

She had just opened it when she heard him shift behind her, as she knew he would.

“Would you like an assist?” he asked quietly, stepping up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist, nuzzling gently at her neck.

“I would never say no to a second pair of hands.”

He grinned and she slipped her hand into his and tugged him out after her.

*************************************

[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

The journal.

Summary: After accidently leaving your journal at a cafe, your closest friends can't help themselves and start to read it...a person that you write about in particular the most reads it too.

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, lots of fluff.

A/N: Y'all I don't know about you but I just needed some John fluff 😫 I hope you enjoy and enjoy the little poem(ish) type bits I've wrote! (They are in bold italics!) 😁💖

You checked your watch and loudly gasped "Oh god! I'm supposed to be having dinner with my mum and dad! I said I'd be there half an hour ago!" You frantically collected your things- a little too fast. Your bag fell and you let out a sigh, you were halfway through fastening your jacket.

"I've got it," John bent down under the table and scooped the contents back into your bag. You really didn't care how messy it was.

"Thanks, Deaks." You quickly pecked his cheek and the cheeks of Brian, Mary and Roger. Freddie had a date with Jim so they both took a rain check to meet up with you all at the cafe for a catch up another day. "See you all soon!" You waved them goodbye and rushed out the door. John's eyes didn't leave your frame until you had completely vanished from sight.

Roger sipped on his coffee then furrowed a brow when he kicked something. He glanced down and spotted a bright yellow notebook.

Your journal.

"Oh! Look what fell out her bag!" Roger grinned and picked it up from the floor. Mary, John and Brian all went wide eyed and held in a breath of air. There was a lot of speculation around the thing now being held by Roger. They had all seen you writing it, they didn't know what you did in it or what you used it for. They just knew it was a sacred object- a piece of you.

"What are you doing?!" Mary snapped and yanked it out of Roger's grasp when he was about to open it. "You can't read her journal!"

"Oh come on, Mary!" Roger grabbed it back off her. "This is the only chance we'll probably ever get! Aren't you just as curious as me to find out what Y/N spends all day writing about?" He asked.

John sighed "Mary's right, Rog. You're invading her privacy. If Y/N wanted us to see what was in it, she would have told us." John was always very protective over you. He had known you since the pair of you started primary school. He was unbelievably shy, standing in the corner clutching on to the straps of his school bag while he watched everyone play. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. You were there with your hair in bunches with bright yellow ribbons tied into a bow where the bobble was tied around each bunch of hair. You asked him if he was alright, he had no idea what to say so he shyly looked away. You were the only one who had talked to him all day- the only person who had made an effort. You took his hand and introduced yourself as you walked him over to the swing set. You pushed him first and when John finally began adjusting to your company he then offered to push you.

"I like your ribbons," he said.

"Thanks- yellow is my favourite colour!" You grinned, a tooth that had been wobbly for months was missing- you had spent the day before trying to wiggle it out of its spot.

John smiled back. "I like yellow too."

Back in the cafe, Brian disapprovingly sighed at Roger who was acting like a five year old waiting to open a new toy as he tapped the hard cover of your journal like it was a drum kit. "Just one page!" He whined.

"No Roger!" John sternly spoke.

"Fine," Roger held up the journal, ready to pass John the thing so he could return it to you. "Whoops!" He grinned when he let the journal fall to the table, opening at a page with words and little doodles on it.

"You did that on purpose," Brian nudged Roger with his elbow. They all peered at the page, their curiosity getting the better of them. "Stars...?" Brian murmured at the title on the page- there was little drawings of stars surrounding the block of words- not exactly a poem- in the middle of the page.

'Stars-

People say stars are cold and distant- like lovers when love hasn't worked in their favour. I don't see stars like that. I see them as little bursts of delight. Someone's wishes. Someone's plea. People rely too much on them to bring them their dreams I think. But perhaps that's not such a bad thing. Perhaps people should tell stars their dreams more.'

"That is so lovely!" Mary gushed. "So poetic!"

John kept his eyes firmly fixated on the page, in all the years he had known you- he never knew you were that good with words."What about that one?" Roger glanced to the next page, they all now found themselves being pulled into your journal by some kind of invisible string. "It's called 'Sunflower'."

'Sunflower-

My dear darling friend. She reminds me of a sunflower. She shares the names of Queens of past and perhaps future. A partner in crime- she's so pretty it's illegal. She is as precious as the jewels the Queen wears- and yes, I'm thinking more of Fred than her royal highness. But she's a sunflower. Bright. Bold. Beautiful. Radiant. Warm. They're yellow. My favourite. As is she.'

"I think she's talking about you," Roger looked up to Mary who had tears in her eyes.

"Oh that's so beautiful! She's so sweet and talented!" Mary grinned and let Brian flip another page. It was the beginning of another part and the four of them felt a bubble of tension burst. They already knew the words behind the ominous page they were looking at were going to be different to the other things you wrote.

An almost blank page. It had one bold three letter word on it.

HIM.

The words in the next few pages were going to be intimate, they could tell. The group shared a wary glance- well all except John who was glaring at the page. It was only oblivious to you and him that the pair of you were in love each other and had been for a long time- everyone else could see that. Brian noticed the look. "Maybe we should-"

"Let's read it." John gritted out. The very person who was completely opposed to reading your journal was now desperate to. The consequences of doing so could cause irreversible damage.

'His smile-

That smile. Almost infectious. Every single time I see it, I smile myself. Maybe that's why he smiles- because he subconsciously thinks of others and how their day will brighten when he flashes those priceless pearls. Sometimes his nose crinkles when he grins. Canyons of joy making their way to his cheeks and lips before disappearing before they reach there. When he laughs there's usually a smile on his face. It's gorgeous. Someone should paint it and then place in a museum- it is such a work of art. His smile sparks sheer happiness. Especially when it reaches his eyes whenever he is so gleeful. Oh don't get me started on his eyes.'

John swallowed hard, the other three felt compelled to snap shut the journal to stop John from torturing himself by reading your beautiful words. Roger tried to pull away the book from him but John tightened his grip on it and they read the other block of writing on the next page.

'His eyes-

The only place I find myself lost in- even when I'm standing in a familiar spot. It's a good type of lost. The kind where you accidentally find yourself being after turning one too many wrong corners, but you find the most magical of places in the place you eventually end up in. His eyes. Oh...you got me started. They hold hope. They hold dreams. They hold stars. They hold answers to questions you didn't even know you had. I've drowned in them more times than I can count. I don't want rescuing though. Sometimes they'd be covered by his hair. But that's something else to talk about entirely.'

Mary placed a hand on John's arm. "Maybe that's enough." She could see a mix of conflicted feelings on his face.

"One more..." he croaked out. It probably wouldn't be the last one he read.

'His hair-

Change. That's the style. He changes it so often that I couldn't tell you what way he had it last week, or right now, or even next month. He let me braid it once. Hated it. Secretly loved it, of course. I liked wrapping it around my finger when it was long. Then he cut it. It looked lovely. Always does. He'd suit any change.'

There was two on the one page. He felt like he had to read them. He needed to.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine.'

John felt like punching 'HIM'. You had spilled your heart out onto paper for 'HIM' and yet you never got his love in return.

'My heart-

Belongs to HIM. Forever.'

It was like he had looked at your soul. He felt as if he had exposed you. Stripped you bare. "I have to give her this back." John's voice barely raised above a whisper and he shut the bright yellow journal over, protectively wrapping his hands around it but at the same time he felt like he had his hands around the neck of the person who he only knew as 'HIM'. The three of them stood up but he held out his hand. He just needed to be alone at the moment. He slowly made his way down the street, he stopped at a play park halfway between your flat and the cafe. He sat down on one of the swings, his legs couldn't carry him any further. John's heart struggled to beat. He felt jealously fork through his veins. Who was this person? Why did you have to be so vague and call them 'HIM'?

You grabbed your bag after having dinner and your whole body froze. You couldn't see the flash of yellow that you had always seen. You searched through your bag, almost tearing it to shreds as panic set it when you realised that your journal wasn't there. The only place it could be was the cafe. So after bidding a hasty farewell to your parents, you rushed back to the cafe. By the time you got there, it was shutting.

You frantically banged on the glass of the door and one of the waitresses noticed you. She opened the door "I'm sorry but we're shut."

"I know, I just really need to see if I left something here. My bag fell and everything fell out and I've lost my notebook. It's bright yellow. Can I have a look? I swear I'll only be a few minutes!" You cried out and the waitress could see how upset and distressed you were.

"Course," she smiled and let you in "I'll help you look." You walked as fast as you could to the back booth and got on your hands and knees to look under the table. You let out a small groan when you saw nothing there. The waitress frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Deb?" She called out and another woman popped her head out from behind a doorframe that lead to the kitchen. "Weren't you serving these tables today?"

The woman, Deb, emerged "Yeah I was. I recognise you from earlier!" She grinned at you "Is everything alright?"

"She's lost her journal- a bright yellow one. Have you seen it?" You were full of hope that she had picked it up.

Deb turned to you with a grin "One of the boys you were with took it with him. I noticed him holding it when he left."

You let out a reserved sigh of relief. A part of you was glad that someone had it- the other was worried that they were reading or had read what was inside it. "What did he look like? The blonde one? The one with the black curly hair?"

"No," Deb smiled "The quiet one with the brown hair."

You let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "Okay, thank you both so much." You sent them both a small smile before leaving the cafe and walking home. Then you spotted a figure on the swing set, slowly, almost dismally, using a leg to swing himself. You spotted a flash of yellow. It was like he was holding your heart in his hands. "John!" You called out and jogged to him, his eyes quickly looked up and found you standing in front of him. "You found it." You nodded at the yellow journal. He looked down at it and then held it out for you to take. You did, very carefully before hugging it against your chest. "I thought it was gone for good," John noticed the tears in your eyes.

"I'd help you hunt it down- even if it meant walking the entire earth." He whispered, his own eyes welling up. "I know how much it means to you."

You sat down on the swing beside him, still clutching your journal next to your heart. "Did you read it?" You asked, eyes flashing with bolts of worry and fear- yet still slightly foggy from the tears that had welled up in them.

John opened his mouth and shut it again. He was going to say no but he couldn't lie- not to you. "I did."

You looked to your feet and bit the inside of your cheek. Your heart could put Roger playing his bass drum to shame at the moment it was thumping so hard. "And?" You wanted to know what he thought. His face wasn't giving anything away. "What did you think?" You quietly asked.

John let out a long sigh, it was only then that he realised that he had been holding in a breath. "You're a good writer, Y/N. The person you call," he had to bite down on his tongue and swallow hard "'HIM'...is a lucky guy."

"I'm lucky to have him in my life." You looked at him grinning. He looked sad, disappointed...jealous?

"Who is he?" John almost spat out "Do I know him?"

You furrowed your eyebrow intently "You...you didn't read the last page, did you?" John shook his head, a confused look flickered across his face. You opened the journal and turned to the very last page. "It's called 'John'." You didn't see his eyes shoot open or his jaw drop ever so slightly.

"John-

I'm not sure what I could write that will possibly do him any justice, but I'll try. John. John Richard Deacon. I think the best day to ever exist is the 19th of August 1951. He was born that day. I thank his parents every day for blessing this earth, and me, with him. He wraps gifts he gets me in yellow because he knows how much I love it.'"

You stopped yourself before reading the next line. He had already seen too much of your journal not to hear it. "'But I love him even more.'" You finally admitted and he went wide-eyed finally hearing your voice say those words.

"'He wore yellow trousers once- I secretly hoped he did that for me. Even if he didn't, he perfectly suited them. He's always so kind. He's always so thoughtful. He once took care of me when I was ill. I told him to stay back incase he became unwell but he didn't listen. He's so selfless. I love him. I always have. Even in my past lives, I'm sure. I love him.'" You spoke the last words in a whisper before softly shutting over the bright yellow journal and reaching across to hold his hand that was on the chain of the swing- he had stopped swinging a while ago. "You're 'HIM'."

A tear slipped down his cheek and his face lit up when he happily smiled. "I did wear those trousers for you," he let out a watery chuckle before standing up. You did the same but he pushed down on your shoulder slightly, making you sit on the swing again. "I love you too. So much. God, it killed me thinking that you were writing about someone else." He wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand.

You reached your hand up and helped him wipe away his tears of joy. "Why would I write about someone else? It's you, John. Always." He leaned down and finally- after years of practicing on his hand and imagining it was you- kissed you.

He pulled back after a few minutes, both your lips tingling from feeling one another's for the first, of hopefully many, times. "Do you have a pen?" He asked. You nodded and took it out of your handbag. "Can I?" He silently motioned to the notebook and you handed it to him. He flicked to a page near the end and scribbled something before handing you back your yellow journal. He kissed you again with a grin "Hold on tight."

He went behind you and began pushing you on the swing. You opened the book to the page he wrote in.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine. Belongs to HER. Forever.'

———————–————

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[ladysalvaterre-blog]

a walk on the wildeside

chapter 6

A sharp double knock on my door awakened me and I immediately knew who was at my door. At the same moment, I wondered why exactly my grandmother Eleanora Kennedy Garrison had decided to grace me with her presence. I quickly shot up, ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to groom it, and then moved to the door to face my formidable grandmother.

“Grandmother.” I say with a smile as I open the door.

“Addison Kennedy, acting sloth-like is highly uncouth for a woman of your age. You should be up with the sun to make the most of your day.” My grandmother says, floating into my room to perch herself on my reading chair.

“Yes Grandmother.” I mutter under my breath.

I close the door to see her arch a perfectly groomed eyebrow in my direction.

“Nothing Grandmother.” I say.

“Well then, what is this I’ve heard from your sister about a falling out with your father’s friend’s son?” That’s my grandmother, short and sweet and to the point.

“He crossed a line that he shouldn’t have, and that’s that.” I said quickly, really hoping to avoid a Grandmother Inquisition.

“Then what’s this I hear about you fighting with his mother. I mean, Georgians can be highly uncouth at times, take your father for instance, but a lady never snaps at an elder.”

I hold back on reciting the fact that her grandmother by marriage, my first namesake, was from North Carolina. Then I do exactly the opposite of what I should have done. I snap at my grandmother.

“Well Grandmother, I think and exception can be made in this case where the elder was trying to replace my irreplaceable mother!”

“Young lady, what has gotten into you? I will admit, I do not think highly of your father, but he would never replace Helen. Frankly, I would have him thrown out on his rear if he ever attempted such a thing. Nevertheless, it seems in the years you’ve been away from home, your manners have deteriorated. Where’s this husband of yours? Why isn’t he here keeping your Georgian genes in line?” Grandmother asked.

“He isn’t here, Grandmother, because we are getting a divorce. He seems to think that I serve a better purpose sitting pretty in New York City rather than seeing my family here.”

“Ah, I see. The Beausejours are a respectable family but they have always been greedy for fame. No wonder that boy married you, your mother does come from one of the most respectable families on the East Coast. Nonetheless, this does not excuse your recent behavior. I may be old, but my brain still functions perfectly. Now, Addison Kennedy, what has happened between you and the mother-replacer’s son?”

I sigh in defeat, there is no getting out of this one.

“He confronted me over an issue from six years ago that was never resolved.” I said quietly.

My grandmother let out a barely audible gasp. “Dearest Addison, please tell me that this issue did not happen after your mother died.”

“I’m afraid I cannot Grandmother. In fact, it was a mere two weeks after she died, at graduation.” I told her, upping my usual vocabulary to her level.

“What happened my dear?” Grandmother asked, composing herself.

I steeled myself for the flood of painful memories about to inundate my brain.

--

I walked up to the podium in my blue graduation cap and gown to give my valedictorian speech. I looked out in the crowd to the three people who I wanted to see. I saw a thumbs up from Ellie, still wearing all black. Personally I would rather be in all black too, but I was lucky that my school’s graduation gowns were a dark blue. I looked to Lucas, and saw a big smile on his face. Then I looked to Dad, for whom it was surprising to be out of the house after two weeks. He still had on a dark suit but he smiled a weak smile to ease my conscience. Then the woman sitting next to him caught my eye, she was giving him an evil side eye. Then I saw a man sitting behind my dad, boring holes into the back of his head with his eyes.  I lifted my eyes to scan the crowd and saw so many people judging Dad. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I began my speech, since edited since the death of my mother.

--

After we all graduated, finally free of high school and childhood, I went to my dad and hugged him tight, afraid after these two weeks he’d float away. Ellie came up behind me and sandwiched me between herself and Dad. Very glad I had worn waterproof mascara that morning, I started crying.

“Your mom would have been so proud Adds. She was even planning to give you this.” My dad told me, pulling a box out of his jacket pocket. I recognized that box from when my mother would get ready for big parties when I was little, always letting me hold the box if I pinky promised to be super careful.

“You probably already know this, but these are your great-great-grandmother Mary Addison’s pearls, which she brought with her from South Carolina when she married your great-great-grandfather. Your mom said from the moment you were born that she wanted you to have this necklace. She always thought you’d look so beautiful in it.”

Even though it was small, I saw a small tear trickle down my father’s face, probably from remembering her telling him about that.

He held out the blue velvet box to me. I extended my hands to carefully take the box from him, then I gingerly opened it. There, nestled in a little bed of silk, was my namesake’s prized possession. A thin strand of Chinese river pearls, owned by her adventurous older sister, who traveled to Asia in the late eighteenth century. My mother had always told me the story of my namesake and her precious pearls. The reason they were so special was not because how rare and special they were, but because that was the one thing her parents let her have to remind her of her sister after Sarah Elizabeth (the older sister) died in childbirth. Mary Addison was closer with Sarah Elizabeth than she was with any other of her ten siblings. If Mary Addison had to have one possession of her older sister’s, it was those pearls. They had been passed down to the next female in the line of Garrisons. When Mary Addison’s son, David, married Helena Isaacson, they were her something old for her wedding. When Helena’s son married my grandmother Eleanora Gilles, Helena gave her the pearls as her something old. When my mother married my father, my grandmother gave her the pearls as her something old.

But the next thing my father told me shook me so deeply, I couldn’t remember any of the history behind the pearls.

“She wanted to give you these early because, being a mother, she already knew it was only a matter of time before you got married. She even said she knew exactly who you’d marry.”

My throat went dry and my stomach flipped. She thought I was going to marry Lucas?

“Will you put them on?” My dad asked quietly. “You already look so much like her, I just want to see you in something so important to her.”

I nodded, swept my hair up in one hand, then turned around. My father tenderly clasped the three hundred year old Garrison (technically Shelton) pearls around my neck, and I felt like I was choking on all the expectations of my heritage.

I gave my father a quick hug and left to find Lucas.

I walked around the gym, then saw Lucas getting a hug from his mom. He turned to see me, then smiled broadly. At that sight, my stomach sunk lower, and I couldn’t swallow with the pearls hanging around my neck like chains. I slowly walk towards him, all the thoughts of my family swirling in my overwhelmed brain.

He goes to give me a hug but I hold out my hand, stopping him.

“What’s wrong Adds?” He asked, clearly surprised I refused one of his hugs, which I never do.

“Goodbye, Lucas.” I say shakily before turning on my heel and walking away.

I can already feel my heart and brain start to clash, I want to ease my father’s pain, but then again I want Lucas, and I’ve always wanted Lucas. Then I think about how sad my father looked behind his pitiful smile during my speech. My thoughts moved to a guy my grandmother had mentioned a couple of time, Andrew Beausejour. His dad Ferdinand is a big wig lawyer who spends most of his time between NYC and Saratoga Springs. My grandfather almost married Ferdinand’s sister Alba. Andrew came from a good family, it’d be a socially advantageous match. I let my eyes skim around the room to find Andrew, looking sharp in his custom Tom Ford suit, hugging his mother Maria. They would help Dad’s status, me making the match my mother didn’t. I might just have to look into that.

--

The tears I had fought to hold back flooded down my face, trailing the first few that slipped out.

“Addison dear, please don’t cry.” My grandmother said, surprisingly quick to comfort me despite her age. She wrapped her arms around me in the same hug my mother used to give me.  “Everything will be alright darling. He’ll realize how sorry you are and come back, good as new.”

“But Grandmother, he won’t,” I sobbed. “I tried to avoid the question and that made him angry so he snapped, then I snapped, and then when I said maybe I wanted a change, he told me maybe I should go to Georgia and die like mom.”

I felt my grandmother’s spine steel, ever the protective mother of her only daughter.

“That boy has crossed the line.” Grandmother said, her voice so cold it could rival the Arctic Circle.

“Grandmother I miss him! I miss his hugs, I miss his smile, and I miss him being there for me whenever I needed him! Why was I so stupid?” I sob.

“Addison Kennedy Porter, look at me.” She says sternly. I tilt my head from my position to look at her. “You are not stupid. You were young and dealing with the loss of your mother. Your father was suffering greatly and you wanted to ease his pain at whatever the cost. You made a mistake. You have admitted that. Today some words that cannot be taken back have been said, but that is what happens when people who love each other clash. There are bound to be wounds inflicted. Quite frankly, I saw worse fights between your father and mother. When those two fought, it was like World War III, but that was because they were so close. Addison, please do not let childhood mistakes and words said in anger separate you two. I will admit, I am not a fan of this Lucas Wilde because of what he has said, but from what your sister tells me, he loves you very much and never wishes to hurt you intentionally in his right mind. Your return to Saratoga Springs has brought back all of those feelings of pain from your high school graduation. He’ll come around and realize the error of his way, believe me Addison, he will.”

My sobs eventually subsided, but I was still in awe. My grandmother was not all the stuck up snob I had believed her to be.

“I love you Grandmother.” I whispered as I leaned into her again.

“I love you too Addison Kennedy.” She said to me, wrapping her arms around me. I felt proud to bear this woman’s middle name.

Then I made a decision that could mess me up big time. I decided to go find Lucas.

[myaekingheart]

102. Stress Confirmed, Relief Pending

               The one thing that Rei had never expected about getting engaged was just how obsessed she would be with her ring. It had only been a week and yet she already felt as if it was an irreplaceable part of herself. Whenever she took it off, she felt paranoid and incomplete. The second thing she had never expected was just how frequently she would take her ring off to begin with. She couldn’t wear it while cleaning for fear of damaging it with abrasive chemicals or when changing clothes to avoid it snagging on sweaters or loose threads. Even when going to the bathroom, she slipped it back into its box so that it would not fall into the toilet or down the drain when washing her hands. As necessary as these precautions were, however, she admittedly hated having to take them at all.

               In a way, removing it almost felt like an insult to Kakashi himself. After all those years of pining after him, of trying to quell that desperate tug she felt in her chest drawing her nearer to him, this was his claim to her. The promise that their lives were irrevocably intertwined and that he was committed to caring for her and loving her for the rest of their lives. Removing the ring felt like removing the part of him that he had installed within her. It was a disservice to their relationship and that she could not have.

               All of this was only further complicated by her job. Mikazuki watched as Rei rooted through her duffel bag in the locker room, her ring glinting off the harsh incandescence of the ceiling lights. By now, word of the engagement had spread throughout the village so that most everyone knew that Rei Natsuki was getting married.

               “Your ring really is beautiful” Mikazuki commented shyly.

               “Hmm? Oh, thanks” Rei replied, only really half paying attention. She was exhausted and running late. She didn’t have the mental capacity for small talk.

               Mikazuki, however, failed to get the message. Funny how a woman renowned for her hypersensitive abilities could not detect Rei’s apathy. “Pearl was a really smart choice” she continued. “They symbolize wisdom and protection, you know. And have calming effects.”

               “That’s nice” Rei said idly.

               “If only it didn’t spin so much. Was it sized correctly?” Mikazuki then asked.

               This, unfortunately, was what caught Rei’s attention. The ring did, in fact, have a nasty habit of twirling around her finger but she had thought it was of no concern. It never slid past her knuckle so she assumed it was just the natural order of things. “Of course it’s sized correctly” Rei said, slightly defensive.

               “Are you sure?” Mikazuki asked. She looked down at the ring, the pearl facing Rei’s palm. “Because you know, it’s really not supposed to do that.”

               Rei drew her hand up to her chest, furrowing her brows. “It’s really fine, Mikazuki” she insisted. “It hasn’t fallen off yet so I’m not worried about it.”

               “I would just be careful if I were you” Mikazuki warned. “I’d hate for you to lose something so valuable.”

               Turning to her locker, Rei began haphazardly shoving her civilian clothes inside. “It’s not like I don’t know how to take care of my stuff, you know” she said, the aggravation in her tone mounting. “You really ought to have a little more faith in me.” She slammed her locker door shut and turned to approach the briefing room for the day’s assignment.

               Mikazuki, however, remained in her place. She watched Rei with a sense of quiet uncertainty before calling after her, “Are you going to wear it out in the field?”

               Rei paused in the doorway, then turned slowly. “I mean…why do you ask?”

               “I-I don’t know, I just…I don’t think that’s a very good idea” Mikazuki replied. “I think you’d be better off putting it back in the box. What if someone tries to steal it and make some money off of it? Or finds a way to track down your personal information based off of it?”

               “Mikazuki, that’s ridiculous” Rei rolled her eyes. “You’re worrying far too much about something that really isn’t even your concern. Just don’t worry about it.” If only Rei could now not worry about it. She stalled in the doorway amid a brief stretch of silence before groaning and pushing past Mikazuki. Her heart ached as she tugged the ring off her finger and slid it back into the padded slot inside the box. As she finally departed, she could only hope Mikazuki’s claims of symbolic protection extended to it’s own self-preservation.

               Over the course of the mission, thoughts of the engagement ring fell to the wayside. Rei was far too preoccupied with tracking down and assassinating a man convicted of unspeakable crimes. It was dark by the time she returned to headquarters, trudging into the locker room to gather her things. All she really wanted was to take a hot bath and curl up with Kakashi. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and made her way back home.

               Rei unlocked the door and kicked it open with her hip, huffing her long bangs out of her face. The apartment was pitch dark and completely empty save for Toshio passed out on the floor. She stepped over him as his little paws twitched and his upper lip curled in his sleep. The note on the fridge said that Kakashi would not be home until late.

               Admittedly, Rei was almost hysterically disappointed at his absence. She had expectations—nothing fancy, but rather the simple desire for togetherness. Now that that was ruined, her sleep deprivation made her almost want to faceplant onto the bed and cry. Instead, she rooted through her duffel bag and began tossing her dirty laundry into the pile. As she went, however, she realized something was very wrong: the ring box was missing.

               “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” Rei spat under her breath, gripping her hair and calculating. She tried to mentally retrace her steps, to think through all the possible places she could have left it. But she was certain she had tucked it safely away into her bag. She could assume it had fallen out in her locker but she also knew for certain that she had zipped her bag before throwing it inside. Hadn’t she…? She swore she had but the longer she thought about it, the less confident she became in her memory.

               If she hadn’t left it anywhere, though, then that would mean it had been stolen. She could envision it now: some slimy charlatan pawning it off for a fine lumpsome. It made her sick. The only point of contention in that theory was that she knew for a fact she last had the ring in the ANBU locker rooms. This had to have meant that whoever stole the ring was one of her comrades which admittedly made her feel even sicker. She tried to remind herself that that was only in the case that it was truly stolen in the first place. She had no real confirmation that this was an act of theft. For all she knew, the ring’s absence could be entirely her fault. Rei fell back onto the bed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling a migraine creeping up. Perhaps the particulars didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. What was truly important was that the ring was missing and Kakashi would be home any minute to find his fiancée had fucked up.

               As she laid there calculating, considering, contemplating, she suddenly remembered Mikazuki. She had taken such an interest in the ring. She was so concerned about its wellbeing. Rei snapped upright with a gasp, a sick suspicion slinking through her stomach. It was really the only possible explanation. Rei could think of no one else who might be guilty. Mikazuki had to have taken the ring.

               But why would she even want it? What use could she possibly have for an engagement ring? Was it that she was jealous? Mikazuki had never expressed any interest in Kakashi—not like Tenshi, whose infatuation was blatantly clear. It wasn’t as if she was lonely, either. As far as Rei knew, she was still dating Tenzo. She hadn’t heard anything of their romance indicating that either party were unhappy. And if it was a proposal that Mikazuki was after, then perhaps she was far too impatient. Her and Tenzo hadn’t been together very long (though the exact length, Rei was unsure of. She wasn’t keeping track of other people’s relationships). Regardless, none of that truly mattered. What was important now was that the ring was gone and it was most definitely Mikazuki’s fault.

               The next step was figuring out how, exactly, to go about interrogating her. Theoretically, Rei could wait until she saw her the next morning at work but that wasn’t exactly ideal. After all, locker rooms were breeding grounds for two of the most toxic substances: bacteria and drama. Rei didn’t think she had the guts to bring this up amid her peers. There was no way she could confront Mikazuki with an audience. On the battlefield was an even worse idea. For starters, they weren’t guaranteed to end up on the same assignment day after day and even if they were together, arguing about this would only distract from the work at hand. They couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves bickering or put the team in danger because they weren’t focused on the mission. No, if Rei wanted to approach Mikazuki, she would have to do this one-on-one in a much more private setting.

               Logically, she knew she needed to wait and take her time with this. She wanted to tread carefully on the off chance that she had, in fact, made a mistake. But there was really no way she could’ve made a mistake. There was no other explanation. Throwing caution quickly to the wayside, Rei leapt to her feet and headed toward the kitchen. The landline on the wall was her only hope. Kakashi would probably be gone for another hour. She would have enough time to call Mikazuki, maybe invite her over for tea, and then, when she was trapped within Rei’s domain, she would attack.

               Just as she picked up the handset, Toshio jumped up and began barking at the front door. The lock clicked, the knob turned, and in came Kakashi. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his footfalls heavy, as he tried to quiet Toshio. He turned to Rei with a sleepy, welcoming smile and all the blood drained from her face. “Is everything okay?” he asked as she slammed the receiver back on the base with a sharp ding.

               “What? No! Everything’s fine!” Rei lied. She pressed her hands firmly between the small of her back and the wall. She hoped her fake, cheesy grin was not too suspicious. Deep down, she knew it was. “I was just making a phone call but uh…I forgot the number!”

               Kakashi kicked his shoes off and settled onto the couch. Toshio followed, begging for attention. The copy ninja reached over to scratch behind his ear, chuckling as he reached for the address book on the coffee table. “Maybe this would help?” he asked.

               Rei’s face turned bright red, an obnoxious nervous laughter erupting from her lips.“Yeah! You know, you’re right! That would help!” she gasped. Hands still firmly behind her back, she skirted around the kitchen counter to sit in that lumpy armchair facing Kakashi. “If only, um, the number I was looking for was in there!” she continued. “But it’s not! So it doesn’t really matter.”

               Now he was really suspicious. Cocking a brow, Kakashi leaned back and nodded slowly. “I see” he said. “Well who were you trying to call? Was it important?”

               “Important?” Rei repeated. Of course it was fucking important. She had an engagement ring to steal back, god dammit! But obviously she couldn’t say that to him. There was no way Kakashi was allowed to know about this. She felt guilty enough for losing the ring, she could only imagine how furious Kakashi would be. He probably spent a lot of money to give her something really nice and meaningful. Maybe Mikazuki was right when she insinuated Rei didn’t know how to take care of her things. But then again, the mere thought of Mikazuki alone left Rei seething. “No, it wasn’t anything important at all!” Rei continued, waving off the subject dismissively. “I was just, uh…going to order a takeout! Right! I was just about to order some takeout! I don’t feel like cooking tonight and I doubt you do, too.”

               Kakashi laughed softly and shrugged. She wasn’t wrong—he had had a very long and exhausting day and the last thing he wanted was to cook a big meal. “Isn’t there a number for that little shop you like in the drawer by the fridge?” he asked.

               Rei blinked, trying to formulate a good excuse in a matter of seconds. “There is, but—” she started, stumbling over her words. “Um, it’s closed! Yeah, it’s closed. Something about the owner going on a trip or something.”

               “Really?” Kakashi asked. “I passed by there on the way home and it seemed like it was open. The lights were on and there were people inside, so—”

               “You know what? Let’s just have ramen!” Rei interrupted, leaping to her feet. Before Kakashi could say anything else, she bolted into the kitchen and began boiling water for two cups of instant noodles.

               Kakashi watched her quizzically, pursing his lips behind his mask. Something was clearly going on and it was admittedly making him extremely nervous. He hated when Rei got so inexplicably frantic like this. If something was wrong, he needed to know about it and soon. Ruffling his hair, he rose to his feet and skirted around the counter toward her. She startled when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, sighing into her hair. “Rei…” he whispered. She paused, her heart pounding in her chest. She hid her hands within a dish towel in hopes that he would not notice. “I need you to do me a favor.”

               “W-what is it…?” she whispered, voice trembling.

               “I’ve had a very long day” he started, “And I can tell you seem tense, too, so…why don’t we put dinner on hold and focus on some stress relief?”

               The euphemism sent a shiver down Rei’s spine. Kakashi’s hand glided down to her waist, sliding beneath the high slit of her dress to toy with the waistband of her leggings. A nervous laugh passed her lips as she set the kettle aside and rested her hand atop Kakashi’s. “Are you sure…?” she asked.

               Kakashi nodded. “Positive.” Before she knew it, he had gently turned her to face him so as to tug down his mask and press his lips hard against hers. As they kissed, he scooped her up by the ass and began transporting her to the bedroom.

               As she fell back onto the bed, his hands exploring her body, she felt a sudden surge of peace. She had been so tense and tired but here with him now, nothing else seemed to matter. Her mind went completely blank. He crawled on top of her and ripped off his vest and then his shirt, pressing his growing erection between her legs. When she ran her hands across his toned chest, he took them in his and drew them up to kiss her fingertips. She watched as his expression transformed from seductive to confused. “Where is your ring?” he asked.

               All the good feelings that had built up within those moments completely vanished. Rei’s eyes widened and she automatically drew her hand back, tucking it beneath her on the bed. “It’s, um…” she stammered. It would’ve been so easy to tell him she had put it back in it’s case for safekeeping, that she had tucked it away in the bathroom or her nightstand drawer, but the words refused to form in her mouth. Rather, she stammered there for a long moment. Long enough for Kakashi to scoot off of her and reach over to turn on the light. She couldn’t lie to him any longer. Laying there, half naked, in front of him like this, the look of confusion and expectancy on his face. She was vulnerable and she could no longer stand to keep up this charade. She rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the plush comforter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” she whined.

               “What are you sorry for?” Kakashi asked urgently. “Rei, what did you do?”

               She drew her knees up to her chest as she mumbled into the blankets, “I lost the ring.”

               “You…you lost the ring” Kakashi repeated. His eyes were wide with disbelief and by the tone of his voice alone, she couldn’t immediately tell whether or not he was angry. “I just…how?” he then asked. “What the hell happened?”

               It was then that she was positive that he was definitely mad. She curled even further into herself and felt herself implode. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “I didn’t mean it, I just--! I thought I was taking good care of it, I thought I was doing everything right, but then fucking Mikazuki got in my head and there was this big mission and I’m so fucking tired, Kakashi, and I just—” she rambled.

               Kakashi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and unraveled her. “Rei, just stop” he insisted. He cupped her cheek so as to turn her face to look at him. There was a tired seriousness in his eyes. “Where was the last place you remember having it?” he asked.

               Rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, Rei sniffled, “The locker rooms, I’m pretty sure.”

               “Okay, so then tomorrow when you go to work, check the locker room” Kakashi replied.

               Rei blinked. “Wait…are you…are you not mad at me?” she asked.

               Kakashi sighed and pursed his lips. He wished the answer wasn’t so complicated. He was upset, of course. The fact that she had misplaced the ring broke his heart. It made him feel as if she had little regard for the significance of his commitment to her. That ring was a symbol of his love. A symbol that he was determined to spend the rest of his life with her. He expected her to take good care of it, to treat it with respect and appreciation. If if was gone for good—if there was no way to get it back—then what did that say of the respect and appreciation she had for their relationship? Did she consider them disposable? And yet at the same time, she was clearly distraught and embarrassed about this. It seemed to him that it was never her intention to misplace it. That specific ring was irreplaceable but perhaps she was well aware. Her guilt hung heavy over them like a rain cloud full to bursting.

               “I’m sure it’s somewhere” Kakashi replied. His avoidance of her question only made Rei feel that much worse. He extended his hand out to her to lift her to her feet and she knew then that the moment had disappeared. The spark had fizzled out. Whatever intimacy Kakashi was craving had been completely squashed. “We’ll find it. We have to find it.”

               “B-but what if we don’t?” Rei asked frantically. She needed to prepare herself for the worst-case scenario. She needed to know that heaven forbid the ring was gone forever, that he would still love her. That their commitment to one another went beyond the promise of a piece of a jewelry. With the way things were going, she hated that she wouldn’t blame him if he decided to just end things with her right then and there. It was only fair. Kakashi deserved a girl who was better organized and far more cautious.

               Kakashi, however, was not going to humor the worst. He turned to her and gripped her shoulders, leaning down so as to look her dead in the eyes. “We’re going to find it” he insisted. His gaze was so intense, so certain, her knees almost buckled from the sheer magnitude of it. Or maybe she was just that tired. She wasn’t sure which. Straightening up, he then looked around the room and said, “You had it when you left for work this morning, right? Then let’s retrace your steps. We won’t be able to go to headquarters this late but if we go through your morning routine, maybe it’ll jumpstart your memory.”

               His devotion and optimism were honestly jarring. Rei wasn’t quite sure how to process all of this, but she forced herself to focus and jump right into the matter anyway. She chewed her inner cheek and looked around the room, reenacting her morning to the best of her ability. She scoured the unkempt drawers of her nightstand, swept through the clutter on her dresser, and even rooted through her toiletries. All of which uncovered nothing.

               “Okay” Kakashi sighed, leaning in the bathroom doorway. “So you’ve woken up, gone to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, brushed your hair. What did you do next?”

               “I guess I got dressed…?” Rei questioned. By now it was getting late and her energy stores were really running empty. Her morning memories were growing hazier by the minute, not to mention worsened by her constant second-guessing.

               Kakashi nodded once and followed her to her dresser. She opened each drawer and dug through the haphazard piles of clothes but found nothing. “Ugh, Kakashi, this is useless!” she groaned, slamming her forehead against the top drawer.

               “Don’t say that” Kakashi reprimanded. “Have you checked your pockets? Maybe it’s in there. Or somewhere in your uniform?”

               Rei shook her head. “No, this outfit doesn’t have any pockets. I wouldn’t have stuck it in my holster or my back pouch, either.”

               “You didn’t wear it out in the field, did you?” he then asked. Kakashi hoped his fiancée would not be so dumb as to wear something so valuable in such a dangerous setting but he wanted to make sure anyway.

               Slumping onto the edge of the bed, Rei replied, “No. I almost did but then Mikazuki got on my case about it. I went back to my locker and took the ring off and then…slid it…back…into my duffel bag?” As she worked through the sentence, a sudden realization hit her. Before she could even finish, she was on her feet and racing toward the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. She tossed her sweat-stained t-shirts and holey underwear to the wayside, cursing under her breath as she uncovered the bare carpet beneath the clothes. Still no ring.

               Meanwhile, Kakashi had pulled her duffel bag into his lap and began rooting around inside. Just when Rei was about to give up completely, he asked, “No luck?” She balled up a pair of dirty underwear and whipped around to lob him with it until she saw, held up in his hands, was the ring box.

               “You son of a--!” she started, lunging forward to snatch it from him. “Where the fuck was it?!”

               “Right here” Kakashi replied, spreading the bag open to gesture toward a zippered compartment inside. “You must have stuck it in there for safekeeping and forgot about it.”

               Rei hugged the ring box to her chest with eyes closed in relief as she muttered, “Yeah, sounds like me. A fucking dumbass.” Kakashi couldn’t help but chuckle which only made Rei that much more determined to whack him.

               “I’m just glad we didn’t have to break into headquarters to find it” Kakashi replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

               Rei flicked the box open and slid the ring onto her finger. In that moment, she was positive it had never looked more beautiful. Except for maybe when Kakashi proposed. Funny how the threat of losing something forever makes you appreciate it that much more. “I’m sorry for all of this” Rei sighed. “I feel like absolute shit. I guess I really need to take better care of my stuff, huh?”

               A strange expression crossed Kakashi’s face then as he waded through the dirty laundry toward her. “I’m not mad at you” he said. “Yes, I was upset but we found it and that’s all that matters. If anything, I’m more upset that you hid this from me.”

               “Well, what was I supposed to do?” Rei asked. “I couldn’t just flat out tell you the minute you walked through the door. ‘Welcome home, honey! My engagement ring is gone!’ No fucking way.”

               “Rei” Kakashi sighed, his shoulders sagging. He brushed the long bangs out of her face and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me if something happens to the ring. I need to know. I won’t be mad.”

               Narrowing her eyes at him, Rei leaned back and looked him up and down. “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “Because you seemed pretty mad earlier.”

               “I’m sure” Kakashi replied sternly. He helped Rei to her feet and walked alongside her back to the kitchen, putting the kettle back on the stove for their ramen. “You know, if you’re really worried about keeping the ring safe, then there’s always ring insurance, too” he said over his shoulder. Rei settled into one of the kitchen chairs, drawing her knees up to her chest as she toyed with the ring on her finger.

               “Wait, that exists?” she asked, pausing.

               Kakashi nodded. “The blacksmith mentioned something about it back when I got the ring” he explained. “Apparently it’s very common for shinobi, specifically. Or at least those of us who even get married.”

               “So what does it do, exactly?” Rei asked.

               “Supposedly it just covers your ass if anything happens to your ring” he replied. “Which might be worth looking into if today means anything.” He removed the boiling water from the stove and poured a little in each Styrofoam cup.

               Rei grimaced at him and stuck her tongue out at him behind his back. “Have a little more faith in me, huh Kakashi?” she asked, defensive. Kakashi laughed under his breath.

               “It’s not that I don’t trust you” he replied, serving their food. “But our careers are pretty dangerous. Even if you’re careful, anything can happen.”

               Rei poked at her noodles with her chopsticks, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that’s not something I want to think about.”

               “I know it’s not” Kakashi said, “but it might be something we need to think about.”

               “Why do I feel like this is becoming way too metaphorical?” she asked, growing mildly frustrated. None of this was her definition of a relaxing night, the thought of which was becoming more and more of a pipe dream. “I mean…can we please just eat our ramen in peace? I’m so tired, Kakashi.”

               “Sorry” he mumbled as he slurped up some noodles. “But we will have to talk about it eventually.”

               “I know” she said. “But just…not now, okay? Like you said before, I need…stress relief.” She dropped her eyes to the floor as she shoved a large wad of noodles into her mouth, exhaling sharply through her nose.

               Picking up on her anxiety, a small smile tugged at the corner of Kakashi’s mouth as he grew compelled to lighten the mood. He slyly reached over and grabbed at the neck of her dress with his chopsticks, drawing her nearer until she was close enough to kiss. She fell into it so effortlessly that when they broke off, she blinked as if awakening from a deep sleep.

               “What was that for?” she sighed.

               Kakashi grinned at her then as he replied simply, “Stress relief.”

[regrettablewritings]

First Lines

Rules: Paste a short sentence/paragraph you think a potential reader may find intriguing from your last 20 stories and then tag 10 other authors. Tagged by: @mrsrafaelbarba a literal eternity ago and I only got to it now because my memory is such shite and I am an awful person to tag. 😰   I tag . . .: Well, dang, who hasn’t done this already? I mean?? @xemopeachx if you want in on this, you’re up but like?? Anyone else wants to do it, feel free to.

I’ve realized that some of the last things I did were, like, Would Includes so lemme try and remember the last 20 actual stories I wrote . . . Dang, there’s a lot of Bruce Wayne and Barba and Credence.

1. Day Bi Day (Rafael Barba x Reader):

“Jeffrey Dean Morgan,” he repeated slowly, as if trying to get a feel for the name himself. He then pursed his lips critically. “(Y/N), he’s old enough to be your father.”

You shrugged, albeit with an obvious lack of true consideration of Rafael’s point. “Yeah, well, you know . . . He’s not.” You seemed to leave it at that as you leaned toward your bowl of cereal. From the way your voice trailed, he took it as a sign of self-accepted defeat.

Rafael soundlessly scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head for good measure. You sure had weird tastes and no right to question his at this rate. It was quiet for the next moment, with Rafael trying to think of whomever else he found attractive, and with the both of you chewing your newest respectful spoonfuls.

Therefore, with the silence settling in, it was quite easy for Rafael to hear you quickly mutter into your bowl, “Sure is my Daddy™, though.”

The rest of the silence was shattered by the dramatically bombastic sound of Rafael coughing over a piece of cereal that he had carelessly allowed to fall the wrong way.

2. The One Reason to Love the Glasshouse (Bruce Wayne x Reader):

It didn’t take long before everything – the pitter-patter of the rain, the heat and pleasure of Bruce’s presence on yours, his gentle breathing, the overall state of relaxation you were in – melded together into a creamy, soft feeling. As your eyes closed once more to let the essence of this rainy morning engulf you, you confirmed what you only ever did on days like this: You had a love-hate relationship with Bruce’s home. But so long as it could provide the two of you moments like this, you wouldn’t mind tolerating it.

3. Say Yes to Distress (Rafael Barba x Reader):

Against his better judgement, Rafael turned away from the sanctuary of plastic bags and to you. He regretted it the moment he laid eyes on you.

This was it. This was the dress. Ballroom style and strapless, yet another sweetheart neckline, but one embroidered with intricate lacework. Patterns that spread down to the bell of the dress before scattering into patches that resembled dripping bouquets of flowers. Organza fabric creating a light essence about the dress, as though it were made of clouds, all topped with a small waist belt of pearls and lace. It wasn’t cute like the first dress or sexy like the second. It was, in a word, perfection.  

The expression on your face, however, was not one worthy of yourself in such a gown. It was one of worry and confusion. And it hurt Rafael that he was the one who was causing it.

4. How to Be a Good Catholic, Part 1 (Sonny Carisi x Reader):

“Father, I stole: My boyfriend had saved a cannoli for himself for after work and I couldn’t help myself – I ate it!” Dammit. And it’d sounded so good in the heat of the moment. You were a grown woman; why were you coming in here with a confession children in Sunday School used? Before you could stop yourself, you added in, “I went out and bought a new one for him, though. Walked six blocks in the evening so he’d have a cannoli ready for him as soon as he stepped a toe through the door.”

If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn you heard Father Murphy huffing to supress a chuckle.

“I see … Indeed, stealing is a crime. Though, I must commend you for taking responsibility and setting things right – ”

“I also snuck a bag of cherry sours from a bodega into the movies once because I didn’t want to pay the unreasonable concessions price,” you weakly blabbed.

“That, uh … It’s against theater protocol but I wouldn’t call that a sin necessarily.”

“Oh.”

5. How to Be a Good Catholic, Part 2 (Sonny Carisi x Reader):

It was amazing how cravings worked: You could be perfectly fine, not want to eat anything in particular and just eat whatever simply because you needed nourishment to keep getting through the day. But the moment you’re told you can’t eat a certain something, no matter how often you may or may not eat it, it suddenly becomes all you can think about. That was what made Lent maddening for you as a child. It was as though the season held special powers beyond serving as a countdown for your lord and savior basically becoming a zombie: It could make you crave cafeteria nuggets like a junkie craved a fix. But considering that said zombie-savior got beaten, nailed to a cross, and was forced to wear a crown of thorns for you, abstaining from meat a couple of Fridays for 40 days was the least you could do besides doing nothing at all.  

… But Zombie Jesus, it was so hard.

6. Pink (Rafael Barba x Reader):

If you liked pink before, dating and eventually marrying Rafael had made you adore it: It striped some of his shirts and dominated others; it was the color of one of his many suspenders; it speckled quite a few ties in intricate designs, muted in pastel form on his pocket square. A bright, electric hue as his yachting shirt, much to your amusement. It was the color your cheeks would assume every time he complimented you, the color his face would turn whenever you praised your beloved husband for how incredible you found his work ethic. It was the color of the tie you’d picked out for him that morning as he dressed himself up for work, and it was the color of the roses he’d had delivered to your workplace yesterday, which were now placed in a glass vase centered at the kitchen table.

It was also the color of the two lines on the stick you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes.

7. Stripulation (Rafael Barba x Reader):

“I must say,” she said, her voice changing from accusatory to an attempt at seductive. She adjusted the arm under her breasts more, making sure that they popped further into acknowledgement. “You’ve gone from little lavishing lawyer to quite the law-abiding citizen, Counselor Cutiepie.” She chuckled as she watched the object of her desire tense up at the name. She glanced downward at his suitcase, still open and still in the process of being unpacked. “Still have a thing for suspenders, I see,” she commented.

“Crap” would have been too simple of a word to describe what sprinted through Rafael’s mind at that moment. But whatever word it was, it began to run laps as the woman began to saunter over to him, slowly and emphasizing every movement her hips made along the way. She only stopped when she left barely a foot between them.

“Oh my,” she breathed, “you have such lovely eyes. I never would’ve been able to tell they were green of all things in that old VIP room; all the lights were dim and red! But I wonder … Do those hips still snap like they used to?”

8. The Color of Loving (Modern Daddy!Credence Barebone):

“It” being when Amari, babbling and calling for “Daddy” ran up to her pale father, chubby brown arms lifted to signify she wanted him to hold her. Credence initially didn’t realize what was going on around him, only focusing on his beautiful baby girl as he lifted her to his waist with a smile on both their faces. It was instinct: After living a life on edge and pitying every second of his own existence, why would he bother to willingly do so now that he felt so happy and complete? It was only when his little treasure occupied herself with laying her head on his shoulder that he happened to look around himself.

People were staring.

Not too many, but just enough to make him feel uncomfortable. As much as he was able to avoid the sense of self-pitying from his previous life, Credence was still very much a nervous man by nature; if the right amount of people stared at him while buying groceries, he’d quickly divert his eyes to the dingy linoleum. But in that precise moment at the park, he couldn’t place why they could be staring at him. Did he step in something? Did he unknowingly sit on some kid’s abandoned bar of chocolate? Was there something he happened to be in the same direction of – ? Credence tensed: they were looking at him and Amari. As a unit. As two things to be compared against.

9. A Portrait Worth a Thousand Words (Bruce Wayne x Reader):

If Thomas was where Bruce had inherited his looks and personality, Martha was surely where he’d gained his sense of grace and elegant flair from. The dark-haired beauty sat, poised and finely-dressed in a manner that made you question if she had just been a socialite or if she was truly a queen. Her pearls, simple if observed alone, caressed her neck and breastbone in a careful way that reminded you of classical paintings. But the crowning jewel of intimidation was the expression she eternally wore: Not one of malice or disgust, but one of sheer coolness. Like a woman made of iron hidden behind silk. Her countenance suggested a scary grace under pressure, an icy intelligence, an all-knowing one. Even the redness of her painted lips were classily poised as if in observance of all that she could survey, analyzing and judging every little thing. Including you, in all the moments you had stared at her and her husband from down the hall up to now as you stood directly in front of them. 

10. A Practice in Happy Memories (Credence Barebone x Reader):

And for a moment, it looked like a mere vapor, just as you had expected his first successful attempt would be. What you didn’t expect, much less Credence, was that merely two seconds later, it began to morph.

It grew legs – thin, bony ones – and a body just as skeletal. A whip-like tail lashed through the air as its narrow, gaunt face shook into life. Its wings, like a bat, stayed open as it galloped through the air and around the dining room, leaving wisps of vapor and light in its wake.

Your mouth hung in complete awe as your frantically blinked as though just the right amount would disprove what you were seeing. Credence, on the other hand, appeared slightly horrified. What in Merlin’s name had he produced? Was it a mistake? Did he mess up? Did he not focus hard enough? Was … was the happiest memory he could think up not good enough?

11. Soulmate AU - You Share Thoughts with Your Soulmate (Stephen Strange):

In your state hovering just outside the realm of meditation, you heard Stephen sighing. You supposed that it was out of contentment with his achievement of getting you to calm. It therefore seemed peculiar when he risked breaking that induced mode by gently grabbing you by the waist before gingerly placing you on his cross-legged lap. Without another word, he returned his hands into their previous position, closed his eyes again, and began his exercise.

Before he went fully in to his trance, he could just faintly hear your thoughts one more time: “Thank you.”

The smile he produced in response set him a few steps back from achieving the desired state. He didn’t mind.

12. Soulmate AU - Soulmates Get Reincarnated, Usually with Their Memories Still Intact (Tadashi Hamada):

“Hugging is fine!” you cut off, a little too high in tone. You didn’t want to know what else this bot could say that might tarnish his beautiful, pure appearance. You heard Tadashi snicker from his place next to you before turning fully to you, arms held open. When you looked at him with a blush-burned face, he chortled.

“You heard the medical expert,” he teased. It was only when you looked back and forth between himself and Baymax, before shoving yourself into the soft, huggable torso of the latter, that Tadashi’s arms dropped and his face contained complete disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, watching you contently rub your face against Baymax’s tummy.

13. Soulmate AU - You Can See Color Once You Meet Your Soulmate (Jonathan Byers x Reader):

You weren’t thinking when your grabbed his hand and began sprinting down the hallway back to the art room. It didn’t even occur to you that you didn’t really know Jonathan, other than the fact that he was your soulmate and a photographer. You were just doing what suddenly came naturally: Wanting your soulmate to be around you. Besides, great things take time; you had to start somewhere. Even if “somewhere” meant dragging your confused, startled, and yet somewhat love-struck soulmate down the hallway. 

14. Valentine’s Day Love Languages - Words of Affirmation (Credence Barebone x Reader):

The still image of the two of you holding hands in the park stared back at him, your blissful smile complimenting his own nervous one. As he passed an enchanted photo, the real Credence couldn’t help but watch the photographed versions of you two reenacting the actions that had occurred up until the photograph had officially been captured: You were trying to get Credence to create a genuine, calm smile. You tried quick jokes, you tried gently tickling his side. Eventually, you settled on kissing his cheek. That did it. By the time the real Credence had past that particular image, the Credence in the photograph was smiling goofily and blushing while the photographed version of you nuzzled his arm affectionately. 

15. Valentine’s Day Love Languages - Physical Touch (Matt Murdock x Reader):

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to force her to do anything to me,” Matt scowled, though he was unsure as to who or what he was scowling over. He tried to calm down in all of his frustration, just barely becoming exhausted in his thought process. “I just … I don’t know what’s up. I know I should ask – I should’ve done that before I talked with you, actually – ”

“Fair enough.”

“ – but as stupid as it is, I can’t help but feel a little, well, scared about it. Don’t give me that look, I know how stupid it is, being scared of this. But I have a good reason to be: Even before we hit the honeymoon stage – hell, even before we started dating – I just wanted (Y/N) in my life. I wasn’t sure how, or even why I wanted to risk that. I just knew that I wanted to be near enough so that she would be a constant in my life. And the messed up part is, even throughout all of this, that’s still something I want.”

Matt went quiet for a moment as if in contemplation. “I guess I’m just hung up on the fact that maybe I did something wrong but she won’t tell me. I’m so used to relying on touch to determine things, y’know? I guess having … Being deprived of this one thing, it’s driving me on edge.”

16. Valentine’s Day Love Languages - Acts of Service (Newt Scamander x Reader):

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you kept chanting. You steadily reached into your coat pocket to retrieve their evening snack of bugs, courtesy of your godawful apartment in Brooklyn. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here,” you cooed. It seemed strange, referring to yourself as “daddy.” However, as time went on and you used it more and more, it just made sense and stopped feeling peculiar.

After all, if Newt was “Mummy”, surely that made you “Daddy.” And yet, as Newt heard you say it, saw you feeding the little winged creatures bugs, it felt as though he was only truly hearing you say it for the first time. As loving as Newt was, he knew that gaining an occamy’s trust was a fragile thing to do. It took him a while before he was certain referring to himself as “Mummy” was appropriate. Your willingness to take up the counterpart, however, just felt … right.

17. Valentine’s Day Love Languages - Quality Time (Percival Graves x Reader):

Whatever you said next, whether it had actually been emitted or not, was lost in the fabric of Percival’s shirt. The moment your voice began getting higher and higher with the strangle of your tears, he was out of the chair. It was only when his arms encased you and welcomed you back into the warmth you’d missed so dearly that it all came crumbling down.

Your anxieties, your loneliness, your needs, everything. You no longer felt selfish. You didn’t even feel angry anymore. You weren’t entirely sure what you felt for a moment. But for now, you decided as you weakly wrapped your arms around Percival’s torso, the feeling was relief.

The sitting room, which was usually quiet with the exception of the ticking clock, became filled with the sounds of your crying. After a while, it was accompanied by the sounds of Percival softly attempting to coax you into calmness. Gentle shushes with the faint sound of him gingerly running a hand through your hair, things he’d learned in the past that helped to soothe you. He used to believe that the past was so long ago because he had been doing his job. But now, with the revelation of your feelings, he began to suspect that it was simply just that he hadn’t been there for you.

18. Valentine’s Day Love Languages - Receiving Gifts (Jonathan Byers x Reader):

“Yes, I am leaving for NYU in a couple of months. Yes, I keep giving you gifts when I should probably be saving up. But . . .” His shoulders slouched slightly. “I want to give you things. I want to give you everything. Even the things I can’t afford. For now. And even though I’m leaving soon, I still want to assure you that I can still give you those things: A happy life, a home, a family, whatever you want.”

19. All the Write Words, Part 4 (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader)

For the first two years the Ranskahov brothers had been in America, the Veles Taxi & Limousine Services had been the Prohaska Cab Garage. Old Man Prohaska himself was a stubborn old man whose spit-at-your-shoes attitude hadn’t won him many companions. It did, however, win him a bizarre and rather cruel death by a bowling ball bash to the cranium. At the time, Anatoly had been one of the better options to leave the garage with and while it was highly likely that he wasn’t even in the will to begin with, the nervous lawyer who kept staring at an oddly calm and quiet Vladimir stated otherwise. And just like that, the garage was under new ownership. No questions asked.

Not much had changed under the Ranskahov ruling: It had always employed an abundance of Russians, it usually had rap or cheesy Russian folk music blaring from an old boom box. The mini collage of centerfolds and pinups only changed by gaining a few more additions and business went on as it had before because generally, customers didn’t have a preference for taxi services by name. Just do the job, do it good, and they’d go on their merry way. The only apparent change was the transformation of the logo into Veles Taxi. That, and maybe – just maybe – the powerful presence of tall, scary Russian men had increased since the brothers had taken over.

20. All the Write Words, Part 5 (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader):

He had brownish-red hair combed in a lax manner that still managed to portray an air of certainty. It didn’t matter that his eyes were shielded behind a pair of strange, red, round-framed glasses; they were probably just as warm and welcoming as the smile he wore. Basically, he was everything Vladimir wasn’t: closer in age to (Y/N), warm, and smiling. Vladimir had to seriously consider whether or not to throw up in order to catch (Y/N)’s attention.

Fortunately for the carpet, he didn’t have to; the brunette stopped laughing and turned to his general direction.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Were we being too loud? I understand that it’s a library, quite unprofessional …” Vladimir’s eye twitched slightly. His voice was low and warm. Like hot cider. Was every person who stepped into this goddamn place so pleasant and gushy? It was at this point that (Y/N) finally managed to stop laughing and turned her attention to her protégé.

[pwrangerbabes]

Hey guys! Please send me prompts! I love these! Also please forgive me if I made billy seem unlike his character. I dont want to offend anyone so if anyone has any tips please send em my way privately so i can fix them! _______________________________________________

GRANOLA (Cranscott fanfic)

It had been a long day. It was just Jason and Billy in the pit for these last few hours. Zack needed to get home to his mom, Trini had to watch her brothers while her parents went out and Kimberly got into it with her parents earlier so they gave her a curfew. Billy’s mom was renting a new van and Billy didn’t really drive so much so Jason was his ride home and would probably stay the night or just bike home. It beats biking all the way to the mines and then back.

Jason smirked as he barely dodged a punch.

“Woah! You’re killing it Billy!” Jason said in between breaths. Billy stopped and clapped a few times. Jason laughed and rested his hands on his knees. He hunched over in exhaustion. Both boys were drenched in sweat, Jason in his tank and red jogging pants and Billy in his blue sweat suit and head band. All of the rangers had started to wear more of their colors, unbeknownst to each other. It had just become a little thing for all of them, their own signature touch. It was actually Billy who mentioned it to all the rangers at lunch. They all pretended like they didn’t even notice but it was quite apparent what they had all begun to do.

“Can we take a break? I can barely stand up!” Billy exclaimed. Jason chuckled and nodded. Billy was just so… cute? Jason couldn’t explain it right. Whenever he was with him, he just couldn’t be anything but happy. It’s like the blue ranger’s joy and carefree energy was infectious. Honestly, Jason didn’t mind the feeling one bit. It was much better than being at home. His mom barely talked to him anymore because she was so busy taking care of his sister Pearl, and his dad was just being… well, dad. Being with Billy was almost like an escape for the leader, but not in a using and manipulating way. Billy was much more to him than that, and frankly, it was very scary.

Ever since they defeated Rita, the two had been spending much more time together. Trini and Kimberly totally snicker whenever Jason saves Billy a seat right next to him at lunch. Zack prides himself in being the best wingman ever, so whenever Billy runs from the lunch line to snag that seat, Zack just says obnoxious shit like “Oh Billy, doesn’t Jason look sooooooooo hot today?” Jason just kicks him under the table and Billy smiles and nods.

“Yeah. He looks nice all the time.” Jason groans and rubs his face to hide his blush and then Billy goes on to talk about other things.

So yeah, it’s gotten a little out of hand.

Jason and Billy grab their water bottles and sit down on the flat rock near the entrance of the pit. Jason starts chugging his water and Billy tries to slow down his breathing to a steady pace. “Being a power ranger is a lot of work you know? Like when me and my dad would come to the mines, we didn’t really do anything, well I didn’t. My dad would do all the work and I would help out a lot more when I got older, but other than that I would sit and watch, I never thought that there would be all this stuff here.”

“Well it’s honestly because of you that we’re here.” Jason said. Billy nodded.

“All I did was blow up the wall. We wouldn’t be rangers if it wasn’t for you, and Trini, and Kimberly… and Zack too.” Jason laughed and finished the last of his water. Billy pulled out a granola bar and opened it, offering it to Jason. “You want some? I’m not super hungry.” Jason nodded and took a piece.

“Thanks.” Jason said as he tossed the small piece into his mouth. The chocolate chips tasted so good after that work out. Billy bit into the granola bar and scarfed it down in about 30 seconds. However, the silence that followed felt like it lasted for hours.

“Jason…?’

“Yeah Billy?”

“Do you know Amanda?” Jason kinda sighed, thinking no, hoping that Billy was gonna ask him something else. But he never thought he’d ask about his ex girlfriend. She was one of the head cheerleaders and after he messed up his leg after the whole beef cake incident, they just started distancing themselves from one another. It was obvious that they were together because of the social statuses and hierarchies of Angel Grove High.

“Uh… yeah. We talked to each other for a while. Why?”

“Oh. Her and her friends just laugh sometimes when they see me or us. And at lunch when we all sit together. They whisper and say things but I don’t really know why. It makes me feel weird or just bad. I heard Kimberly saying that they cut her out of a picture or something and they aren’t friends anymore. At least she has us because if I didn’t have you guys I probably wouldn’t have anyone to talk to either.” Jason only heard about Amanda and started to heat up. He knows that Billy can handle himself but he feels extremely protective of him, and these new feelings that he’s having are not helping.

“She laughs at you? What does she say? Does she do anything else? Has she said anything to you?” Jason tensed up a bit as he sort of spat out each question. He truly doesn’t understand how someone could bother Billy. He’s kind and considerate and truly a good person. He even morphed before everyone else because he cared so much.

“I don’t know what she says exactly. And she hasn’t talked to me. Are you ok Jason? I didn’t mean to upset you at all. It doesn’t bother me a lot.” Jason looked away.

“No I’m fine. As long as she doesn’t say anything to you. If she does let me know.” Billy nodded.

“Okay. You said you talked to her before?”

“More like dated.”

“She was your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“So you liked her then?”

“Not really. We were just together because we felt like we had to be. Like, if we weren’t then the school wasn’t in balance or some shit like that.” Billy frowned a bit at the swear and tone in Jason’s voice. “Sorry Billy.”

“No it’s okay. I just can’t say that word, but you can say what you want.” They both laughed a bit. “Is that how you feel with me?” Jason was completely thrown off by the question.

“Wait what?”

“Do you feel like you have to be with me because we’re a team?”

“No! Of course not Billy, not at all. You are nothing like those stuck up kids that go there, and trust me, I would know because I was one of them. You’re a good person, someone who actually cares about others and would do anything to protect them. I enjoy being around you.” Billy smiled and fiddled his fingers together.

“I enjoy being around you too Jason.” Billy could feel the heat radiating off of Jason’s body. They were so close. Billy started to heat up a bit too. His cheeks flushed. He became confused. He didn’t normally like touching and all of that but Jason was different. He was nice. The closest thing to a friend he has ever had at Angel Grove. But he knows what friendship feels like.

Friendship is how he feels with the other rangers.

This isn’t the same thing.

But he doesn’t really know what it is then and how to act on the feelings. If it’s not friendship, then what exactly is he feeling and why?

“You know Jason, you’re my friend, and whenever I see you I just want to go to you and talk with you, and walk with you, and just be near you all the time. I hope it doesn’t get annoying because I know that I can be that sometimes or boring even…” Jason shook his head at that, “but when I’m with you, I get all weird inside, like my face heats up and my stomach feels funny, not like I’m going to throw up or anything but well, I guess you felt the same with Amanda… or probably not… well maybe you felt the throwing up part because you didn’t like her but I even talked with Kimberly about it. She told me that it’s a good thing, and that I like you, and I do like you obviously but Kimberly corrected me and told me not in the way that she feels about you or Zack, but that I like you the same way that she feels about Trini. Does that make sense?” Jason was just dumbfounded. Was Billy really explaining how he felt himself? Everything was the same down to a tee, his feelings, the weird sensation in his stomach.

“Is that all true Billy? You feel that way? With me?”

“Well of course. She said that I probably want to be with you but I’m with you right now like I am all the time but it doesn’t fix the feelings I get. It only makes them worse…” Jason bit his lip. He was never good with words but he was a leader, that was his job. To encourage his team or to speak for them as Zordon put it, which he completely disagreed with. They were their own people and could speak up for themselves but how was he to lead a team if he could barely talk himself?

“Jason?” Jason snapped back to reality at the sound of Billy’s voice.”

“Sorry I was just…” he opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“You’re mad at me aren’t you? I was hoping that wouldn’t happen Jason I’m sorry. I don’t want to weird you out.”

“No Billy listen-” Jason grabbed Billy’s hand. Billy flinched a bit from surprise but Jason forced himself to ignore it and not pull away out of instinct. He had to get these words out. If he didn’t, then he knew he’d regret it. “Billy I feel the same. I do I really do. You’re so smart and just… yourself. You don’t pretend to be anyone that you’re not and I wish that I had done that years ago. When I see you, no matter what’s happened at home or at school, I’m happy, and that’s a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.” Billy smiled and looked down at their hands. It was all so strange. Neither boy could understand it really but as strange as it was, it felt right. And that’s all that mattered now.

They’ve seen stranger things than this anyway, like the whole teen super hero zero crystal dino car stuff.

Billy laughed and Jason smiled at him. “What’s so funny? Did I sound stupid?”

“No it’s just, you know how Trini and Kimberly are?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“You mean like making out all the time?” Billy laughed.

“Sure…” Jason smiled and looked away, his cheeks flushed. He leaned into Billy a bit and turned. He looked at him, he actually looked at Billy. He was perfect. The moonlight framed his face in the most fascinating way. Jason kissed Billy on the cheek. Billy smiled and faced him. He leaned in a bit and caught Jason’s lips in his own. They broke apart after a few seconds. Jason laughed with excitement and put his head on Billy’s shoulder.

“Why are you laughing at me now?” Billy said breaking into short laughs between the words.

“Nothing it’s just… you taste like granola.”

“Yeah? Well so do you!”

They both laughed against each other until their sides ached.

[dollchishi]

So much for my happy ending

Your relationship with kiseok is not perfect as people sees, you have ups and downs, you fight and have misunderstanding many times but you still manage to save your relationship, you both know how to apologize and admit your mistakes. You made sure that you are alright before you sleep, you talk the problems and find solutions and promise to each you won't fight because of one problem again. When you forgive one another and forget about whatever reason you are fighting you never brought it again. You are six years younger than him but you are matured as him, sometimes more matured than him. You know how to calm him down when he can't control his anger and he knows how to cheer you up when you are feeling down or when you have your period. You accept him with all your heart and he was thankful for that, he treats you like a queen like how you treat him like a king. Kiseok is sure about his feelings for you, he loves you with his all heart and he never looks to other girls, that's why after two years of your relationship he asked you to marry him and you gladly say yes.

You are very excited to plan your wedding, you personally design your invitation. Kiseok chooses the motif of your wedding, black and red. It's been three months since you start planning your wedding day. You found a very good stylist for your wedding dress. You are trying your best to attend all your schedule and your work. There is a brief moment that you feel tired and exhausted but whenever you see the invitation card with your name and kiseok's name you feel recharged and alive again.

"You look great" your friend exclaims as soon as she saw you wearing a long white gown. You smile widely and examine the gown "I can't decide, I love all designs" you laughs "How to choose? I want all of them" you added "Why don't you asks kiseok? Maybe he can help you" your friend suggested, making your heart ache. You have had a small fight with him last night because he didn't show up on your meeting with wedding coordinator, he said he forget. He forgets because he is with the boys which made your heartache because this isn't the first time he forgot or didn't show up on your meetings about your wedding. "he's busy because hoody will release an album" you force a smile "Whatever. I will take picture of you so smile beautifully" she said pointing the lens of her camera on you, after few shoot she smiles at you "I send you a copy" she said "Thanks, I go change. I have to meet the Jaemin for our cake"

---

"This is strawberry cake vanilla with buttercream frosting, we can add some strawberries for decoration or if you want we can put some pearl on layers" the food caterer explains "Vanilla seems plain maybe we can add a few strawberries icing on the edges of layers? then pearls? what you think? it will fit on our color motif right?" you said "That's a great idea! We will do that but how about the drinks? Do you prefer soda, ice tea or wine?" Jaemin asked you "I'm not sure but can we have ice tea and red wine? I don't know which label is the best" you answer "It's alright. we can do that too. what about your groom, maybe he knows or want a specific wine" she asked "I will ask him" you smiles at him, suddenly you felt your phone vibrate inside your bag "Sorry excuse me for a minute, I need to take this" you excuse yourself, walking into corner of the room before you answer your phone "Hello Mr. Shin? Is there any problem?" you immediately asked "I'm sorry to disturb you but supposedly we have a meeting with Mr.Jung for his wedding coat but we been waiting almost three hours for him, we can't contact him too so we decided to call you" he explains a little bit of worried and disappointment on his tone "Really? I'm so sorry, Can-- can you set a new schedule for him again? I'm really sorry I--he-we been busy with these past days. I'm sure it's not he didn't mean not to show up"

After your food tasting, you hurriedly get your car and drive to AOMG office. You can't understand what you feels right now, anger, disappointment, and confusion. You tried calling kiseok but your call always went to his voice message. You are on verge of tears but you are trying hard not to cry but you can't stop feeling hurt, yesterday he forgot your meeting and you ended up fighting, he apologized but it happens again, this isn't the second time, you don't know how many time he forgot about your meetings. You also noticed how became less interest on your wedding preparations, when you have to meet with coordinators he's always on his phone or his mind is thinking something else. You did all decisions, when you asks his opinion he would always say "Whatever you want, let's have it" "I don't know, you choose" "it's up to you" "if that's what you want"

Parking your car in front of the building you jump out of your car and hurriedly went inside "Where is he?" you asked the Mina "He's ion studio with gray and jay" she answer you "Thank you" you said, your feet moves on its ways completely know their destination, you are ready to burst inside when you hear jay's voice. You stood in front of the door as you listen to what they are talking

"What do you mean you don't want to do it anymore?" Gray asks the older man "Maybe you are just stress" he added "I didn't say that I don't want to do it" Kiseok sighs "It's just so--everything is so fast---I'm starting it's too sudden---Maybe I was so stupid to ask her to marry me--I do love her very much it's blinded me..I never thought about what will happen in future, I don't have a plan for us" he sighs shoving his head on his palms "What are you saying, dude? You two are happy with each other, you love each other what went wrong?" Jay asked his friend "I don't know, I'm just--" "You are having a second thoughts about getting married?" gray finished his word, kiseok look at him and sighs "Yes" Jay sighed and sit beside him "Maybe you are stress with all these preparations, what if take a break? postpone the wedding? and come to our tour? We will be travelling for two months, maybe it will help you"

You feel your whole world starts to falls after hearing those words, you move your hands from the door knob to wipe your tears away. Turning your feet around, you slowly start walking away with a heavy heart. "Miss? Are you alright?" minah asked you when she saw you walking out crying, you wipe your tears dry and took a deep breath before turning to her "Yes" you forced a smile "I--Just don't tell them I came" you said "O-Okay" she nodded her head "Are you sure you alright?" she asked again "Yes. Don't worry, I'm just tired, they are doing something important I can't disturb them" you smile again "Alright, Take care" she bow at you.

You left the building and went inside your car, you sat there feeling hurt. You watch your life crash in your eyes, his words still echo on your mind, how unsure he is, "he's having second thought about our wedding, he didn't see himself with me" your tears keep falling down "I thought what we have is real, I thought you want to be with me" you hiccoughs "I thought---So much for my happy ending" you cry.

After few minutes you manage to calm yourself before driving home. When you arrived home, you didn't waste anytime you packed all your clothes and important things. You made sure you pack your passport and important IDs. After making sure you are packed you grab your phone on the table and dialed your co-worker's number "Hi, Zia. Sorry to call you this hour but I have some favor to ask, can you tell our boss that I can't  go to work for days? Something comes up. Thank you" you said "Thank you" you turn your phone off then you saw the ring in your hand, you sadly look at the gold metal wrap around your finger. "You used to bring happiness" you whisper "It's sad that you are meaningless now" then you removed the ring from your finger, you're heart skip a beat when you hear your name being called "What's going?" you turn around to see kiseok looking at your packed bags "You leaving?" he asked finally looking at you "What's going on? did something happen?" he exclaimed seeing your swollen eyes, he attempt to step closer to you but he stop when he saw the ring in your hand "Let's end this" his head snap at you "What the fuck are you saying?" he asks "What's wrong? Why you want to end this?" he started to get angry, after the talks with gray and jay he decided to go home to talk to you about your wedding but he didn't expect this will welcome him home "I don't know if I can stay any longer knowing that you are not sure about our relationship" you cried "Why you asks me to marry you when you are not sure if you really love me?" you asked him "What are you saying?" his tone changed "I heard you. I heard that you are having second thought about us, now I know why you are not interested on planning our wedding, I finally understand why you always forgot our meetings and schedule because you don't really want to get married" you cries, kiseok's heart torn apart seeing you crying, he step forward he attempt to touch your face but you move away "It's not like that. I was just--" he sighs "I don't really know why I am like this" he admits "But please you don't have to leave, we can fix this" he begs "No. I'm leaving. I need to do this" you firmly said "I love you, it's real I do really love you"kiseok exclaims "No you don't love me, because if you really do. You won't have a second thought about us" you sighs looking at his eyes "I'm leaving so won't make any excuses, you don't need to say our love is true because not it became a lie" you reach his hand shoving the small ring on his hand before moving  away getting your bag and suite, Kiseok stood still fighting the tears, his mind was blank and he can't think straight he stares at the ring on his hand "Sorry If I wasn't enough, sorry if I didn't reach your expectation and you still doubt if I was the one for you and Thank you because you made believe that what we have is real. Don't worry I'll be fine, you don't have to worry about me anymore" you said before leaving, when he heard the door slam shut, his tears finally fall down from his eyes.

[letsplayscrabble-blog]

feels like the first time. [ch. 3]

author's note: hi all, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued support of this writing. now that introductions are out of the way we can start in on the story a bit and though i have ideas up my sleeve i'd love to hear what you guys want to see! as always, leave me a review and let me know what you think. enjoy (: [@halsteadpd]

"Just a beer whenever you get a second," she heard the blue-eyed man remark before the door of the kitchen had swung closed behind her and she assumed the kind-hearted old man was back out and bullshitting with the lot of them while the burgers were grilling up, finding much more enjoyment in the company the soldiers brought along with them than her grunts and occasional nod of the head whenever he would attempt to strike up a conversation with her bedraggled self. Truth be told, she couldn't really blame him. The only human interaction she was accustomed to anymore were the drunk screeches of her mother if she ever wandered home or the foul groans of a man she'd just sold and offered her body up to.

Erin Lindsay was now left with a dilemma, however, as the soldiers were seated far too close to the old man for her liking and she silently cursed herself because she'd forgotten to ask where he kept the mop because he was getting old and forgetful and it varied from day to day but there wasn't a chance in hell she was about to let herself be seen by a single one of their prying eyes again. The one in front had caused her to lose her nerve for a fraction of a second, not liking the way his eyes found her face and her eyes and the puffiness and the bags because let's be honest she hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep a night for the past three years because the towels she snatched out of the laundromat from some nearly blind old lady one lazy afternoon didn't really serve as blankets in the winter and the bricks near the dumpster of a deep-dish style pizza joint didn't really serve well as a pillow.

She began to fidget with the string on her sleeve again, resisting the urge to yank on it and to maybe let out a harsh chuckle as it came further apart, a perfect metaphor for her life because it'd been three years out on the streets and all she'd done for herself was find a kind old geezer who probably wouldn't be around for much longer to give her a meal and sometimes she had a wad of cash big enough to buy a warm cup of coffee for a few mornings and if she was lucky a new pair of jeans from the Goodwill for approximately thirty-two cents but she was getting tired and fed up and more than once she'd thought about reaching out to Hank and taking her chances and maybe sending up a quick prayer because that damn prep school had taught her something at least, but she had a sinking and a sick feeling that her luck had run out with him and he could still bust her and put her into prison for years because she'd broken their deal but at this point maybe a cell and her own cot and the putrid smell of a toilet were all she was gonna get in this lifetime and maybe she had to learn to be okay with that.

"Oh, this isn't the bathroom?"

Erin whirled, her fiery hazel eyes landing on those damn beautiful blue ones belonging to the dimwit that had just sauntered in through the kitchen door, knowing without a doubt that this wasn't the bathroom because she was going to believe the best in him for a second and presume he could tell the difference between a stove and a shitter.

"I don't know why you sound so surprised," she shot back, the steadiness of her voice catching her off guard a bit because being alone in the room with a person of the opposite sex had never gone smoothly for her over the course of her twenty-one years of living and even though he didn't strike her as her typical cliental she had learned not to trust men a long time ago and this beautiful one wasn't going to change the sudden sinking of her stomach as he moved a step closer. Her eyes darted off to the right, trying to find even a fucking spatula to use as a weapon because she was well aware of the muscles more than likely rippling underneath that uniform of his but damn it she wasn't going to let him do what he wanted to her without a fight.

"I don't know why you look like you're about to piss yourself," he replied smoothly, holding up his hands to show her he had picked up on her body language and picked up on the fact that him moving closer to her wasn't going to do anything for either one of them. Expect maybe work in her favor because he was fairly certain he'd be walking away from the encounter with fingernail scratches all over his cheeks and probably down his arms if he made another single movement in her direction because she looked that ferocious and deadly and if it weren't for the darting of her eyes and the way she took one, tiny small step backwards with her left foot he wouldn't have even been able to tell that she was afraid in the first place.

"Fuck off," she growled, though she was thankful he'd stopped moving closer because she'd run out ideas and had landed on her best bet of screaming and biting and maybe thrashing until he let her go and she could get the hell out of dodge but he looked too strong and too built for that idea to get her very far so she'd also settled on the fact that she was going to have to let him do whatever it was he needed to do do her before splashing cold water all over herself from the sink to give her the false sense of being clean then slipping out the front door without finishing her french fries.

His perfect eyes widened then, maybe in offense, maybe in shock, but she had a feeling it was the latter. He probably had this idea stuck in his head from his suburban childhood and adolescence and his prim and proper mother that women needed to be gentle and soft and not rough around the edges and downright repugnant like she was. He probably had this idea that women weren't quite this ghastly and hideous and revolting but she wasn't going to apologize for shattering his fantasies because with eyes like that he could've landed about six women down the street at Molly's by now but here he was in the middle of an exchange with her.

She was worse than the villagers back in Afghanistan, he had decided while his eyes discreetly studied her as he could feel her doing the same. She was worse because she showed not an ounce of curiosity or trust or anything really towards another and at least they gave the soldiers a chance when they came around asking questions and at least they didn't look like they were about to pounce and recoil and then strike again and he was also sure she was worse because at least those people had each other to lean on and depend on and stand with when it all went to shit and this girl had absolutely no one except herself and he had a feeling it had been a long and dark path for her to end up at this point.

"Did you need something?" He heard her counter, snapping out of his inappropriate thought process because who the hell really cared about this stranger of a woman he met in a bar back in his hometown who he was more than likely never going to see again. So what if her hazel eyes were the most exquisite he had ever seen? So what if he was desperately lonely and craving the affectionate touch of another and so what if he just wanted to reach out and graze the pad of his finger across her cheekbone just to see what she would do? Nine months of being in a dark hole of death and obscurity could really damage a person and Jay Halstead was certain he was certifiably insane but he wanted to keep talking to her and he was going to take a shot in the dark here and see if he could get her to stick around because he was pretty certain he knew what she did for a living.

"Yeah. Whatever it is you're selling," he shot back and he couldn't stop a corner of his mouth from turning up in a grin at the sight of her bewilderment because she wasn't able to get a handle on it quick enough.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Erin hissed, her eyes blazing in the soldier's direction because he had figured her out in a matter of a mere three minutes. Then again she wasn't going to give him that much credit because she still had her pride and in some other life where she was wearing pearls around her neck and swinging a Kate Spade purse on her wrist if she saw herself from the outside looking in at this very instant with her ripped up jeans and her sopping wet off brand fur boots and her bedraggled Cubs sweatshirt as a winter coat but most importantly the puffiness of her eyes and the sallow look of her cheeks she would've pegged herself as a dealer too. Or at the very least someone who had been using. She watched him raise an eyebrow and she found herself digging into her pocket because hell, she'd already made a decent sized wad today but what was one more customer and maybe she'd get that bottle of red wine after all. "One-fifty. For this baggie and for me giving up a half hour of my day to let you entertain yourself." She'd flipped a switch so she was the version of herself that she absolutely couldn't stomach in a matter of two seconds, the dirty girl who sold drugs on the street to get by and the one who sold her body for money because she may not trust men but they were all hungry for that feeling of power they only found when fucking a woman who didn't protest and who pretended to enjoy herself and she wasn't going to discriminate if this guy was willing to join them.

He watched her dangle the plastic between her thumb and her pointer finger of her right hand, all traces of decency he had found speckled in her hazel orbs as he had been staring at her disappearing because now she was doing what she did best and he hated how angry it made him feel that she had to do this to survive but normally he wouldn't have a problem with taking a woman up on her offer to sleep with him because all he really wanted to do was numb himself and alcohol and another body and a quick lay were the only way he really knew how to do it. But this instance, this tiny and fierce woman standing before him and offering herself up to him at a price pissed him off and he found the eruptive and uncontrollable anger his father had passed down to him rising in his throat and it was then he took a few long strides to cross the room and snatch it from her, silently agreeing to her proposition although he already had an idea formulating in his head and there wasn't a chance in hell she was going to find out about it before he got her exactly where he wanted her.

Her feet remained firmly planted in position as the soldier moved closer to her because she already felt disgusting enough and if he wanted to get the show on the road already she wasn't going to put up much of a fight because in these instances that was never a wise decision. But he simply took the bag of pills and pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, handing her the ridiculously overpriced total without so much as a second glance before extending his hand for her to shake.

"Jay Halstead."

She raised an eyebrow without really acknowledging his outstretched fingers before slipping past him towards the restaurant and past his friends who began to hoot and holler as he emerged from the kitchen behind her obviously well into their hard liquor for the night but could she really blame them because she'd never known war but it had to be pretty fucked up and terrifying and it made sense they'd want to forget about what they'd done and what they'd witnessed a lot like she wanted to forget about her sad excuse of a life and what she and Jay were on their way to do.

The cold air hit her harder than she liked and as he let the damn bell ding again and the door close behind him he also caught a glimpse of her shiver but he bit his tongue and kept his comment to himself because this girl was ferocious and he didn't want her bolting because when it came down to it she was probably the most genuine company he'd had in nearly a year and he'd only been speaking to her for six minutes. She cast a questioning glance over her shoulder at him then and he was struck once more at how breathtakingly beautiful she was under the smeared eyeliner and the grey tinge of her skin and he couldn't help but wonder why she kept doing this to herself because he obviously wasn't her first customer.

"Follow me," he commanded and she found herself trailing after Jay Halstead's footsteps in the snow and biting back a few tears because she was already dreading having to ruin the way she felt about his dazzling blue eyes and the slight hope she'd had that he was different from the rest.

[bakedberry]

Faberry 👗 Post-Prom

Who: Quinn and Rachel. What: Junior Year Prom and Post-Prom. Where: Berry Farm. When: May 19, 2012.

For Prom Junior year, things were different for Quinn than they were when it came to other school dances. She didn’t care so much to have a date to prom and preferred to go with Rachel. It seemed easier (and better) because they didn’t have to worry about both having dates and besides, Quinn wanted to crash at Rachel’s after and if either one of them had a date, they’d have to pay attention to them and it could possibly interfere with Quinn’s plan to sleep over.

The day of prom, Quinn got ready at home. She had slept over at Rachel’s the night before, but then headed off to get ready at home. They bought each other corsages and Quinn kept hers at home to surprise Rachel with it. Plus, it just seemed better, showing up all ready with Rachel ready too instead of getting dressed together. Quinn’s mom was home, her father was not, but Judy helped Quinn get zipped up into her dress and took a few quick photos once she was completely ready to go. Judy said she hoped next year, she would go with a boy, but was glad to see she wasn’t going with Noah Puckerman. Quinn didn’t like that so much because Puck was a nice guy and she thought it sucked her parents couldn’t see that.

After Quinn said her goodbyes and made sure she had everything she needed to sleep over Rachel’s, she drove over to the Berry farm. They exchanged corsages -- Quinn had selected a star-gazer lily for Rachel -- and Quinn was a little in awe over how beautiful Rachel looked without Quinn needing to do her hair and make-up for her, though she didn’t say that because she didn’t want Rachel to think Quinn had no faith in her abilities to doll herself up. Rachel had pleasantly surprised her and Quinn took a ton of selfies with her before finally letting the Berry dads get some photos. It was nice to be dressed up and going to prom, and Quinn enjoyed the attention from her mom and the Berry dads.

The limo came to pick them up, which was another reason Quinn had gone to Rachel’s first, so there was one less stop on the tour of picking their group up. Quinn felt giddy and stayed by Rachel the whole night, taking photos and laughing a lot. She had a wonderful time and was glad to simply have the chance to dance and have fun with her friends. She felt lucky to have such a great group of people to hang out with and rely on. Whenever she went to get a drink or use the bathroom, she took Rachel by the hand and led her around. What was prom without her best friend by her side? Besides, Quinn didn’t want to lose Rachel within the group of attendees and have to waste time finding her after a quick trip to the bathroom or taking a break from dancing.

By the time the night was over, Quinn was tired. She danced way too much and her feet hurt, so on the limo ride home, her heels came off and she leaned against the shoulder of her best friend as she listened to the rest of the Romantics laugh and chatter away. This was really one of the best nights and she was so happy to have gotten tons of photos on her phone and memories to go along with it. She said goodnight when they arrived at Rachel’s, hugging everyone before climbing out barefoot with her heels in hand. Once they were inside, Quinn dropped her heels near the door and headed for the kitchen.

“I need a snack and a drink,” she announced, her voice a tad hoarse, and stopped to look back at Rachel, lowering her volume. “Are your dads still up?” It wasn’t super late or anything, and there was some lamps on, but that wasn’t unusual that they might be left on for the night.

Forget Cloud Nine. Rachel had currently taken up residence on Cloud 900, because the night had been perfect.

Rachel spent an exorbitant amount of time prepping for the event once Quinn had left to get ready at her own home. There was a face mask and moisturizer and makeup routine she had been practicing in secret for the past two weeks until she was sure she could apply each layer of color and shimmer and shine with flawless results. Her hair was easier, large enhanced curls and waves that mimicked the flow of her dress’s skirt. And she had specifically picked out her dress because she could slip into it without the aid of Quinn (or having to ask her fathers for their assistance).

She was just slipping into her heels when Quinn arrived at the farm, and though Rachel had seen her dress, nothing compared to actually seeing Quinn in said dress. She was certain she was wearing her heart and her love not just on her nonexistent sleeve, but on her face. It showed in her dropped jaw and wide eyes, the way she swore you could see each and every quickened beat of her heart because surely it was just going to burst through her chest. Quinn was gorgeous, a siren in red, and Rachel would gladly perish in the sea of her love.

And maybe that’s why her fingers shook just so as her daddy handed her the boxed corsage and her dad snapped photo after photo. After placing the two delicate gardenias tied up with green ribbon -- to match Quinn’s eyes, of course -- and pearl detail around Quinn’s wrist, Rachel wanted nothing more than to press a kiss to that very hand. But with her dads watching Rachel refrained and instead opted to keep that hand in hers for the rest of the night.

Which she did as they slipped into the limo -- oh the fantasies that played out across her mind as they had it all to themselves as they made their way into town and their first stop -- and after they arrived at the venue. They might have only been there as friends, but for Rachel it felt like so much more than that. Quinn kept her close the entire night and the ride back home, snuggling close and using her, to Rachel’s delight, as a pillow. And when they were back home, heels in hand and tip-toeing through the home, Rachel had decided. Tonight would be the night she kissed Quinn.

Following Quinn into the kitchen, Rachel paused, closed her eyes, and listened. Hearing the faint sounds of what she thought was likely an action sequence, she gestured toward the door that led to the basement. “I think they’re downstairs watching a movie.” With swift movements she then bypassed Quinn so she could get the fridge first to see if her daddy had come through to help make this night extra special. And he had indeed because resting inside the shelf door was a bottle of champagne, small enough to fill just two flutes. Rachel grabbed it, two bottles of water, and a container of fruit salad left over from their waffle breakfast. Then with only slight difficulty Rachel popped the cork, filled their glasses, and prepared to toast. “To the best night with my best girl.”

After Rachel said it, Quinn realized she could hear the movie playing. She stopped and paused as Rachel cut her off and instead, watched her with mild amusement. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the small bottle of champagne. “Are we supposed to be drinking this?” she asked with a laugh but she toasted Rachel all the same. “To the bestest night with my bestest girl,” Quinn agreed with her and gently clanked her glass against Rachel's before sipping it. Her eyes met Rachel's over her glass and then she felt warm and wondered if the alcohol worked that fast as blush began to fill her cheeks.

With her own heart thundering in her ears, Rachel was sure Quinn could hear it too. Maybe that’s the reason why she was blushing, the natural color rising to her cheeks making her look all the more beautiful. “And yes we are supposed to be indulging. I negotiated the terms of a small bottle with my daddy as an additional way to celebrate.” And now it would just serve as liquid courage for the kiss Rachel was planning to lay on Quinn.

Cracking off the lid of the container, Rachel didn’t bother with grabbing a fork and instead just reached in before popping a grape in her mouth. Then, “I know I’ve already said it,” and she had multiple times while they were dancing and on the way home, “but tonight really was wonderful, and I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone but you, Quinn.”

“Oooh, I like the way you think,” Quinn commented and took another sip of the champagne before setting her flute down. She reached for a strawberry from the container and popped the whole thing in her mouth. She nodded at Rachel then offered her a smile. “Me either. I don't think I've ever had as much fun at a dance as I have tonight. Plus I get to sleepover here and that makes it even better.” The smile turned to a full on grin and then Quinn reached for a grape and popped it into her mouth.

Rachel’s face twisted up for just a second, so she glanced down and was grateful when her hair fell from where it was tucked behind her ear to curtain and hide her expression. Though there had been forgiveness, memories of the fall and two months of silence weren’t easily forgotten. But there would be no point in drudging up those feelings now just to point out that Quinn could have had all that then, too, if she hadn’t decided that Noah and sleeping with him was more important. So after a deep breath and an expression that outwardly showed the love and affection and happiness she was feeling inside, Rachel returned Quinn’s smile as she teased, “You’re just staying over so you can get a second helping of waffles in the morning.”

Quinn didn't notice the change of expression in Rachel. She was eating a couple more grapes then another strawberry. She looked over at Rachel when she looked up, a grin returning to her own face. “Am I that transparent?” She laughed and then picked up her champagne for quick sip. “I do believe I am quite spoiled here.” Which Quinn liked. She was spoiled at home and at Rachel's. She was a very lucky girl. “Maybe I'll actually help with waffles tomorrow. Maybe.”

“Please, Quinn,” Rachel laughed. “We both know you’ll stay burrowed beneath the covers until I come back up and drag you out of bed with the promise that waffles have been baked and are waiting to be eaten.” Not that Rachel minded that process since especially as of late in involved her draping herself over Quinn and maybe a tickle or two. “The only helping you’ll do will be to eat them.”

Quinn laughed again and pictured all the times Rachel had woken her up for morning waffles and how she had to practically drag her out of bed. She had gotten better because once she knew she was a few short minutes from eating Rachel's delicious vegan waffles, she was able to will her body out of bed. “Okay, you're right, I'll just help eat them.” There was a kind of goofy smile on her face now and Quinn finished her champagne then placed the glass in the sink. “I think I'm just about ready to head upstairs and change and get my cuddle on.” She had one more grape and that was it.

Once inside -- she ensured the door was not just closed, but also locked -- Rachel bee-lined toward her closet. While she loved her dress, she was ready to be released from its somewhat constrictive top. After removing the top and skirt, and rehanging them on the back of door, Rachel, wearing the pair of shorts and tanktop she had wisely placed in her closet earlier this afternoon, gestured toward the bathroom. “Do you want me to help with your hair?”

While Rachel went to change, Quinn got her nightgown out and a pair of shorts for underneath since the nightgown was a little on the short side. She attempted to change as well, but couldn't get the zipper. She nodded at Rachel's suggestion. “Yes, please, I have a lot of pins in it. I'm also going to need you to unzip me.” And she turned and lifted her hair so that Rachel had access to the zipper.

“Of course.” Rachel did her best not to take advantage of the situation, though it was hard as she dragged the zipper to reveal so much skin and a particular fantasy flashed before her. One that involved pressing her lips against Quinn’s neck, peppering kisses along the path of skin she revealed, and molding her body to Quinn’s once the dress had dropped to the ground. But instead Rachel did indulge just a bit as she let her knuckles intimately skim along Quinn’s spine before she took a step back.

“I’m going to go start on taking off my makeup.” Rachel’s head inclined toward the en suite. “When you’re ready, come on in and I’ll help with all the pins.”

Quinn waited as Rachel unzipped her then let go of her hair and nodded to her. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Once Rachel was in the bathroom, Quinn undressed and slipped on her pajamas. She hung her dress up in Rachel’s closet then headed into the bathroom. She began to pull the bobby pins from her hair. “I still can’t believe what a fun night it was. And no drama too with anyone. It was so great.” Her gaze was focused on her reflection as some of the pinned back hair began to fall around her face.

Rachel hummed her agreement as she discarded the cotton ball now coated with the eyeshadow and mascara she was working to remove. Their group had stayed close together throughout most of the night, trading dance partners and stories, and of course making sure everyone was having a good (and safe!) time.

“Here. Let me help you those.” Just as she had done when she helped Quinn unzip her dress, Rachel stepped directly into Quinn’s space. She’d take any excuse to be close, and really, to have her hands in Quinn’s hair.

“Thanks, Rachel,” Quinn said softly and watched the other girl in the mirror for the moment as she continued to work pins out of her own hair. She placed them in a pile on Rachel's bathroom counter, planning to clean them up tomorrow because she was far too tired to do it tonight. She was also going to do a quick job of taking off her make up as well.

“Quinn,” Rachel scolded, though a light laugh completely nullified the firm tone she used. “I said I would help.” So she gently batted Quinn’s hands away and then began the process of removing the remaining pins from Quinn’s hair. With the utmost care and a ginger touch, one by one she dropped each pin onto the vanity surface and then would use her fingers to comb out each strand and curl. And if Rachel had cause to add to lightly scratch her nails along Quinn’s scalp or allow the pads of her fingers to slightly massage, she took full advantage of the opportunity.

Quinn laughed at Rachel's words and light smack to her hand. She lowered her hands and watched Rachel in the mirror, noting the way she took great care to remove each pin. Her eyes closed once Rachel started to scratch or apply pressure to her scalp because it felt really good, especially after her hair pinned up all night.

“Mmm… thanks, Rach,” she said when Rachel had finished and she opened her eyes again to give her a smile. With practiced ease, she used the make up wipes and one cotton ball with makeup remover to rid her face from the eyeliner, shadow, and foundation. She could use a shower, but she was too tired and would do so after waffle breakfast tomorrow. With her discarded makeup removers in the trash, Quinn headed back into the bedroom and climbed into her usual side of the bed.

“I’ll join you shortly, Q,” Rachel called out as Quinn headed back to the bedroom and got under the covers. She still had some makeup to remove, so after grabbing a wipe, Rachel took care to scrub every inch of her face before she grabbed her facewash to guarantee that she wouldn’t be going to sleep with any potential missed pore-clogging layers.

After patting her face drying with a towel, Rachel added a line of toothpaste along her brush. She had plans to kiss Quinn after all, and anything less than minty fresh breath simply would not do. Having brushed and rinsed, Rachel was ready to head to bed, but she lingered, gazing at her own reflection as she contemplated her next move. There were of course nerves, worries that Quinn could reject her, but tonight had been special. It felt special. Yes, they had attended prom together as friends, but it had actually felt like they had been together. They were each other’s dates, taking pictures together, even slow dancing, and for Rachel the lines of just friends seemed to blur. Or really, they had been blurring for months now. With a final, confident nod at her own reflection, Rachel flicked the light switch and headed back into her dimly lit bedroom.

“Q?” Rachel started as she climbed into bed and under the covers, slipping across the mattress to press herself close to Quinn’s warm body. “Tonight was so wonderful and I--” A deep breath. “I have something I want to give you.” Caught up in the motions of what she was about to do, it was only then that Rachel realized Quinn hadn’t stirred as she got into bed because she was already softly snoozing the night away. Her moment lost, Rachel breathed a heavy sigh, one weighted with disappointment, but also tenderness for how beautiful Quinn was in the moment. Brushing back an errant strand of hair from her friend’s forehead, Rachel whispered, “Thank you for the most magical night. I love you, Quinn,” and then she placed a kiss as close to the corner of Quinn’s lips as she dared.

[regrettablewritings]

A Portrait Worth a Thousand Words (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

aka My Sad Attempt at Fluff for Bruce

The portrait wasn’t the original – that one had been one of the many things lost in the fire that claimed Wayne Manor. No, this one was actually a copy that had once hung for many years at Wayne Tower in downtown Gotham. Of course, Bruce made sure that it had been replaced with a duplicate he’d commissioned, earning admiration from many who saw it as the act of a loving, successful son who was determined to always keep another legacy of his parents nearby.

It therefore puzzled you that he didn’t keep it aboveground in the Glass House but, instead, subterranean in the Batcave. It became even more perplexing when you realized that it was placed in a hallway that Bruce seemed to rarely walk down, quite possibly even finding alternate options to the route if he could. Most people would have a painting of their long-deceased parents somewhere in a common area or even private one; just somewhere where they could always see them and smile at them, maybe even hold a conversation. Then again, Bruce was not most people, being a tall, stupid-rich, former-playboy who moonlighted as knuckle-baring vigilante in a bat suit.

You simply followed his unspoken example.

It was easier for you to forego nearing or even traversing down the corridor than it was for Bruce, to the point that you only ever really saw the portrait from afar. The rare occasion wherein you would take a few steps down said hallway to observe the piece was the most you ever pushed, taking on your boyfriend’s habit as your own. To a degree.

Bruce himself never told you anything worth a detail about them besides the bare minimum. And whatever info you could pull from the only other nearby person who knew the couple was just as fruitless.

“That would be up to Master Bruce,” Alfred would say. But, being that “Master Bruce” never offered anything to you when it came to the subject (sometimes even dodging it entirely), you began to inherently take it upon yourself.

At a distance, from down the hall, it was easy to determine the characters of Thomas and Martha Wayne, who they would be if only they’d met you: Thomas, a hardworking man in his younger years, had become more lax in the autumn of his life. He would flirt harmlessly with you and slap congratulatory hands onto his son's back, insisting on what a fine job he'd done to attract a true "gem of Gotham." Martha, an elegant but kind woman, would be welcoming towards you, having brunch with you at a cafe downtown every Saturday so that you could catch up. She would insist that Bruce either move into a place with you downtown and to stop feeling so obligated to stay on Wayne territory. She and Thomas would insist that life changes when one falls in love . . .

Of course, there might have been some increasing levels of self-indulgence on your part, but such an act was so easy to do when staring at something from a distance. It is only when one day, you began to step closer to the subject than usual … That was when things become less romanticized and more grounded in reality, with every detail and every flaw in the previous assumption becoming more and more evident.

Thomas Wayne, a sharply-dressed man no matter where you stood, was definitely where Bruce had gotten his rugged good looks from. However, he also might’ve been where Bruce had inherited a look of perpetual sternness. A hard worker, certainly, but one with high expectations – about everything! Possibly even down to the person his son had chosen to be with … You could feel your lips press into a line as you continued to observe the dark eyes of the elder Wayne male. The Waynes, alongside the fruitfulness of their business, had managed to maintain a healthy line of wealth by marrying other members of elite society; what had you to offer, working a simple job downtown? Would he think that you were exactly what the paparazzi loved to insist that you were: a parasitic gold-digger?

As discomforted as you were at that thought, it didn’t compare to the feeling you got when you finally gathered the courage to look upon Martha Wayne. Martha herself was painted sitting in a finely carved chair that could’ve been bought through a high-end Sotheby’s auction. It paled in terms of beauty to the woman seated upon it.

If Thomas was where Bruce had inherited his looks and personality, Martha was surely where he’d gained his sense of grace and elegant flair from. The dark-haired beauty sat, poised and finely-dressed in a manner that made you question if she had just been a socialite or if she was truly a queen. Her pearls, simple if observed alone, caressed her neck and breastbone in a careful way that reminded you of classical paintings. But the crowning jewel of intimidation was the expression she eternally wore: Not one of malice or disgust, but one of sheer coolness. Like a woman made of iron hidden behind silk. Her countenance suggested a scary grace under pressure, an icy intelligence, an all-knowing one. Even the redness of her painted lips were classily poised as if in observance of all that she could survey, analyzing and judging every little thing. Including you, in all the moments you had stared at her and her husband from down the hall up to now as you stood directly in front of them.

Martha was, in a word, astonishing. You probably didn’t even need Bruce’s word for that, given the closeness he often allowed himself to suggest to you. But you never truly took the description or suggestion to heart until now. And you felt ashamed for it.

Would she have liked me, had she lived long enough to know me? you found yourself wondering. As your eyes traced her image over and over, taking note of her finely coiffed hair and queenly stature that shown even whilst sitting. Fidgeting with the hem of the old, baggy t-shirt you were currently wearing, you decided, in a barely audible whisper, “No.”

Mothers were often very protective of their sons, right? Particularly when it came to their child’s love interests? And considering the closeness Bruce had expressed in those brief moments you had to draw from, you had no doubts that she would have been no exception to the rule. In fact, was it fair to assume that she would be even more determined to protect her child from the clutches of a potential gold-digger? To assure that the family name was not carried on by some commoner?

Even when you left the portrait and returned back to the Glass House, you could see their eyes boring into you. Eternally unblinking, forever able to judge you. Was it silly to feel judged by a painting of two long-gone people? Of course it was. But in a world where a godlike being flew around and knew your boyfriend was a man who dressed up like a nocturnal rodent, you felt that you were allowed this feeling.

Besides: Unconfirmed confirmation was always a good source of discomfort.

You tried to pretend as though you weren’t bothered; as though the walls of the Glass House didn’t make you feel vulnerable to the ever-watching eyes of “Thomas and Martha.” But in every little thing that you did, the sprout of criticism that had been planted earlier only seemed to grow closer and closer to a full blossom: “What ‘gem’ walks around the house in such rags?” “Why waste money going to brunch every Saturday at a fine establishment when all you would do is roll out of bed, put on the most basic thing, and then order the cheapest item on the list? If you’re not going to make an effort, then why should I?” You weren’t even sure if these words were being spoken in the voices of “Thomas and Martha.” All you knew was that you were beginning to believe them.

You mulled over “Thomas’” scoffing whenever you got out of bed hours after Bruce had left for work, critiquing that you needed to earn your keep and that late-starters never prospered honorably. You bit your lip and tried to control your breathing more appropriately whenever you felt a lecture on how “ladies don’t snore” was around the corner via “Martha.” But between the two, “Martha” was worse: You imagined “Thomas” being stoic, commenting on more general things; “Martha”, however, would nitpick. Nothing was up to standard for Bruce.

“If you’re not going to make an effort, then why should I?”

You never offered an answer. You couldn’t, not when such a question would always, without fail, send you spiraling in to multiple spheres of thought at once. Why should she make an effort? If you weren’t making an effort, then why was Bruce with you? Was it out of pity? Were you meant to be a temporary thing that just wouldn’t leave? What could you do to prove that you were worthy to a –

“Okay, I’m off to wor – You okay, babe?”

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts and back into reality. A reality where things truly mattered. The main thing being Bruce, who stood in front of you, dressed smartly for work but with a look of slight concern etched into his fine features. You hummed for a split second before straightening your position at the table, remembering that you had been munching on toast before Martha’s criticisms on your plain tastes had thrown you into the recesses of your mind.

“I’m fine, just a little … Well, you know, it’s before 10 AM so I’m still a little out of it,” you said. You offered a wobbly smile in the hopes that it would seal confirmation. It didn’t.

“If something’s the matter, we can talk about it,” he offered, seemingly ready to take a seat next to you and put off work. Before the voice of Thomas Wayne could fuss at you for causing a distraction, you quickly insisted that that would not be necessarily and you truly were just tired.

Besides, you thought, it’s not like I can talk to you about anything involving your parents … You felt guilty immediately after thinking so, but also knew it as the ugly truth.

You could tell from the stormy look in Bruce’s eyes that he wasn’t buying it. But, in the end, there was only so much he could do to convince you. never one to be forceful towards you in anyway, he accepted you claim. For now.

“Okay,” he sighed heavily. “Well . . . Call me if you need anything. And I mean it. Okay?” He leaned in and kissed your cheek.

The five minutes that followed were some of the most peaceful, clear moments you’d had since allowing “Thomas and Martha” inside your brain. You couldn’t smell anything but Bruce’s cologne, that smooth, mature smell that you’d grown to know by a single whiff and be calmed by in an instant. And your cheek was imprinted with the soft prickle of his stubble brushing against it when he kissed you. And if you focused just hard enough, you could still feel the small hints of warmth that had radiated off of his body to lightly embrace your own.

It was, in a word, bliss.

And at that moment, you had every answer you needed.

If Alfred, who had returned to his workshop before Bruce had left, had observed you – or if anyone who looked into the Glass House could – they would find you sitting at the table, quietly and still. Your toast, once again forgotten, lay on a plate, growing colder and colder. It would take 20 seconds for any real movement to occur, but even then it was subtle: the widening of eyes out of realization.

Realizing that Bruce was with you because he wanted to be. Realizing that in the end, even if Thomas and Martha were still alive, it wouldn’t matter what they really thought of you because all that mattered was what Bruce thought of you. But, perhaps most important of all, was the moment of realizing that “Thomas and Martha” were exactly that, quotations and all: Nothing more than figures you self-imposed out of worry, out of lack of confirmation.

It seemed so silly to have doubted any of this in the first place, you almost had to laugh. Almost. Because was from this sense of newfound stability that you decided, once and for all, to silence the criticisms.

You now knew how to prove yourself to “Thomas and Martha”, how to shut them up once and for all: You were going to make an effort.

I might’ve overdone it, you thought to yourself as you stared in the mirror. You were only going down into the Batcave to see a painting. But you were so used to dressing for galas and charity balls that you supposed your makeup and dress patterns were either downgraded casual or extremely glamorized: You had curled your hair to perfection, applied your makeup sharply and with prestige. The dress you wore, which you meant to have been a simple but classy black dress, hugged your curves in a more fashionable and seductive way that you initially had planned. But the literal crowning jewel: a white gold necklace with a garnet pedant. It had been Martha’s, one of the very few things Bruce managed to salvage. You wanted to show that you were an important piece in Bruce’s life.

You looked stunning, if you had to say so yourself. But, in the end, this might have been overdoing it. Nevertheless, you willed yourself to walk down to the portrait, making sure to walk so lightly in your heels that Alfred would not be able to hear you from his working nook. Willing yourself to do what you proposed next, however, took a bit more effort.

“Uh … Hello,” you said quietly to the picture. You inwardly pressed both palms to your face. So much for presenting yourself as calm and confident. Thomas and Martha’s expressions did not falter. You took a deep breath and tried again, this time with more stability. But only a bit. “My name is (Y/N). Though I guess you guys already knew. Because I’m dating your son.” Better, but …

You sigh. “This is weird; I know it’s weird. But people talk to graves and pictures all the time. Though, I guess it’s kinda different considering that that’s usually done by those who actually knew the person … and … I never got to know you guys …” You pressed your lips together in thought.

“I mean, I would’ve wanted to know you guys. I still do! You guys seemed like nice people, like you were connected with the people more than most wealthy people probably would be. At the very least, you tried to be. Tried to give regular people like me better opportunities. But … That’s just what I got from old news. I mean, I would’ve loved to know more about the real Thomas and Martha. But Alfred’s not saying anything and Bruce … Well, he won’t tell me about you guys …” It was at this point that your thoughts shifted.

“He’s a good man, by the way. A bit questionable, but … But I think you guys would be proud of him. At the very least, you’d be proud of what he’s trying to do.” You offered a small smile, a habit of yours when you thought about your lover’s accomplishments. “He does so much for this city. Both as Bruce Wayne and Batman.” You paused. “Thought you ought to know; I don’t think he comes down here that much to talk to you guys and tell you about what it’s like out there.”

“But, like, he goes the extra mile in terms of what he could be doing: He’s trying to give Gotham a better reputation by introducing the arts more, Mrs. Wayne. He even has a Zorro festival every year in your memory. Oh, and Mr. Wayne, he’s running the business pretty well for what it’s worth. I mean, we’ve taken some hits but … But I think you’d be impressed with how resilient he’s being!” You couldn’t help but puff your chest slightly with pride. “But then he’s also running around like a bat – Mrs. Wayne, you’d probably be appalled at how he looks – and making sure that Gotham is a little safer every night. I mean, it isn’t perfect but I like to think that it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Thomas and Martha said nothing. So you continued.

“But in the end, the fact that he’s managed to do all this because of you guys? It really says something about him. I know that what Bruce is doing may not be ideal; it’s definitely questionable, no doubt about that. But in the end, I can’t help but feel proud of him. And really lucky. And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that he’s a Wayne: It’s because in spite of everything that he does, he always has the time to assure to me that I’m just as much a part of his life as his jobs are. Sure, things may get shuffled around, but Bruce always makes sure to make me happy. Even when he’s not trying …” Your voice trailed. You began to pluck at your necklace. Your initial goal of coming down to prove your worth wound up becoming a total gush-fest revolving around Bruce; where were you to go with this?

“Talking to a painting, are we? Am I going to have to put you in Arkham, too?”

The sudden sound of the man of the hour’s voice startled you to the point of accidentally slamming yourself against the hallway wall. When you managed to compose yourself after a slew of curses, you realize he was standing behind you, a small smirk teasing his lips. Damn him and his stealth skills.

“For god’s sake, Bruce, what the hell?!” you demanded. The smirk that teased came into full fruition; even in the dim lighting, Bruce could see the hints of blush leaking into your cheeks.

“I honestly could ask you somewhat of the same thing. I mean, walking quietly is something I can’t help. But talking to pictures? Sounds more like a personal problem,” he joked.

You scowled and crossed your bare arms, trying to think of a comeback to throw him off. Unfortunately, you were nowhere near as well-versed in the art of taunting as the former playboy was.

“I was … I was just – ” you stammered, at a loss for words. But Bruce waited for your answer patiently, never rushing you. Typical Bruce. And yet, you found yourself surprised when, upon being able to be told the wider concept of your plan and what led to it, his stance barely wavered. Sure, the smirk fell into a more serious expression, but it wasn’t one that portrayed bemusement or even necessarily an upset. It was more along the lines of the expression one might gain when lingering over another’s words; when they are in a position to strongly consider the discussion at hand.

When he said nothing at the end of your explanation, you couldn’t help but worry a bit. Was he understanding of your outlandish attempt at coping? The small hum he uttered was the only thing he said at first. His eyes flickered between the painting of his parents, and yourself. Between their perpetually impeccable stances, and your smaller, sheepish one.

“… Well …” Bruce began, the small word ripping through the still air. He kept his eyes focused on the painting, as if trying to stay focused both in the real world and the one inside his mind. “For starters, I don’t think my parents would’ve necessarily liked you …” In that moment, you could feel your heart slump. If their son, the only other person around to truly know these people, was telling you this, then surely it must be true …

“… My father would have loved you, and my mother would adore you. Probably a bit too much; I remember Alfred telling me once that she wanted a girl around, but then they had me and … Well …”

Your head snapped up, eyes widened. Bruce’s own eyes were fixed on you in thoughtfulness. He observed the dolling up you had put yourself through.

“She’d like your style,” he added. “And the moment you’d open up that mouth to say a witty comeback or anything? She’d probably ask me to just take your surname instead of the other way around.” He grinned.

Wait … Seriously?

“Seriously,” Bruce confirmed, being able to tell that that was exactly what you were thinking. He turned his attention back to the portrait and pointed a finger at his father. “And my father most certainly would do a little harmless flirting with you. After all, where do you think I get it from?” (He heard you gently scoff with amusement.) “Buuut … I don’t think he’d call you a ‘gem’ of Gotham. Maybe a blessing to the Wayne family. Especially considering me.” He looked down you with an expression accepting light self-deprecation, not minding it at the cost of the subtle but growing glowing that was beginning to radiate from your person.

You liked this. You liked hearing that Thomas and Martha (the real ones and not the ones you’d been haunted by) would have enjoyed your presence. You loved hearing Bruce actually say anything about them at all. You wanted more of this, wanted to know what Thomas and Martha liked to do, what Bruce suspected they might have done when he graduated college (clap politely at the ceremony, or scream in jubilation and a chorus of “atta boy”s). If they liked to sit in the kitchen with Alfred back in Wayne Manor and take drinks of aged spirits when little Bruce had been put to bed, if Martha enjoyed tea or coffee, if Thomas liked sports or was more bookish –

But when Bruce offered no more, you surmised that perhaps the information given had been all that he could handle. What kind of person would you be, to push and demand for more, after everything he’d just told you?

“Anything else?” Bruce asked. The question hung in the air.

By instinct, you took it. And without thinking, you responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” When you realized how overly eager you must have sounded, you couldn’t help but draw back and blush with embarrassment. Bruce, however, merely chuckled lightly in response.

“Figured as much …” He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I guess, uh … I guess it’s only fair. That I say a little about the people who made me.”

“Just a little.”

“Well … Come on,” he said, placing a hand on the small of your back. He began to lead you back down the hallway and toward the stairs leading back up to the Glass House. “We’re gonna need to sit down for this. I get the feeling you have a lot to ask.”

“You bet I do! Do you dress like your dad? What kind of perfume did your mom use? Do you remember? Would you say I’m like your mom? Would she go to brunch with me, even if it was at a small, cheap café? Do you think your mom would be the embarrassing kind, or the elegant, cool kind? What – ”

“Okay, okay, slow down! We’ll have plenty of time to talk about all that …”

You smiled blushingly, uttering a small shrug. But then a realization had occurred to you for the umpteenth time that day.

“Wait … It’s not even 3 yet – why are you home from work so early?” you inquired.

Bruce shrugged, gently leading you up the stairs. “I didn’t buy your claim that you were ‘just tired.’ It’ll be fine. Besides, if what you told my father is true, business is fine enough for me to take a day off. This is more important.”

You couldn’t help but offer a full-fledged, appreciative smile. Typical Bruce. His parents would be proud. A little hesitant at first, but proud in the end. You would at least have that in common.