#he’s just itching to give her a hard time at every turn isn’t he

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin. 

[luveline]

what about Steve finding out he’s gonna be a dad for the first time??? or him doting on you while you’re pregnant 🥹

You’re asleep when Steve’s starts kissing you. “Love you,” he’s saying between presses of his lips, the words bouncing off of the side of your nose. 

You blink, eyelashes sticky with sleep. Your back aches and couch springs groan as you try to stretch, Steve’s arms locked around you to hold you in place. “What time is it?” you ask. Your voice barely comes out. You try again, “How long have I been sleeping?” 

You tip your face back. He’s laid down beside you, smiling, his hair crushed by the cushion under his cheek. You brush it out of his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding happy and affectionate at once. “I’ve been home for an hour. We napped.” 

You can tell. You feel distinctly relaxed. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nauseous.” 

“Oh no,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest. His hand slides down to your stomach. “What’s she doing to you?” 

For a moment, he talks so gently, with so much love, you assume he’s talking to the baby. But then you realise he’s talking to you, and you melt like soft taffy under a hot sun. “Nothing, really.” 

“No?” he asks, hand on the topmost curve of your bump. 

“I think I didn’t like lunch. My taste buds are changing or something.” 

“I can make you something. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“Maybe…” You curl into him as much as you can in the limited space. “In a minute.” 

“In a minute,” he repeats, half teasing, half something warmer. He’s turned on his side to give you and your bump enough room, an arm curled underneath you surely dead and the other still resting gently on your stomach. The air between you is warm, almost damp, too hot from napping together but neither of you willing to move away yet. 

You get lost in thought. The nice shape of his smile is distracting, especially still lax with the after effect of a good sleep. 

“What was your day like?” he asks eventually. 

“Just quiet.” You close your eyes and let them sting, tears collecting under your eyelids that you blink away. “I think the baby is making me really tired.” 

“Well, you’re making a baby. It’s hard,” he says. “Much easier to begin with.” 

You smile rather than laugh, too tired. “Way too easy. How was,” —you yawn wide, eyes watering yet again— “your day?” 

“A little less tiring than yours, obviously.” 

You rub your nose into his polo shirt. “Every shift is another pair of socks.” 

“This one’s worth more than that. A box of diapers for sure. And a couple of days of groceries, I guess.” He kisses your nose messily. “Got your vitamins on the way home.” 

“Thank you… Actually, my day was agitating. I have this itch between my shoulders I can’t reach.”

“Yeah?” he’s immediately interested. 

“Yeah, would you– yeah, to your– little more…” You drift off as his hand sneaks under your shirt and his nails find the awful evil itch that’s irking you. He knows exactly where to go from the slightest hitch on your breath, and he isn’t cute about it. He likely leaves scratch marks behind. It’s exactly what you needed. “Thank you so much.” 

He rubs the scratches with the side of his thumb to cover the pain until it’s faded. “You’re welcome, honey. I’m your guy. Itches, rashes, headaches, weird moles. I’m always gonna be your guy.” 

“Until the baby comes along ‘n then you're their guy.” 

“I guess so. I think you kind of…” You’re both so tired your conversation comes out slowly, but it comes. “…make that promise when you decide to have one. I’ll be her guy, but that’s not– I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m still gonna be your guy. You’ll have to share me, that’s all.” His nose crinkles with his smile. “I’m not gonna give you half, though. I’ll just have to double my efforts.” 

“Really?” you ask. You hadn’t realised you were worried until he mentioned it. 

“Duh, babe. Not gonna punish you for something I did to you.”

“This isn’t a punishment.” 

His fingers spread over your shoulder, skin on skin. “For sure not. I’m not talking about the baby, I mean me. The way I am. I’m not gonna choose her over you, I’m going to take care of you both.” 

His polo is easy to collect and squeeze in your hand as you tip into his chest. “You’ll have to choose her sometimes.” 

“So you admit it’s a her?” 

“I admit nothing, H.” 

“I’m on your side forever,” he promises, noses inclined together, your bump pressed to his abdomen. He’s hugging you like there’s nowhere else in the world to be. “I’m always gonna look after you.” He scratches your skin in emphasis, much kinder and longer strokes of his hand. “Always.” 

[fangirl-dot-com]

The Inheritance

Guys, I keep messing up the timeline. So here we go. Christian, Geri, and Mitch find out about Lorenzo and your parents disowning you at your last F2 race. Max finds out about Lorenzo in this chapter (although not written in detail). Max then finds out about your parents in chapter 18 “All For You.” 

This is proof that I listen to my readers :D @dreamy-state-of-mind asked to see how reader bought her cars and this chapter was created! I can't do every ask for an idea but I try to listen to what y'all want!

Y'all are being fed...two chapters in a row (which means the next one won't be out for a little bit - so I apologize!)

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Your hands were in your pockets as you walked around the open room. You had somehow lost Max, Vito, AND Christian. It wasn’t like you meant to walk away, you just did on accident. How could someone know that the foreign car dealership was this big. Well, you would know, but that’s beside the point. 

It was quite cold in Germany. Thankfully, you had packed extra layers, something the men seemed to not know how to do. You were sure that Max would have worn his Red Bull polo if you didn’t mention to Kelly where you were going. Sure, he could dress on his own, but who would want that? 

Your eyes gazed at all of the cars on the floor. Most were the common stock models. Audis, Mercedes, and even Volkswagens littered the area; yet, the cars you were looking for were nowhere to be found. You kept heading in the same direction, hoping to at least find a familiar someone who looked like they worked there. 

Your ears picked up on some German words. Feet taking faster steps, you rounded a corner. Ah, there they were. 

Somehow you completely missed seeing that the Porsches would be in a different room. You gingerly stepped farther into the vast open-ceiling room. Your hand itched to touch them, but you knew better. 

Looking at the cars brought back some great memories of the first time your godfather took you here. Yes, he could have gotten any Italian brand of car that he wanted. Everything was at his fingertips. Yet, he brought 11-year-old you to Germany to get his imported cars. 

Your eyes landed on a familiar model. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the imprints of Lorenzo’s and your laughs as he took you to do donuts in abandoned parking lots. 

“A beauty isn’t she,” a voice scared you, causing you to fall on your ass. Your cheeks burned at the thought of being caught. Yet, when your eyes met familiar friendly ones, the redness left. 

“Hi Seb,” you greeted as you took his outstretched hand that he offered. He pulled you to your feet and into a hug. After you were done, you pulled away to turn back to the car. This time, you let your hand gently grace the older door. 

“Enzo had one,” you simply stated, leaving it at that. Most knew you didn’t like to talk about the man, since it brough on so many emotional memories. 

Sebastian took a couple steps and stood next to you. 

“Do you still have the keys to the garage?”

You grinned up at the German ex-driver. “Of course I have the keys. You know he left me the entire house.” 

He bumped your shoulder, head jerking to lead you away from the car. You followed without hesitation. 

“What do you plan to do with it?” 

You cocked your head in thought. “I’m going to keep it for now. I don’t want to sell it. It’s not like I need the money anyway.” 

He chuckled. “I forget that you’re like a multi-millionaire at 20.” 

You just shrugged. “Not my fault that I was basically his only family. I never asked for it.” Your eyes dropped to the shiny floor below. A hand was placed on your shoulder. 

“I know. I’m glad that you’re well off. Makes me feel better about not seeing you as much.” A sad smile graced his face as he looked at you. 

You tried your best to give him a genuine one in return. “I’m doing much better than I was.” 

“Have you showed Max your vast array yet?” 

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’. “I plan to soon, actually. I told him that I needed to go to Italy after this.” 

Seb raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything else. You went to talk, but familiar voices echoed in the big room. 

“Kid!” 

“Seb?” 

Your head whipped toward the sound. Ah, there they were. 

And they brought an assistant with them. 

Max and Christian looked at Seb in question as Vito brought the German into a big hug. You stood toward the side to watch the two friends reunite. The assistant took this opportunity to approach you. 

“Ah Miss L/n, so good to see you again!” 

“Again?” Max questioned, looking at you. 

The assistant turned to the Dutchman. “Yes. Miss L/n has been a patron at this establishment for years now.” He turned back to you. “I have the two models that you called ahead for. I will lead you to them.” 

The man turned on his heal and began to walk deeper into the room. 

Sebastian was now talking to Vito and Christian, which led to Max walking by you. 

“I didn’t know you’d been here before.” 

You looked up at him with a sly smile. “My godfather bought a lot of his cars from here and would take me with him. Some of the cars at the front are a part of his collection that I donated when he passed. He left me so many, I didn’t know what to do with them.” 

Max stopped in his tracks as you kept walking. Once he got over his shock, he sped up to catch you. 

“So many?”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Maxie, how much money do you think I have?” you asked, an innocent look on your face.

“Couple thousand?”

You shook your head. 

An eyebrow rose. “A couple hundred thousand?” 

Another shake as a mouth dropped. 

Max looked around before whispering, “Millions?” 

“Bingo. We’re going to tour my house when we go to Italy.” 

You kept on walking, leaving the even more confused Dutchman. 

“House?” 

A few steps more and you had caught up with the group of four men. Christian whistled at the sight of what lie before him. 

“Thank you Mr. Klein,” you shook the assistants hand as you looked at the two dark green cars in front of you. “Did the payment go through well?” 

The man nodded. “Yes it did. Mr. and Mrs. Fischer send their best regards and also thank you for the donation.” 

The four men (minus your manager) gawk at you. Yet, you were too busy beaming. 

“I’m so glad. Tell them that I will reach out the next time I’m here for longer. I want to see their children again, I miss them.” 

With a couple more goodbyes, weird stares, and going over plans to ship your Porsches to Monaco and England safely – you were on your way to Italy. 

Thankfully Sebastian wanted to join, saying something about how he hadn’t seen the house in forever. Which brought on more questioning looks from Max. 

However, Christian had to sadly say goodbye as he had a connecting flight to go somewhere else for business. You promised you’d send some pictures when you could. 

A chauffer had met you at the airport, names written in fancy calligraphy on a starch white piece of paper. 

The man gave you two cheek kisses as you greeted him. 

“Guido! Come stai amico mio?” (how are you my friend?) 

Max couldn’t wipe the look off his face as you began to talk to the older gentleman in perfect Italian. Vito only patted his shoulder. 

“You’ll get used to it. She’s definitely someone to unravel. You’ll get there.” 

The four of you then followed the man to the Rolls Royce that was waiting in the parking area. Suitcases were loaded in, and the three of you were on your way to your house. 

Or, more like mansion/estate/castle that Max found out as the car pulled closer. He turned to you. 

“Kid?” 

“Inheritance Max. Inheritance.” 

Your door was opened once the car was parked. Multiple people came out of the house, wanting to greet you. 

“La mia famiglia! Mi siete manvati tutti!” (My family! I’ve missed all of you!”) 

A couple of the staff took your bags as you walked through the giant doorway. Once you were through, you turned around and opened your arms. 

“Max, welcome to Casa di Lorenzo Alessandrino.” 

Max’s head was in a state of looking upwards as he walked in. He would have held his mouth open, but the interior seemed to demand respect as power and poise dripped from its walls. Now it was turn for Max’s hands to itch, wanting to touch everything.

Once everything was settled, you gave Max a tour as Vito and Seb went to go get some drinks. Your fingers twirled a special key ring as you led Max to your garage. 

You turned to him and gave a smile. “You ready?” 

Let’s just say, Max was not ready to see so many cars. Max let his jaw drop. 

The garage was deep and long, probably housing close to 40-ish cars. Your eyes glimmered as you looked at the older cars that you missed dearly. 

“You can go look you know,” you told Max as you made your way down the little staircase to the floor. Your heels clicked and echoed with each step. Max was quick to be on your tail. The Dutchman made his way quickly to each car, stopping for only a second before getting distracted by the next. 

You hummed as you looked at the empty spot among the Ferrari’s on the back wall. You pointed to it when Max came up beside you again. 

“The only car Lorenzo never had in his collection was the F40. I need to talk to Charles or Carlos about seeing how I can get one ethically. I want to complete the collection, but not pay far more than what it’s worth.” 

Max nodded, soaking in your words. He was about to say something, but a flash of orange caught his attention. His eyes sparkled as he looked at the spaceship looking car. 

“What kind of car is that?” 

You smirked as you gazed on your most prize possession. 

You walked closer and clicked the keys, making the car roar to life only for a second. (You don’t want to give you and Max monoxide poisoning.) 

Your hand ran over the orangey hues that covered the car.

“This is the Apollo Project Evolution.” 

Max looked down at the hyper car. 

“What that a V12?” 

“Yep. A Ferrari V12 to be exact. Three million dollars, one in ten made, over 700 horsepower, and completely street legal. I’d take you for a ride, but I would rather keep this between me and whoever knows about it.” 

You turned on your heel to start walking toward the door where you walked in. “I bought it because it reminded me of the spaceship from Guardians of the Galaxy.” 

Max snickered as he could imagine you at 14-years-old, watching that movie and falling in love with the space craft. Then, he imagined you last year, trying to find out how you could get your hands on it. 

He took one last glance at the big room, before following you back into the house. He softly shut the big door behind him. 

“Does Arthur know about this place?” he asked as he caught up to you, not wanting to get lost. 

You softly smiled at him. “Yes. I brought him here after Lorenzo passed away in 2020. I just didn’t want to be alone. Vito was here as well.” 

Max returned your sad smile. You and Vito had told him about the place on your way here. Tears were shed, hugs were given out, but you’d get through it. 

But then he suddenly pouted at the thought of you not bringing him here earlier. 

You tutted. “Don’t worry, Charles hasn’t been here if that’s what you’re pouting about.” 

That brought an instant grin to his face. You rolled your eyes at his childishness. Soon, you joined Vito and Sebastian in the kitchen. Aperol Spritzes lined the kitchen counter. Your hand reached one, before Vito was thrusting an different one into your hands. You pouted when you realized that yours was probably nonalcoholic.  

Sebastian snorted. “Let the kid have one.” 

“Vito, what do you think they do for podiums? Make sure mine isn’t actual champagne?” 

Vito rolled his eyes and handed you one from the kitchen counter. You quickly smiles and took a sip of the bubbly drink. 

“So kid, did you show Max the garage?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink. 

You nodded as you placed your cup down. “Yep!” 

“And the track?” 

“You have a track!?” 

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 glad to be back to my home away from home. Italia, quanto mi sei mancato. conserverai sempre ricordi preziosi e non posso ringraziarti abbastanza per amarmi da bambino. quando tornerò sarò sul podio, ne sono sicuro

(translation : italy how i've missed you. you will always hold precious memories and i can't thank you enough for loving me as a child. when i return, i'll be on the podium - i'm sure of it)

liked by sebastianvettel, vito_official, y/nlover, and 58,204 others

y/n's_fav who was going to tell me that our girl knows Italian?

y/n_updates she speaks it fluently! her godfather was Italian and taught her when she was growing up! y/n_on_top all I'm hearing is that her, Carlos, and Charles can now talk shit about Max if needed

charles_leclerc quindi Max non riesce a capire? (so max can't understand?)

y/n.89 no, quindi è ora di svelare i segreti dell'infanzia, Charlie (no, so spill the childhood secrets Charlie) carlossainz55 abbiamo molto da dire (we have a lot to tell) maxverstappen1 I CAN READ MY OWN NAME - I KNOW YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME y/n.89 senti qualcosa? (do you hear something?)

vito_official così felice di essere a casa. possiamo restare ancora un po'? Guido e Luigi dicono che gli manchiamo troppo (so glad to be home. can we stay a bit longer? Guido and Luigi say they miss us too much)

y/n.89 mi mancheranno così tanto. torneremo presto! (i'll miss them so much. we'll be back soon!)

sebastianvettel glad to have been able to go with you! I'll see you soon kinder!

y/n_in_italy NOT HER HOUSEKEEPERS'S NAMES BEING GUIDO AND LUIGI

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[sicbaby]

two words .. stalker Leon!

oh yes…. my favorite leon <3

he’s so sweet and such a gentleman on the outside. but then he meets you. you’re so pretty, a little older than him and he feels like he’ll never have a chance with you. it unlocks a dark, fucked up side of him he never thought he had.

being a cop gives him a lil bit of a power trip.. he develops a complex over it. even though he’s too shy to actually approach you, he’ll use his cop skills to get around, just to see you.

at first it’s coincidental, at least, that’s what u think. he finds out ur favorite coffee shop and meets u there every morning. police officer kennedy. he’s an attractive young man, cute and sweet and super polite.

he’ll sit in his patrol car outside of your work. waits for u to get out if it’s slow and he’ll follow close behind, memorizing your schedule.

hes satisfied with just this for a few weeks. your short interactions in the morning at the coffee shop are enough for him. until it isn’t.

it’s like there’s an itch deep inside of him that he can’t scratch, can’t get rid of. he’s had enough following you around, jerking off in his patrol car outside of your work thinking about you.

he starts breaking into your house. it’s easy. he’s a cop, and you’re just a dumb girl who lives alone and accidentally left her back window unlocked.

he’s careful, not wanting to rearrange things to the point where it’s noticeable. he steals a few of your panties, and not the clean ones in your drawer.

sometimes he’ll break in just to nap in your bed, smelling you in the sheets until he’s drifted off into a comfortable slumber. other times he’ll use your dirty panties to jerk himself off, cumming in them so he doesn’t get your bed all dirty.

like i said before, cop power trip. he suddenly has a master plan. he starts stealing small items one by one, until you finally notice. you’re on edge, thinking you’re crazy.

you come into the coffee shop one morning, constantly staring off into space until leon asks you what’s wrong.

you confide in him, too easily. but he’s a cop, isn’t he? and he’s so sweet, he’ll be sure to take you seriously and help you out. “i’m sorry to hear that, miss. but rest assured, i won’t let anyone harm you. i’ll personally look into this matter and make sure you’re safe.”

he asks to come over, see if there’s any sign of a break in. he tells you that you “shouldn’t be alone in a time like this.” he drives you over to your house in his patrol car. you’re so easy.

he takes his time with you, though. making sure to listen to your every concern, walking around the house and observing everything closely.

but inside he felt so damn powerful, having you place so much trust in him was turning him on. you had no idea.

“you know, i’ve really gone above and beyond to assist you here. it’s only fair that you show me some appreciation now.”

he walks forward, gripping your chin tightly and forcing you to look at him. “thank me.” he commands, voice low.

you mumble out a quick thank you, your heart racing in fear.

“good girl.”

“now get on your knees. show me how grateful you really are.”

he’s surprised at how quickly you comply. though that confused and worried look on your face is so cute to him.

you were trembling, hands shaking as you reach out to touch him once he gets his cock out for you. he’s painfully hard, and you wonder how long he’s been that way.

he grabs fistfuls of your hair as you suck on his cock messily. your submission and your obedience surprises yet pleases him so much.

this was his reward, his twisted satisfaction, as you fulfilled your duty to thank him for his supposed help. and as you succumbed to his control, leon knew that you were finally his. his to possess, to dominate, and to use as he pleases.

youre sucking him so good, he starts groaning a bunch of different shit. mixture of praise and degradation. he lets it slip that he’s your stalker, the one that’s been stealing your panties and other valuable items from your home, as if it wasn’t already obvious enough.

though your eyes widen, pausing your ministrations on his cock and looking up at him. tears fill your eyes.

“such a pathetic little slut. you thought you could escape me, didn’t you? but now, you’re here, on your knees, ready to serve me. and those tears? they only make me want you more.”

he relishes in his power even more, grabbing your hair roughly and forcing you to continue. your tears, those pretty little desperate sounds escaping your throat only made the experience more pleasurable for him. he wanted nothing more than to degrade you, break you until you were nothing.

he’d definitely keep you forever after that. cover up your disappearance. make you his sweet little housewife that no one knows about. his pretty little secret <3

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 30

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 27, part 28, part 29

“Thank you for inviting me over, again,” Wayne says as Claudia puts the casserole on the table. “It’s been a while since I’ve eating something other than hospital food.”

“Oh please, it’s no trouble at all,” she assures. “I’ve been asking Dusty to invite you over for weeks now. It never hurts to have a homemade meal. Especially when everything around us is so crazy.”

She has literally been asking Dustin to invite Wayne over for weeks. It gets brought up almost every night at dinner. He would have earlier, but he didn’t want to be an imposition. There was enough going on, Wayne didn’t need to answer all of his mom’s questions. Dustin having to dodge them was already hard enough.

But he knew that she would never stop asking. So finally, to give both him and his mom a break, from being asked and asking respectively, he extended the invitation. Making sure to stress that Wayne did not have to take it. And Dustin would bring the news to his mother and make sure that she never brought it up again.

That is not what happened, though. Wayne had taken a second to think and then thanked Dustin. Said it would be nice to finally meet his mom. And now they were meeting, and it totally wasn’t awkward as Claudia asks about every little thing known to man.

She means well, Dustin knows that. But questions can go from harmless to hurtful in seconds. Wayne’s been through enough heartache the past two months, he didn’t need more.  

“So, I hear that Eddie is doing well in his physical therapy.”

“Uh yeah,” Wayne says. Pushing his food around his plate a bit. “He’s gaining a lot of his strength back. A few more weeks and he might be able to come home.”

It might be less than a few weeks. Eddie’s been recovering a lot faster than the doctor’s initially thought. He’s able to stand, for short periods of time, with just some crutches or a walker. And he’s starting to be able to lift more with his arms. Realistically, he might be able to come home next week.

“Oh, well isn’t that great. I’m sure he will be glad to go home and sleep in his own bed.”

Except Eddie doesn’t have a real bed. Wayne’s been staying in a motel for months now. The upside down splitting his house in two. Ruining almost everything that they had.

“Mom,” Dustin whispers. “We talked about this.”

Dustin sees the optimistic look on his mother’s face fall. Realizing her wording and the faults that lie within it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I just meant that Eddie would be happy to sleep anywhere other than the hospital. That’s all.”

Wayne shakes his head. “I know. And I appreciate the sentiment. I’m sure he will be happy to get out of there.”

Dustin knows that he will. He’s been itching for something different. The neutral walls of the hospital and channels full of soap operas getting boring fast. The constant check-ins. The tests. Everything you would expect from a hospital. But it gets repetitive and annoying after a while. Especially when Eddie claims he doesn’t need half that crap now anyway.

He’s probably lying. Or being stubborn. But Dustin can’t help but agree to some extent. Until the little voice in his heads reminds him of what’s outside the walls of the hospital, and the world Eddie’s going to walk back into.

People have generally calmed down as time went on. The posters with taunts written in bright red ink have started to slow. The vandalism on Eddie’s locker is starting to fade. Less things get thrown at Dustin and the rest of the guys. People are starting to forget the manhunt. Their focus turned on the warming weather and making it through the last month of school.

The only thing that bothers him is the fact that Eddie hasn’t been seen in almost two and a half months. If he’s including the week of spring break. All the press had to right their articles where old pictures from the yearbook and anything they could get from the people who hated him. There’s no telling what the headlines will be once Eddie’s discharged.

As hard as Hopper has tried, Eddie is still branded as a suspect in the eyes of the public. The government is really dragging their feet to clean up their mess this time around. And there is no reliable person to pin this on like last time. The lab in Hawkins hasn’t been active in two years. It was in Nevada or wherever the hell El was while getting her powers back. And the quake can’t explain the string of murders, like the mall fire cover up did.

They’re at the dead end trying to fix this, but Eddie should be in the clear. There’s just that string of doubt that refuses to break in his mind.

“I’ve been seeing a lot of houses put up for sale in the paper,” Claudia continues their conversation. “Have you been looking at any of them?”

“A few. But nothing’s set in stone yet. I’ve been trying to get a place before Eddie gets out, but he might beat me to it.”

A house would definitely help the possible problems swirling around in Dustin’s mind. Eddie would have a place to hide. A bed that might be more comfortable than a motel’s. And a place where he can feel safe. Without the possibility of an eviction for poor company.

“Well, if you need help, I can give you the number of the realtor we used when we moved to town. If she’s still here, that was almost ten years ago. But she got us a great deal on this house, below asking price. With the way people are flooding out of this town, you should be able to get a good deal on one.”

Wayne smiles. “I’d love that, if you could.”

After the dinner, Claudia searches for the old business card of their realtor in the junk drawer. She finds it, somehow, and hands it to Wayne. Who thanks her for the meal and a great evening. Then goes on his way.

Dustin’s beginning to have a spark of an idea. It could work, he just needs to do some convincing.

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[corroded-hellfire]

Kitten Licks - Eddie Munson x Reader

Note: Eddie Munson and cats are literally two of my favorite things in the world, so voila. 

Summary: Eddie goes to feed the stray cats in the trailer park, but when he gets there, he finds a girl he’s never met before.

Warnings: none i don’t think?

Words: 1.7k

There were a lot of misconceptions about living in a trailer park. Everyone assumed people in Forest Hills would have a specific, southern accent, despite the fact that it was Indiana. Not every home was worn down, though there were some that had gone a few years without upkeep. Most everyone was clean, and Eddie could come up with maybe one person who was missing some teeth. But one part of the trope proved true at the small community in Hawkins. There were trailer park cats.

           They’d been there as long as Eddie could remember, and he’d been secretly feeding them for just as long. Giving food to stray cats didn’t fit in with his brand of DND playing metal head, but he had a soft spot for the furballs. Eddie used to hide the bag of cat food under his bed when he was a kid but stopped trying to hide his compassion for the animals and started keeping it in the pantry. He didn’t care if Wayne knew.

           New kittens were born every few months it seemed, and the meowing gang was always growing in size. The cats spent most of their time at the edge of the forest that neighbored the trailer park, but if Eddie went a few days without showing up, they’d venture further into the park to seek him out. He did his damnedest not to name them so he wouldn’t get attached, but he couldn’t help but give monikers to some of his favorites.

           Today had been a rougher than usual day for Eddie. Not that school wasn’t always brutal with the bullying and the hard classes and the snotty popular kids, but Eddie was pretty sure a third first day of senior year would be shitty for anyone. Third time was a charm, hopefully?

As soon as Eddie got home, he had the itch to get high. He knows himself though, and knows he’ll get super hungry, so he goes to grab a bag of chips to bring with him in his room. When he opens the pantry, his eyes land on the bag of cat food. Eddie’s brows pinch together as he tries to remember the last time he went to visit the felines. It’s been a little while. Normally, some of the cats would have made their way to the trailer by now. Especially the biggest one, a ginger tabby who acted like the leader of the pack. Tommy, Eddie calls him. He knows Tom Cat isn’t the most original name, but it’s not like he shares this with anyone anyway. Maybe he’s named after Tommy Lee, Eddie tells himself.

Eddie grabs the bag of food and heads towards the door. Hopefully the cats were alright. He wasn’t sure the last time they were this patient in waiting for him. Black boots thunk down the porch steps and Eddie makes his way to the edge of the property. His mind is wandering, straying to the different classes and teachers he had this year and if it was likely he’d actually pass everything this time around. Body on autopilot, Eddie turns around the last trailer before the cat hideout comes into view. Normally, when he swung around this corner, the meows in anticipation for food would begin. But there was silence. Eddie’s heart lurches at the silence until he sees the gaggle of cats in their normal spot, most of them already eating.

There’s a girl in the middle of the group, sitting among the cats. Small bowls surround her and by the smell, Eddie assumes they’re filled with tuna fish. Eddie tilts his head in curiosity and walks closer to the girl. Some of the cats lift their heads and meow at him in greeting. A few rub against his legs as he walks and he can’t help but smile down at them.

The meows make the girl turn around to look behind her and Eddie’s chest immediately aches. He doesn’t know where the phrase “heart skipped a beat” came from, because it felt like his was a thundering drum roll. She smiles at him, and every thought leaves his head. She’s hands down the most beautiful girl Eddie has ever seen.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is even better than the sound of his guitar.

“Hi,” Eddie answers. He knows he’s staring but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Her hair is so shiny, and her smile is so perfect, how could anyone not stare? He manages to shake off his shock and sits down next to the girl. A small gray kitten climbs in his lap and lets out a piercing mewl. Eddie reaches down to scratch between his ears before looking back at the girl.

“You’re new here.” It’s not a question. He knows he would’ve noticed her before.

“I am,” she confirms. “Just moved from Kentucky.”

“And what brings you to this paradise?” Eddie asks as an all-black cat purrs and rubs itself against the girl’s arm.

“My mom.” She looks down and strokes her hand over the black cat’s messy fur. “Hiding from the latest ex-boyfriend of hers.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure she’d want to talk about it, anyway. “It seems the cats like you.”

“Are you why they trusted me as soon as they smelled the food?” She smiles and nods her head at the bag of cat food at his feet.

“Must be,” he answers. “I’ve never seen anyone else feed them. But now that you’ve given them the good stuff, they might not be so satisfied with this dry bargain brand crap.”

Her smile crinkles her eyes and Eddie knows he’s a goner. But as if to prove him wrong about the food, Tommy stalks over and starts to chew on the bottom corner of the cat food bag.

“Dude,” Eddie says. He pulls the bag away so he can pour some out. “You didn’t have enough tuna, huh?”

“He didn’t have any,” the girl tells him. “He’s the only one who wouldn’t come near me.”

“Really?” Eddie looks over at her in surprise as Tommy begins to crunch the food on the grass in front of him. “He’s the one I can count on to seek me out if I haven’t been by in a few days.”

“That’s so cute,” she gushes. “He must really like you.”

Eddie shrugs and looks back to the orange cat. He keeps his eyes down on the food, never glancing up at Eddie to make sure he isn’t going to try and take it away.

“I guess he trusts me,” Eddie says.

“Where are you at?” the girl asks. “How far does the cutie have to venture to find you?”

“Oh. Just around the corner there,” Eddie says, gesturing in the direction of his trailer.

“Near Max?” she asks.

“You’ve met her?”

“Yeah, I live in the trailer next to hers,” she says.

“I live right across from her.”

“Oh.” She sounds pleasantly surprised, to Eddie’s delight. “That’s good to know. You go to Hawkins High?”

“Unfortunately,” he says.

“Tell me about it,” the girl says with a sigh. “I had a bad first day, so I decided to come out here with the cats.”

“Really?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “I did the same. Somehow these fuzzballs can make a bad day better.”

“They do,” she agrees. A small tortoiseshell kitten crawls in her lap and settles down for a nap. “Okay, don’t make fun of me, but I named this one.”

Eddie watches as she strokes her finger down the multicolored cat’s spine.

“I’m the last one to make fun of anybody,” Eddie says. “Plus, this big guy here is Tommy to me, anyway.”

She grins up at Eddie before looking back down to the kitten. “I named this cutie Ember. Because she has those little spots of orange that look like little fireballs.”

“That’s perfect,” Eddie says. And he means it. The name suits the sleeping little bundle of fur in her lap. “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

           She introduces herself and little Ember meows her high-pitched little kitten meow when she says her name. Both she and Eddie laugh, but not too loudly for fear of waking her up again.

           “I’ve never had a pet before,” she says. Her eyes never leave Ember as she scratches between her ears.

           “Neither have I,” Eddie replies. “I doubt these guys have ever had owners.”

           “Guess it’s a mutual relationship, then,” she says. She scratches under Ember’s chin for a few quiet minutes before she speaks, keeping her eyes on the kitten the whole time. “Can I ask you something?”

           “Sure.” He almost said “anything,” but he was able to keep it in at the last moment.

           “Would it be okay if I had lunch with you at school?” She swallows thickly and Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if her eyes were tearing up by the hitch in her voice. “You seem nice and today I had lunch out in the parking lot by myself.”

           “Of course,” Eddie says. “But I should warn you.”

           Now she looks up at him and her eyes are just barely shiny from unshed tears.

           “Of what?” she asks.

           “I sit with the biggest losers,” Eddie says with a laugh. “We all play Dungeons and Dragons and like the nerdiest shit. So, you might be called a freak just for associating with us.”

           She shrugs and shakes her head. “You don’t sound like freaks to me. You sound like a good group of friends. I would love to sit with you.”

           “We’d love to have you.” He pauses, internally debating before he gives in and continues. “I’d love to have you.”

           She smiles thankfully and Eddie isn’t sure he’s going to get used to that thumping in his chest she’s giving him.

           “Does the cafeteria serve good food?” she asks.

           “It’s not the best. Why?”

           She giggles and nods her head at Ember in her lap.

“I gave them all my lunch for the week.”

[turbulentscrawl]

BUNS HEAR ME OUT.

Top 5 most protective survivors with the ‘who did this to you’ trope.

Let’s just say their S/O gets injured maybe in a match and it’s evident by the damage of the body that it’s definitely not accidental as they claim. So we get a “who did this?”

Maybe this could be a HC for you to do one day lol

Oh this one is quick and easy! I did go back and forth on the exact order here, but these are my top 5s. There is some overlap with the one I just did, but for the sake of changing it up a bit we’ll say that in this case your injuries are obviously also not from a Hunter.

Ganji is at the top because I think he’d be the most emotionally reactive to this specific situation. He’s not as severe as Naib in his revenge, but survivors hurting survivors is a big deal. Like, you’re all stuck here, in limbo, suffering, and some bitch thinks they’re going to start turning it into a free-for-all, too? Fuck no. He feels bad about it later, but he is a little aggressive while trying to get you to admit who did it. He’ll soften a bit if it was a genuine accident, but he still thinks everyone’s been here too long for simple carelessness to be an excuse. If it wasn’t an accident? There are unspoken rules here, and if the manor isn’t going to enforce them, Ganji sure as fuck will.

Naib still has to have a place here, but he’s a smidge lower because his anger is more controlled and calculating. His protective urges in general are pretty off-the-charts and, while he can’t do much about a Hunter hurting you in a game since that’s kinda the point, he can do something about a fellow survivor. He won’t press you too hard while you’re recovering, but frankly it doesn’t matter if you won’t tell him how it happened or who did it. He’s spent years of his life digging up information about targets and this is no different. If anything, it’s easier because he knows the culprit was someone else in the match with you.

Patricia comes after Naib and Ganji because her emotions lean towards desperation more than anger or bitterness. She’s been itching for someone deserving to lay her blood curse on, and this is the perfect opportunity. Someone who was supposed to be an ally has hurt her love? That’s rotten. That’s sinful. She won’t leave you be until you spill who did it. She’s gentle, of course, but every waking moment she spends with you during recovery is spent asking or subtly coaxing you to admit what happened. She’ll give up on asking after several days, but will forever be watching to see if your interactions with the others change. If she suspects anyone in particular, they’re gonna have a little chat.

Andrew can’t see what reason a fellow survivor would have to hurt you, but then he really can’t see reason at all when he’s so angry. He’s not nearly as likely as the others to go out of his way for revenge after-the fact, and he’s not intuitive enough to find out who did it if you won’t tell him…but FUCK he’s mad. Andrew just spends the next few days stewing in anger, tense, sucking his teeth, and cursing randomly in quiet moments. If you or someone else from your match tells him who did it, he makes it clear that he isn’t doing shit for them going forward. Oh, what’s that, they got chaired? Downed? Well, guess they’re fucked. He’d rather take the match loss than save their sorry ass.

Orpheus’s exact reaction is going to depend a bit on when you catch him with all of this. Getting hurt in the matches is normal and frankly he’s a bit numbed to it in most circumstances. But this isn’t a normal match wound, is it, dear? Some of his personalities are more reactive than others, and all of them are quite good at digging. He was a detective, after all. In short, he would appreciate it if you told him who hurt you…but even if you won’t snitch, rest assured he will find out. Whatever happens after that depends on which personality is in charge at the time.

[loveinhawkins]

Dustin knows that as soon as you cut one monster’s head off, another is bound to grow in its place.

So when the late Jason Carver’s family and friends move out of Hawkins, he’s secretly glad about it, sure, but he’s not exactly relieved.

Rumours are a hard thing to kill.

He’s careful; he tries his hardest to be careful. On the occasional days that Eddie happens to pick him up from school, he makes sure Eddie parks down the sidewalk, so he’s out of direct view from the parking lot. In all honesty, he doesn’t think anyone would actually try to start anything; the cover story for Eddie’s innocence hadn’t been watertight, nothing ever is, but it had been enough to stop full blown accusations.

Still. Dustin starts to think that maybe monsters now come in the form of silent looks, of parents whispering as they pick up their children from school, whisking them away as if Eddie might turn them to stone with one glance.

“I’ve had whispers all my life, man,” Eddie had told him, blasé, “I’ll get over it.”

But Dustin figured he could at least spare him from hearing some of it; a little walk before catching a ride isn’t exactly a hardship.

But in all of his imagined worst-case scenarios—picturing himself having to defend Eddie from the town’s rubberneckers—Dustin doesn’t expect to be confronted in the middle of the school day.

And certainly not while he’s alone.

A junior stops him on the way to the cafeteria. Dustin racks his brain, comes up with the name Aaron, blanks on the surname; yet he’s sure that there’s no crossover with Jason and his crew.

“Henderson, right?” Aaron says with a seemingly pleasant smile.

Dustin’s hackles are up from just the way he says his name—it’s not like the way Eddie and Steve say it, rounded and soft with fondness. It’s cold, oil slick.

“Yeah,” he says shortly. He makes to step to the side; Aaron doesn’t stop him really, but his weight shifts subtly, as if to silently declare that there’s no room for argument.

“Come on, let’s take a walk.”

-

At first Dustin tries very hard to convince himself that it’s just a coincidence when Aaron leads him into the woods.

But then he sees the picnic table.

Eddie had described every interaction he’d had with Chrissy in a kind of vivid detail that bordered on desperate—almost as if by recounting it, he might find a scrap of impossible hope: that it hadn’t happened like he thought, that she might have somehow survived after all.

It’s like Dustin can see the memory of her now, can hear Eddie’s words. I noticed she was… jumpy, you know, but, Jesus, I just thought I must’ve spooked her.

“This is where he did it, right?” Aaron says. “Where it all started.”

Dustin stays very still. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb. I saw them that day, wandering off.” There’s a horrible gleam in Aaron’s eyes, and Dustin knows it’s been fuelled by the darkest of whispers. “They timed it so it looked like they went there separately, but I fucking saw them.”

“I’m not—”

“He cursed Chrissy here, didn’t he? Then he finished off what he started at his piece of shit trailer. Fucking creep.”

In his mind’s eye, there’s a flash of Eddie in Steve’s arms, something he saw unintentionally, waking in the early hours of the morning. He remembers quickly shutting his eyes again, but that hadn’t been enough to block out Eddie’s gasping, tearful breaths. I thought I could help her, Steve, I-I thought—oh, God—

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dustin says flatly.

He can hear Eddie’s voice in his head. Don’t rise to it, don’t give them an inch. But that had been about teachers itching for an excuse to give someone a detention, not…

“That’s right, Henderson, walk away. You a freak like him?”

The leaves rustle as Aaron stalks forward; Dustin doesn’t look back.

There’s some kinds of people you just can’t reason with, Henderson.

“Yeah, I think you are. Did he teach you everything? Bet you loved it. Bet you begged for it. Begged him to show you how to be a fucking faggot—”

Dustin doesn’t remember actually deciding to throw a punch. It’s like the next few seconds of his life turn to static, to nothing, and suddenly he’s breathing heavily, and Aaron’s looking up at him from the ground in faint surprise.

It must not have been a good punch; there’s not a mark on Aaron’s face, and when Dustin glances down at his knuckles, he can’t see any blood on them. He probably just caught Aaron in the chest—winded him, if anything.

But he stands his ground. Tries to channel how Steve had squared up to Billy Hargrove.

“Say that again, and you’re dead.”

His heart pounds in his ears, a drumbeat of fury. He wonders if maybe a part of him has never stopped being twelve years old, has never stopped being angry when people spat poison about Will.

“No,” Aaron says, getting to his feet, “you are.”

And Dustin is shoved backwards. His ankle is still weak from that damn fall through the gate, so he goes down hard.

And as he lies there, trying to catch his breath through the flare of pain, he suddenly realises that no-one knows where he is. That he could get really, really hurt.

Aaron looms over him, saying nothing. He spits in Dustin’s face.

And then he leaves.

-

“Where were you?” Mike asks the period after lunch, passing over a cup of chocolate pudding he’d saved.

Dustin spins a tale about having lunch in the music department, waiting for a slot to become free for guitar lessons. It’s not technically a lie; he’d simply planned on doing it next week instead: just a taster session so he could tell Eddie about it, and then Eddie would bitch about promising youth getting ruined by learning “fucking godawful technique”, and then he’d teach Dustin properly.

Mike buys it, but his forehead wrinkles in concern when Dustin doesn’t touch the pudding.

Dustin bites down the stupid impulse to ask him about how it felt to jump off Sattler Quarry—because right now he thinks he’s been left dangling over the edge of a cliff.

Just waiting to fall.

-

He thinks he’s doing an okay job at hiding the persistent throb in his ankle, takes care to walk to Eddie’s van with his head up.

But then Eddie opens the door, and his first words are, “Hey, are you limping?”

Dustin just stops himself from sighing. Plan B, then.

“Had to run track at gym,” he lies easily.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I thought it would be fine!”

“C’mon, man, you’ve got a doctor’s note for a reason.”

Dustin does sigh this time—a harsh, frustrated sound as his ankle gives another warning twinge. He doesn’t stop himself in time, and he snaps, “God, you sound like Steve. It doesn’t suit you.”

The surprised glance Eddie gives him is awful. He’s silent for a moment, starting up the engine.

“Didn’t realise only Steve could care,” he says lightly, but Dustin can see the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But while a part of him instantly regrets what he says, another part is relieved: he knows that, for now, Eddie won’t pry anymore, will just give him a pointed silent treatment for the rest of the ride.

Dustin tells himself that he doesn’t mind. He’d rather Eddie be hurt by his words than anyone else’s.

He can do this. He can handle this on his own.

He has to.

[cowgurrrl]

i love oftm fam so much 🥹 i would love literally any updates on them :)

OFTM GANG RISE UP 🗣️🗣️🗣️

How Could I Not Love You?

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: this isn’t my favorite but I miss them desperately

Summary: “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” [2.5k]

Warnings: newborn stuff, angst, the Garcia-Long family coming in clutch, god they are so in love it hurts, smutty dialogue toward the end but no smut because I chickened out

You don't know that you've ever been this tired. The girls have been in the world for a whopping two and a half months, and you feel like you've been awake for the entirety of those two months. None of the Miller kids are particularly good sleepers— even Sarah didn't sleep through the night until she was two and a half, which Joel conveniently forgot to tell you when you talked about having kids— but with the addition of the girls, it feels much harder. They wake up at different times throughout the night to feed, get changed, or be held, which complicates the rotation. Also, Sam's sleep schedule has regressed, and he's up at random times. Having three under five is not all it's cracked up to be.

You love Joel, and you love watching him be a dad, but your relationship has suffered through the just-barely-surviving stage of having newborns. You try to make time to watch a movie or just talk, but whenever you do, someone starts crying. Even if you're able to sit down for more than five minutes without a kid needing something, you're half-asleep and in no shape for a conversation. 

It didn't hit you how much of a toll it's taken on you until you were up for one of the late-night feeds with Violet, and he lay there, watching you through the darkness. You turned to look at him and reached out with your free hand to smooth down some stray hair. He smiled sleepily and turned to kiss your wrist before whispering, "I miss you." You wanted to say that he doesn't need to miss you, and you're right there, but you weren't. Not really.

"I miss you, too," you whispered back, feeling the sting of the truth on the back of your tongue. You wanted to say more—to remind him how much you love him and tell him how you couldn't do this without him—but Sophia's tinny cry closed the window of opportunity before it could fully open. 

You love your kids. You couldn't imagine anything better than watching them grow and interact with each other. They are so wanted and loved, but it still feels really fucking hard. You're sitting on the couch, feeding a baby while Joel bounces another and plays Army men with Sam, feeling like a horrible wife and mother, when the lock turns on your front door and your second family enters.

Carolina, Ryan, Elizabeth, Victoria, and Penelope descend upon your living room like well-meaning vultures, and you give them a confused look. Penelope immediately runs to Sam, and they embrace in their awkward toddler way before they scurry off to his room to play. Victoria, now nine and looking more like Carolina every day, gushes over Daisy. Elizabeth, in her teenage grace, plops down next to you on the couch and squeezes you, trying not to disturb Sophia too much.

"What are you doing here?" You ask Carolina, looking at her like she's a saint, and she smiles. 

"I heard you could use a break," she says. You're about to argue with her and insist that you've got everything under control, but she stops you. "We have two and a half adults, play buddies for Sam and Daisy, and nothing to do for the rest of the day. Plus, I've been itching to hold a baby." She explains. You turn to look back at Joel, who is now babyless and standing next to a baby-equipped Ryan, and give him a look.

"Did you do this?" You ask.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world if we went to dinner alone?" Just the idea of an actual dinner is enough to make you waver. You've both been living off of takeout and Sam's leftovers since the girls were born, and you're dying for a change of scenery. There's more than enough frozen breastmilk in the fridge for the girls, and they're at ease with their aunt and uncle. Sam is ecstatic to have someone to play with, and Daisy looks excited to get some attention. Surely, a few hours couldn't hurt. 

"Fine, but you can't make me wear pants." 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Joel says. Once Sophia is done feeding, you hand her off to Carolina and show Elizabeth where everything is. They don't need a rundown of everything a newborn needs, but it makes you feel better to ramble about their routine to make sure it all gets done. 

With all the kids placated, you and Joel sneak off to your room to change out of the clothes you've been wearing for God knows how long. You put on a maxi dress and spray dry shampoo in your hair while Joel buttons up a nice shirt. 

"Thank you," you say as you put on earrings, glancing at him in the mirror. “You didn't have to do this." He gives you a confused look but shakes it off with a quick kiss to your cheek.

"I wanted to. You deserve a break."

"We deserve a break," you correct, and he hums as he wraps an arm around your waist. Even though he hasn't been dealing with postpartum and breastfeeding problems, he's still been in the trenches with you. For a quiet minute, you stand together and take a breath for the first time in months. Yeah, you desperately needed this. 

You quickly finish getting ready before your plans can get thwarted and are shooed out of the house by Carolina and Ryan. They promise to text you updates and have everyone in bed on time, but don't pressure you to come home early. "We've got this," Carolina says with enough conviction that you can believe her. Still, your anxiety spikes once you're down the driveway, and you have to convince yourself that everything is okay. Joel grabbing your hand and asking you a question pleasantly distracts you. 

The autumn sun slowly sets over the California hills and casts a golden glow over Joel's face, catching the grays in his hair and beard beautifully. He's fifty now and older than he ever thought he'd be. He told you as much on the night of his birthday, along with his fears of being an older dad and husband. "I just don't wanna miss anythin'," he said. You reminded him that he was only fifty and he's in exceptional health for someone who spent most of his thirties and forties making music and bouncing around the world on tours. Plus, aging looks good on him. 

You talk about little things like how he's scribbled lyrics onto a notepad he keeps beside the bed or how Daisy has adjusted to having three little kids around instead of one. You're in the middle of saying something when he makes a familiar turn, and you can't stop the laugh from leaving you as the restaurant comes into view. 

"Are you serious?" You ask, looking at him with a big smile, and he shrugs.

"What?" He asks, as if he's not stopping in front of the restaurant where you had your first (contractually obligated) date. 

"Joel, we haven't been here in…" you trail off as you do the mental math before gasping. It's ten years to the day of your first date. Guilt immediately pools at the base of your spine, but Joel just sits there with a smirk on his face. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize. I've been so caught up with Sammy and the girls and-" he leans over the center console and kisses you before you can continue rambling. 

Normally, you make it a point to remember days like this. Your first date, breaking up, getting back together, getting engaged, getting married, all of it. That's why it's so shocking that you forgot about it, and on a milestone year, no less. 

"I'm so sorry." You say, and he shakes his head. 

"I didn't say anything, so it could be a surprise," he says. "I called Caro and Ryan about a month ago to set this up, and I rented out the whole restaurant, so it's just us. We don't have to worry about cameras or fans or anythin'." 

Of fucking course, he would do something like this. You sigh and drop your head to his shoulder. 

"I didn't even get you anything." You mumble guiltily. He chuckles and kisses your temple.

"You just had two of my kids. I think that's more than enough." He says. You could spiral about feeling like a bad partner (how could you forget when your life together started?), but you have plenty of time for that. For dinner, however, you're on the clock. So, you push the thoughts away for now and stare at your husband fondly.

"I love you so much it's stupid," you say, and he smiles.

"Right back atcha, baby." He says. Much like he did on your first date, he gets out first and gives the car keys to the valet before opening your door for you. You take his arm and walk into the restaurant with him. There's no need for a hostess since there's only one table set up in the space, and it's impossible to miss it. Beautiful flowers surround the table, already set with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of red roses like the ones he turned up at your door with. He pulls your chair out for you and steals a kiss before moving to the other side of the table. Light, romantic music plays over the speakers, and the candle flickers in the middle of the table. It's perfect. 

The bottle of wine is from the year you were married, and it has a special label bearing both your names. You haven't had any wine for almost a year, and Joel, knowing this, evidently pulled out all the stops. He pours each of you a glass and raises it in a toast. "Thanks for going on a second date with me," he says, and you laugh. 

"Thanks for giving me a reason to." You say and clink your glass against his. The wine is amazing, and it's not just because you haven't had any in so long. You spend some time catching up with each other and talking about nothing important until a very nice waiter comes by to take your orders. Besides the waiter coming and going, you're left alone with Joel, with nobody crying or asking you for anything. It's nice, if not a little strange. 

You take your time eating and drinking and giving Joel your full attention. You laugh together and get butterflies when he kisses your hand or brushes his knee against yours. It's a little silly to get so worked up over such small gestures, but it's been a hot second since you've had adult time, so you figure it's fair. God forbid you still find your husband attractive. 

In the middle of dessert, a special request of Texas Trash Pie— which doesn't come close to his mother's but is still delicious— you look up from the dish and find whipped cream in his beard. You snort a laugh at the sight, and Joel furrows his brows.

"What?" He chuckles. You gather your napkin in your hands and reach out to wipe his face, not unlike you do with your son, and he blushes a little when he realizes what was making you laugh. "Can't believe you still like a mess like me." He says before taking another bite and somehow getting more on his face. Once you're full and pleasantly tipsy from the wine, you scoot your chair closer to Joel, and his hand finds a home on your thigh. 

You can't stop staring at him. You track the changes you've watched unfold over the past decade: a little more grey on his temples, the creases next to his eyes a little more prominent, and his hair a little longer. He still has that indescribable sparkle in his eye that you think can only be a product of his joy. Your heart squeezes when it only intensifies as he looks at you. 

"We've been together a long time," you say, and he hums. "Ten years, five kids, one dog, three finished albums, and one in the works."

"And four movies, an Academy Award, and how many others?" Joel chimes in, never the one to just accept praise, and you roll your eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," you say, making him smile. You grab his left hand and trace his gold wedding band back and forth and back and forth a few times before you look at him again. "I mean, considering everything, we've done pretty well for ourselves. Can you handle ten more years with me?"

"I'd take a hundred more years with you." He says so quickly it takes your breath away. "I'd do it all over again if it meant this would be our life." 

"Even though we have to change shitty diapers and get no sleep?" You ask, the question betraying the sudden tears, and he laughs.

"There are worse things." Like thinking you'll never see each other again. Like running out of time. Like never seeing him in our children's faces. Yeah, there are much worse things. You take a deep breath and squeeze his hand. 

"I love you." You whisper like you told him you missed him not even a week ago. 

"I love you, too." He whispers back as he kisses you sweetly. The waiter lets you linger for another half an hour before dropping the check and very politely tells you they'll be closing soon. Joel leaves a big tip as an apology for staying so late and personally thanks all the staff who worked to make this possible. He's all Southern charm and manners, even as you leave the restaurant and wait for the car. 

"Thank you for tonight." You say, and Joel gives you a look. 

"Y'know, we don't have to go back just yet. The kids are all in bed. Carolina and Ryan said to enjoy each other." He says, and you squint at him, a smirk pulling on your lips.

"And what would we do with all that extra time?" 

"I might've reserved a room in a hotel nearby, just in case. We can order breakfast to the room early and be home before the kids wake up." 

"Do Caro and Ryan know about this?" You ask, but you already know the answer. You scoff a little and shake your head before stepping close to him. "You must've been really desperate to fuck your wife to plan all this, huh?" Your lips brush against the shell of his ear, and you swear, you feel him shudder. 

"Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna take such good care of you."  

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethksplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 9

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: a little bit of angst and self-doubt, a little bit of backstory, self-serving pretty flowery apologies, and i made the boys kiss again

*Content warnings are updated by chapter*

Word Count: 1.7K

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

He’s about ready to own up to it when Autumn walks in, admit what he’s done and face the consequences. He’s pissed her off before and survived — he doesn’t doubt he can do it again.

She sidles up beside him at the register and he’s going to tell on himself when she says something that makes his eyes widen. “Nick texted you?”

His mind reels, wondering how she knows. When he glances over, he’s expecting anger in her expression, or at the very least annoyance. Instead he finds her smiling at him, expression soft.

“How did you know?” he inquires, wracking his brain for an explanation but coming up with nothing. His stomach turns when he envisions Autumn pounding on the door of Nick’s house, or barging into the bar, berating a stranger for something that shouldn’t be her problem. Autumn, as always, coming to his rescue when he can’t do it himself.

He feels sick.

“Do you remember my friend Jasmine?” Autumn offers, and there’s a beat when he questions the relevance of the question. He remembers her vaguely — she and Autumn were friends while Noah was living in Baltimore, a coworker from the university. They’d met once, when Noah came home for the weekend, but he didn’t stick around. It just didn’t feel like home anymore. He was happy that she had someone like Jasmine to fill the void he’d left when he vanished.

He distantly wonders why they don’t see each other anymore before his heart drops, remembering what happened to her. He sees her face, his mind traveling to the photo on the end table in Nick’s living room. Her pretty dark hair, her kind smile.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t connect it, and he feels painfully foolish. Not knowing what else to say, he nods.

“He’s a good guy, Noah,” Autumn utters, a sigh on the edge of her voice as if she hates to admit it. He knows that she’s right, and just recently he would have done anything for her to think so, but right now it makes him feel like he’s out of people on his side. He still needs her on his side. “He’s been through a hell of a lot, but he wants to fix this.”

He imagines how the conversation might go tonight. His mind conjures the image of an apology, at Autumn’s instruction, but yet another letdown. It isn’t the first time someone hasn’t wanted him, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. Already, he’s itching to disappear again. Asheville might be nice this time.

It already took everything in him to come back here. It took even more out of him to open his heart again, and he really thought he’d picked the right one this time — it felt right, didn’t it?

His mind shifts suddenly back to the last time something felt right, the overwhelming joy he’d felt, and rapidly to the look on Aiden’s face when Noah had the nerve to ask if he wanted to get married, to the bellowing laughter and the pity painted across his face that read oh, you poor thing. When he got home from work the next day, half of the apartment was emptied out. He didn’t see him again, but every inch of Richmond stunk of the 3 years of memories they made together.

He knows what it’s like to want to disappear. He knows how hard it is to come back. It isn’t the same, but he knows how it feels for your life to stop dead in its tracks.

It’s a little past 8 already, anxiety bubbling up in his gut as he’s pacing back and forth across his living room. There’s a part of him hoping that Nick doesn’t show, leaving Noah to fill in the blanks on his own, fizzling out slowly and painfully but without a direct and detailed hit to his ego.

Autumn and the guys have gone out to give them privacy, and the thought of being left alone for even a moment after Nick shatters him all over again makes his chest ache. He doesn’t want them to be here to watch it happen, but he still wishes they’d stayed. He can’t be by himself.

His spiral is interrupted by three knocks in quick succession.

He’s nauseated, shaking with nerves, but he can’t deny that he misses Nick. He misses his face, his voice, the way his lips spread into a smile seemingly against his will. At least he’ll get to see him one last time before he disappears from Noah’s life for good, another black mark on his romantic history.

When he swings the door open with shaking hands, he finds himself unprepared for what he sees on the other side. Nick, looking more timid than Noah’s ever seen him, with a hastily put together bouquet of flowers and the most hopeful expression in his eyes.

It’s not at all what he expected.

“I’m sorry I’m a little late, I—” Nick starts, unsteady on his feet and jittery. Noah won’t let himself get his hopes up, but the urge to reach out and touch him is almost unbearable. This was a terrible idea. “I didn’t ask Aut what flowers you like, so…I hope you like hydrangeas.”

He envisions Nick at the shop, agonizing over which flowers to choose to let Noah down easy. He imagines him speaking with a kind stranger who passes by behind him, asking for advice, hurriedly placing together blue hydrangeas, baby’s breath, eucalyptus leaves, and hoping for the best as he rushes out. It’s a lot of effort to put into a heartbreak.

And Noah does love hydrangeas. An awfully pretty flower to sit in a vase on his coffee table to taunt him as he agonizes through his loss.

He guides Nick inside and tries not to let his mind drift backwards to their last encounter on this couch. It’s a struggle every time he’s in this room, not letting himself relive every moment, the floating feeling to the sinking, empty nothing.

They should have done this somewhere else. He’s not looking forward to adding another painful memory to the living room’s history, especially if he wants to stick around after this one.

Each second Nick spends fiddling with his hands instead of making eye contact and getting on with it drags. The bouquet sits sadly on the coffee table and he wonders if he should busy himself with putting them in a vase with water, a distraction from the impending whatever, but he doesn’t want to waste the water. He should probably throw them out.

“You can rip the band-aid off, Nick,” Noah starts, and he isn’t expecting the surprised and hurt expression that casts itself across Nick’s face. His eyes get so sad, concern obvious, and it’s only then that Noah wonders if this might be a different kind of visit altogether. Even through the overwhelming feeling of dread, he feels awfully soft for him. “It’s okay, Nicky, I’m listening.”

“I’m so sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t want you, or that you weren’t making me happy,” Nick starts, and Noah feels as the weight begins to lift off his shoulders, as the tightness in his chest loosens. Nick takes a few deep breaths, a sort of shaky breathing that Noah recognizes. He doesn’t want to let himself have hope, but he watches as the nerves he recognizes in Nick take a different shape than he’d expected. “I haven’t been that happy in a long time, Noah, and I didn’t think it was something that I deserved. It scared the shit out of me.”

It’s against Noah’s own will when the tears start falling. There’s a tiny but clawing part of him that still thinks this is bad—that these flowery, pretty apologies are just an elaborate setup for a letdown that makes Nick look good at the end of it all. When Nick reaches out to place a shaky hand hesitantly on Noah’s knee, still speaking but Noah can’t make out a single thing through all the whooshing in his ears, Noah feels hope for the first time. He forces himself to focus.

“I’m sorry, I’m listening,” Noah says, and the smile Noah loves shows itself for the first time this visit—a wide grin spreading across Nick’s face although his nerves are still so blatant. Nick reaches out to touch Noah’s face, and he almost wants to shy away but doesn’t. He lets Nick trace a thumb over his cheek, wipe away his tears, just in case this is the last time he can have this.

“I know I still have a lot to do to make it up to you, but you deserve to be really happy, and I want to be the one to make you happy,” Nick says, and there’s such sincerity in his tone that it’s unmistakable. There are tear tracks down his cheeks, too, and Noah knows he means it. “If you’ll let me give it a try. I may not be any good.”

It’s something they’ll have to talk about further. They’ll have to spend a lot of time working through it, and Noah will have to give him a lot of shit, but his focus narrows in on one thing. And that’s having him.

He scoots himself closer to Nick, watches him relax as Noah places a hand on his cheek. 

“I would never ask you to unlove her,” Noah says, to which Nick is quick to nod. “Just talk to me. Make a little room for me.”

“I promise I will,” Nick responds, placing a hand over Noah’s on his cheek and the poor thing is still shaking. Noah hasn’t felt so steady in a long time.

He pours his heart into the kiss they share, finding himself praying that they can keep this. That for once, he can get what he wants. He feels that hope grow just that little bit bigger when Nick’s lips move to his cheek, a sigh of relief pressed into the skin of Noah’s face.

“No boy has ever bought me flowers before,” Noah whispers, feeling Nick’s grin spread once more, pulling Noah ever closer.

tags: @concretenoah . @circle-with-me . @darksigns-exe . @ladyveronikawrites . @agravemisstake . @monotoniscreaming . @cookiesupplier . @bngurngheart . @jiizzy . @screamsinsilver . @iknownothingpeople . @anameunmusical . @sitkowski . @baddestomens . @itsafullmoon . @collapsedglasshouses

[itsrheasgirl]

WILL YOU LOVE ME TOMORROW?

Chapter 1

RHEA RIPLEY X FEM!READER

WORD COUNT: 2235

SUMMARY: THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP ISN’T ALL RHEA LOSES WHEN SHE’S FORCED TO TURN ON HER TAG TEAM PARTNER AND LONG TERM GIRLFRIEND IN ORDER TO GET A PUSH IN HER CAREER, BUT ONLY TIME WILL TELL IF ALL IS LOST.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: N/A FOR THIS PART.

- - - - - - -

The WWE and how its writers worked had never seemed to faze Rhea. She’d become so used to them throwing curveballs in her career that when Triple H pulled the two of you into his office after an average Monday Night Raw, she knew something was coming. It had been two weeks since the announcement had been made public that she would fight alongside you for a shot at the women’s tag team championship and you couldn’t be more excited if you tried, but Rhea, she knew it all seemed too easy. She hadn’t faced a title match recently without some sort of trouble to follow. They were pushing her career and she knew that, but she wished they would cut her some slack.

“So… we’ve got the breakdown for next weeks match and I just wanted to run it past you both in person.”

Immediately Rhea knew something was off. When it came down to the game plan, it always came via email, the full break down from beginning to end. Interviews and all.

Placing her palm down onto your thigh and giving it a comforting squeeze, she turned her sapphire gaze in your direction as a quizzical expression captured her features. You could feel the tremor that vibrated her palm as it lay against your exposed skin, your own fingers winding with hers to keep her hand steady.

It had only been a few months since you and Rhea had made your relationship public— even though you’d been in an off screen relationship for almost a year, but it had been welcomed with open arms by your fellow co-workers and the general public weren’t exactly mad about it either.

Inhaling a shallow breath, Rhea pulled her focus from you and turned back to face Triple H head on as he leant back in his chair, chewing nervously at her lower lip.

“Demi you have to remember I don’t make the rules, this wasn’t my plan for you and I don’t want to hurt you— Either of you.”

Rhea’s palms began to sweat as the words sunk into her already panicked thoughts, mixing with the confusion that was washing over her about the whole situation. Triple H’s deep hues flicking away from his lock on her and over to you as he spoke. Your grasp around Rhea’s hand tightened slightly as you contemplated what had been said. He didn’t want to hurt you. What did that even mean?

“I tried my best to change this, I need you both to understand that but it was already approved, I was too late.”

Rhea’s heart began to pound in her chest, her panic only getting worse with each word that left Triple H’s lips. What could they possibly have planned that would shake up such a strong man to the point he had to apologize?

“Just spit it out, Paul!”

Rhea snapped, as she released your hand and slammed both her palms down hard against the desk before her. The loud bang echoing in your ears and causing a small gasp to bubble in your throat, you grasped gently at her shoulder and graze your thumb slowly along her soft skin.

“It can’t be that bad, baby.”

Your gaze was locked on Rhea as you continued to trace small circles against her shoulder blades, but hers was fixated on Triple H. He still hadn’t told you the breakdown and it was starting to itch at her brain, like a tic burrowing into her conscious.

“Then why are we here? Why wasn’t this sent out just like every other week? If it’s not that bad then why is he acting like this?”

Rhea’s jaw was clenched, the veins in her temples flaring and her fingertips turning white as she gripped at the edge of the desk. Each passing seconds causing more and more tension between the two individuals as you tried your best to keep Rhea calm.

Triple H inhaled a staggered breath as he joined his palms and placed them down against his desk, glancing at you swiftly before shifting his gaze down to his hand.

“You lose.”

Rhea’s features don’t even shift as she scoffs to his response, her eyes rolling in annoyance as she fights back a sarcastic laugh. Triple H wouldn’t have called the two of you into his office for a simple loss, you’d both experienced loses in your career and not once had they made such a big deal out of it.

“And that helps my push how, Paul? Because if I remember correctly the last time you had me in here you were telling me I was a superstar and about to get the headlines I deserved.”

She couldn’t take much more of this, it was all too cryptic and if she didn’t get answers from Triple H soon then she’d go get them from someone she knew wouldn’t make her wait.

“They’re breaking you up Dem, they want you to turn on Y/N after the match. That’s it, okay. Team’s over. I tried to fight for you, both of you. I told them this wasn’t fair but the decision is made and the betrayal is already in motion.”

Rhea’s heart sank in her chest as she bolted upright to a standing position, her chair flying backwards and almost toppling over as she once more slammed the flat of her palms down against Triple H’s desk.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

You could see the sudden shock claim Triple H’s features as he witnesses Rhea’s outrage, his lips parting slightly in search of what to say next. Not like he really had the time to respond as Rhea shoved at his desk to drive it back towards him, her nostrils flaring as she once more raised her voice.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend Paul, what sick son of a bitch would write this. What kind of a story arch is it to destroy an actual fucking couple?”

You couldn’t believe the rage that was starting to burn behind Rhea’s eyes, her sparkling sapphire blues casted in a shade of black as she began to pace back and forth across the room, your gaze flitting between her and Triple H as he simply watched her without a word.

“You know what, no.”

Rhea stopped in her tracks and snapped her piercing gaze down to Triple H as he went to speak, her tone filled with so much upset and heartbreak.

“Change it, or I don’t fight!”

Rhea didn’t even give him time to reply before her swift strides had her moving in the direction of the door, swinging it open to have the block of wood collide with the wall behind it as she disappeared into the hallway.

It took a few moments for words to be exchanged once more, Triple H’s expression cloaked with disappointment as he turned his attention towards you. He could tell you were hurting too— even though you were hiding it well, exhaling a shallow breath before he addressed you head on.

“I’m sorry.”

Was all he was able to spit out as his broad palms rubbed over his face, words trapped in his throat as he process the best way to continue going.

You hadn’t taken your eyes off the door in which Rhea had left so abruptly, secretly hoping she’d come back and talk this out. You knew all about the push WWE had planned for her— you’d talked about it in length over a bottle of wine the night she’d found out, but you didn’t expect they would be separating you so soon. You were thrilled that Rhea was finally getting the shot she’d worked so hard for, but in turn it left you in the dust. Thrown aside like a used Kleenex.

Finally giving up on the idea of Rhea’s return, you shift your focus back to your management as he still sat face in palms at his desk. Maybe you’d have to be the one to talk with Rhea and bring her round to the idea, you wanted her to thrive— to be the superstar you knew she truly was and if that meant losing her, then so be it.

“What’s the rest of the plan, Paul?”

You questioned. Your tone was calm and almost consoling as your fingers wrapped around Triple H’s palm and pulled it down from his face, holding onto his callus fingers as you searched his gaze for a moment.

“I’ll talk to her. I can fix this, just tell me what she needs to know and I’ll make her listen.”

Maybe the words coming from you wouldn’t sting as hard and things would be able to play out the way the WWE intended, Rhea always listened to you when it came down to the importance of her career and if losing her meant she would become the strongest contender in the women’s roster, then that’s what would have to happen.

Triple H had yet to speak and you were beginning to worry, maybe this betrayal was worse than you thought. Giving his palm one more gentle squeeze, you release your hold and placed your palms flat against his.

“I can take it, Paul. Just tell me what she needs to know. Please.”

With a long exhale, Triple H finally lifted his gaze to meet your questioning ones. His lips curving into a warm smile as he leant back in his chair and placed his palms on the back of his neck.

“Edge wants her. The game plan is that she’s eventually going to be the newest addition to The Judgement Day.”

Your heart tightened in your chest, your palm slowly sliding off the table to fall into your lap and you swallowed back the saliva that had pooled on your tongue. The Judgement Day, that’s what they had planned for Rhea? They were taking her away from you to put her with Edge?

Sure you had problems with Edge and Beth, both of them causing past issues for your career and leaving you almost ready to call it quits all together, but that’s where you are Rhea differed. She was strong. She could take a beating and keep going, nothing slowing her down. She didn’t need you to protect her, she could handle herself and this situation would be no different.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek and fighting back the desire to blow up in Triple H’s face, you force your lips into a faux smile. You didn’t want to be the reason Rhea’s career took a hit, even if the idea of Edge getting his hands on your girl tore at your heart. The Judgement Day could take Rhea places you couldn’t and as much as it hurt you, her career would always come first.

“When?”

Was all you could ask in a calm tone, worried that if you said much more your anger would become evident and you didn’t want Triple H to feel worse about the news he was giving you.

“Three weeks.”

Your mind went blank, you couldn’t breathe, the world around you felt like it was beginning to spin and all you could focus on was Rhea’s happiness. You had to— because if even for a second you let that focus slip, you’d lose her completely. You had to let your issues with Edge be just that, your issues and you had to support your girlfriend if you planned to keep her.

You wanted to say more. Triple H didn’t deserve to be belittled anymore than Rhea’s reaction already had done, but you couldn’t think of what was best. You could thank him for trying to stop the break up of your tag team, for supporting Rhea and helping her get the attention and success she deserved or you could just get up and leave. You’d already told Triple H you would let Rhea know the plan and now you knew it, there was no need for you to be there anymore.

Swallowing back more saliva that collected on your tongue, you rose from your seat and moved round to stand at Triple H’s side, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

The room fell silent for a few more moments as you both delved into a deep contemplation, neither of you opening your mouth to speak first. There was a lot more to this situation that you wanted answers about, but you needed to get back to Rhea. You hoped she’d gone back to the hotel, but there was no knowing where she was until you went looking.

Placing your palm down onto Triple H’s shoulder, you gave it a gentle squeeze. He always looked out for Rhea and when the two of you had gone public about your relationship, he had been the most supportive out of the entire faction. He’d done all he could do and you were thankful for that, but now it was your job to convince Rhea she had to do this. For her future.

Crossing the room with swift strides, you turned back to face Triple H with a warm smile. He’d been put through a ringer of emotions and you didn’t want him thinking he’d caused damage that couldn’t be fixed. Exhaling a shallow sigh, you pulled your palm through long curls before knotting it up on the top of your head.

“Thanks for trying to save us, Paul.”

- - - - - - - - -

TAGLIST: @girlofpink @rebecca-quin @bl0w-m3 @coolbeans-17 @noellia @rooskaya-yelena

[yowyowyaoi]

Kisame’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Deidara

Me and Tobi found a big muddy hole full of earthworms, let’s go fishing! 😁

We finished it last night, sorry 

I was just teasing him!

Exploding or boring?

Not a tea person but thanks anyway 

LMAOOO he probably pissed himself 🤣

Pls tell Itachi I’m not gonna hurt her I just want to pet her for a while!

Leader said he’ll kill us if we do it again so no probably not 😓

You gotta use the conditioner too or else it won’t be effective 

I’ll ask him but he don’t really like places like that. Says they’re too happy 🙄

From Hidan

If you have two does that mean one sleeps while the other fucks or ?

No offense but it’s literally so boring I can’t sit still that long 

I would say he’s giving you blue balls but.

Can’t imagine giving a shit but 🤷‍♂️

Tried that once. Got the mask halfway off and suddenly felt like I was drowning. Never again.

Old bastard said no 😑

You need to watch him he takes like two bites and pushes the plate away 

How? Half of us are gay half are insane and some are both 🤣

One dick, two dicks, your dicks, BLUE dicks! Lol get it??

From Sasori

Thanks but water erodes my “skin”.

I’m done reading it, you can borrow if you like.

Please make sure he puts on sunscreen he’s too stubborn to listen to me.

Don’t really remember all that well but I believe it was ice cream.

He has to *want* treatment and so far he’s turned down every offer Kakuzu or myself has made.

They make for more appealing puppets if they have some unique physical characteristic while they’re still living.

I’ll probably marry him some day but first he has to work on not blowing himself to bits.

Oh of course. You know you don’t need to ask.

From Kakuzu

Hey I almost beat you and I’m 60+ years your senior.

Just this once … no charge. Worth it to see him freak out like that.

I’m not very well-versed in animal anatomy but I can take a look and try my best.

EVERYBODY pays. Itachi too.

Fits nice. My thanks.

This place is falling apart, if it’s not one thing it’s another.

It’s annoying but I don’t see any serious long-term effects.

From Konan

That’s so sweet, thank you ☺️ 

Write down the exact kind for me, I’ll pick it up the next time I go to the market.

He’s a sweetheart isn’t he? 🥰

I’ll take your word for it, but ducks are so cute I don’t think I could eat one.

Come to my room I have some eye drops that’ll help him.

If I let that happen no work would ever be done and they’d likely kill each other.

So many miles, with these heels it’s hard on my feet.

If you want it that rare then there’s really no point to me cooking it at all 😒

At this point the yelling has become background music.

Me on one shoulder and Itachi on the other. You big show-off 😁

From Tobi/Obito

You only beat me because Deidara distracted me!

Forty cookies isn’t even that many. Plus Itachi ate two more.

Kakuzu said to earn the money myself so I stole one of his bounties 🤷🏻‍♂️

Itches. A LOT.

Can’t stand tea but if you have any hot chocolate, yeah.

You should hang out with Zetsu more often then. Like one never-ending picnic.

He really wants to go but I don’t have a pole. You have a spare?

Yeah but he might let us get a fish-tank if YOU said you needed it, like for health or something 

Sushi? Isn’t that cannibalism?!

Fuck him AND his perfect ass. Literally and figuratively.

Don’t give me that “kid” shit, we’re like the same age!

From Zetsu

You want to split that guy’s leg with me? He was very fat, lots of good meat 😋

He’s a good man but doesn’t his dubious emotional state concern you?

It’s a lot like hearing two voices at once. Constantly. 

It’s no fun if they don’t scream a bit first. You know this.

I did the scouting; that lake about five miles up the road is both deep and fairly clean.

Let’s hide under his bed and scare him. I bet money we can get him to soil himself while crying for that damn Jashin 🤣

From Nagato

I thank you for the tea. It helped me to sleep.

Well, keep an eye on him.

The pain is worse when I stand but Sasori is working on prosthetics for me that may solve the problem.

As long as you return in time for your next mission.

Get that looked at as soon as possible. We can’t afford to have you out of commission.

I do, but she deserves so much better than myself.

I’ll speak to Kakuzu about getting you a new one.

If you two are going to do that, please keep it away from our hideouts. It disturbs Konan to hear the screaming.

From Itachi

I ate this morning. Promise.

That wasn’t Hidan’s fault, I’d forgotten to take my pill so my reflexes were slow.

Just consider it. Uchiha Kisame. Say it out loud. It’s beautiful 😌

Can you check if I left that shirt in your room?

Dei and I went there last night. The manager banned us for life because Dei set off a C3 in the men’s room. 😑

Fine. You buy the skirt I’ll “model” it for you.

Sad. Come stay with me please.

You worry too much.

That picture is for YOUR EYES ONLY. 

Aww what do you mean? Kitty loves you she’s not trying to eat you!

It’s one that Konan gave me. It’s really good you’d probably like it too.

Tea?

I didn’t *fall* in, he *pushed* me. Big difference.

Mom taught me when I was younger. I can teach you too if you want.

You’re mine too. Always ❤️

[tgmsunmontue]

Can't buy me love 1/3

Hangster, Explicit, ~16k (complete, posting chapter/day)

(Part of the Top Gun AU Bingo - squares for Ranch, Single parent, Billionaire, and semi power-balance).

MANY BELATED THANKS to @nevergettingoverit for the beta and correcting all my typos and the discussion of the word fossick.

Summary: Jake doesn't need help around the ranch, but he's not going to turn down cheap able-bodied labor either. He's not stupid. The fact that Bradley knows nothing about ranching doesn't exactly help his case, but he's a fast learner.

---------

                Jake had had plans. He’d planned to get out of Texas and away from his family, as loving and supportive as they are… None of his plans had come to fruition.

                None of his plans had included getting his high school girlfriend pregnant.

                None of his plans had included becoming a single parent when his girlfriend then died in a freak accident when their baby was only a few months old.

                None of his plans had included never leaving the state of Texas.

                None of his plans had included studying agriculture, business and keeping up to date with stock bloodlines.

                None of his plans had included raising a young girl in Texas for fifteen years.

                None of his plans had included being single at thirty-three and with no-one he’d consider having something serious with.

                And yet here he is, and while he finds himself lonely in the evenings, he can visit his parents’ house, or any of his siblings. He can go into town and see some of his friends. Find someone to scratch the particular carnal itch he gets sometimes when he isn’t tired from working all day.

                Despite all of that he wouldn’t change his life. Ashley is amazing and delights him every day, even when she swings between terrifying and annoying.

                So his plans had changed, but he’d made new ones and maybe put his dreams on a shelf. He can get them down, dust them off, and look at them later.

…            …            …

                He sees her leading a horse out of the stables, knows it’s not late enough for her to have done all her chores if she also had homework, but she’s already got a horse saddled up for riding.

                “Ashley! You done your homework?” he calls out, jogging a little to reach her so she can’t pretend to not hear him and simply ride off.

                “Ugh. Yes dad, of course I have. I did it in study period. Anyway, I’m just going to grandmas to help in the garden.”

                “Oh, okay. You’re a good girl. Ride carefully.”

                “Always do!”

                He watches until he can’t really make her out, knows she’ll be well in sight of his mom’s kitchen window now, that while she’s between his house and his parents’ place she’s the safest she can be.

…            …            …

                He’s not expecting anyone, so his eyes narrow when he sees the tell-tale cloud of dust indicating a car is headed toward him. It gives him time to wipe his hands, to just place himself in a slightly more defensible spot than out in the wide open space of the yard. A dusty beaten-up truck comes to a slow stop, engine switched off and then a man is getting out, alone and he looks harmless. Jake doesn’t shift, looks can be deceiving.

                “Hello, can I help you?”

                “Hi. The woman, Michelle, at the diner in town, said you might be looking for workers?”

                Jake runs his eyes up and down his body, and he’s in t-shirt and jeans, but clean and tidy, clearly not worn on a ranch doing hard labor.

                “What’s your name?”

                “Bradley Mitchell.”

                “Jake Seresin” Jake offers, holding his hand out. “Ever ridden a horse?”

                “Nope.”

                “Ever roped or dealt with cattle before?”

                “Nope.”

                “Ever stepped foot on a working ranch before today?”

                “Nope.”

                Jake raises an eyebrow and bites back the comment about not expecting a greenhorn that’s his age, especially not one that is wanting to work on a ranch.

                “How about you tell me what skills you do have,” Jake offers, because maybe the guy will surprise him.

                “I have a degree in mechanical engineering. I’m good at fixing things that are broken. I can follow instructions, am able bodied and am keen to learn. And I don’t need paying until you feel I’m worth paying.”

                Jake raises an eyebrow at that, because that’s one hell of a bargaining chip he just put on the table. Not that they’re hurting for money at all, but free labor is still free labor. However it also raises a couple of red flags, because people aren’t usually willing to go unpaid if they have nothing to hide.

                “You got any ID on you?”

                Bradley pulls out a driver’s license, one for California, and it definitely shows his name as Bradley Mitchell. Hmm. So not hiding that at least. And he’s a couple of years older than Jake. The guy in the photo looks healthier than the one standing in front of him, but he’s not going to judge. He rubs at his face, not really sure, because it’s not like they’re in desperate need for help either. But he does need some help, there’s always work to be done and never enough time or hands to do it all. He pulls out his phone and takes a quick photo of both sides of the license before handing it back to him.

                “You’ll get room and board and a small allowance a week, then after a month we can talk a weekly pay rate if you feel like sticking around. Earlier if I think you’re worth it.”

                “Sounds fair,” Bradley agrees easily. Too easily.

                Jake just hums and shows him to the bunkhouse.

…            …            …

                He rings the sheriff and asks her to do a check on a Bradley Mitchell from California, says he’s bringing him on to live on the ranch so just wants to keep his family safe and he knows it’s calling in a favor but he also has Ashley to consider and it still feels like the bare minimum, and he should still ask to do a reference check, but people can lie so easily, can be bought so easily, that he’d rather just watch and make his own judgement call. He sends through the photos he took, knows it’ll probably take a day or two, that she has more important things to do than run a background check, but it’ll happen. Just to be safe he asks his mom to keep Ashley at her place.

…            …            …

                The next morning he heads out to the bunkhouse earlier than usual, not needing to get Ashley to school, which gives him more time. He introduces Bradley to the other three cowhands, explains with a dry expression that Bradley has zero experience so will be shadowing Jake so he can learn some basics. And Jake stresses that he means the basics, which gets a few sniggers from the others but, well, without the ability to ride a horse or deal with cattle he is pretty useless. However there are jobs he can assist Jake with, that free up one of the others, so it does work out. He sends the others out, gives them a list of jobs and they leave with tips of their hats, Mikey giving his shoulder a shove and a muttered good luck under his breath.

                “So, you ever collected eggs before?”

                The look Bradley gives him is dry, like he clearly thinks Jake is an idiot for asking given their conversation the day before and Jake gives him a conceding look, gesture for him to follow him out to the coop.

                “Okay. So you gotta be careful the shell is hardened. Too fresh and the shell will be warm and you picking it up will just crack the entire thing. Okay? If the chickens are still sitting sometimes it’s best to just leave them and come back later. If they’re broody then they won’t move, and some will give you hell if you even try.”

                “Okay. I didn’t understand half of that.”

                Jake laughs and then walks him through it all, actually shows him how to collect the eggs. Decides to leave them all in the bunkhouse kitchen despite it usually being split fifty-fifty with his own house; he doesn’t want to take Bradley there, he is still a stranger.

                He starts doing some of the two-man jobs or tricky ones which just become so much simpler when there is another pair of steady hands. They re-fence all of one side of two paddocks, and he’s pleased to note that Bradley is indeed able bodied and able to follow instructions. He asks for clarification when he doesn’t understand something, rather than assuming or guessing and Jake appreciates it, because it means they’re doing the job once, the right way, the first time. That level of maturity is a benefit then, not afraid to ask questions and appear clueless in the face of new tasks. Jake definitely prefers it over some cocky kid who thinks he knows everything and then fucks up, wasting time and resources.

                Despite his tidy fingernails and soft-looking hands he doesn’t shy away from any of the jobs that Jake has him help with. Seems equally content mucking out the stables as he is using a post-hole augur, makes observations about fence placements, and land features, which tells Jake he’s probably well versed in some theory of land use, if never exposed to the physical and practical side of it. He arranges for Ashley to stay at his parents again and rings Mandy and learns that the check has come back clear, except for one parking ticket in San Francisco. Okay. So not a serial killer. Or at least not that has a trail of bodies attached to him. If there is anything it’ll be white-collar crime, because Jake’s still suspicious as hell.

                He doesn’t think of himself as overly protective, but he is careful. The fact that he’s taken Bradley on with just a simple background check, no references… other than checking he wasn’t a wanted criminal. He doesn’t get bad vibes from him, just… he’s hiding something and Jake’s not going to go prying, because every man is entitled to his privacy. Except he also has a responsibility to keep his child and family safe, so he doesn’t blame himself if he’s a little more watchful of Bradley than he is of his other workers.

…            …            …

                He has to relax his guard eventually though, Ashley getting impatient about getting back to her own bedroom and she gives him the stink eye when she is dropped home by his dad the next evening, her horse in a trailer because it’s after dark and he won’t let her ride when it’s dark. He invites his dad down to the bunkhouse to meet Bradley. His dad has always been a good judge of character and is even tempered, he’d like his opinion. The other cowhands greet his dad with friendly backslaps and greetings, introduce Bradley themselves and Jake just shrugs, excuses himself to go back to the house and check on Ashley and apologize probably.

                He’s right on the money, he does have to apologize and promise she’s allowed a sleepover that coming weekend. He also makes pancakes with fruit for dinner, a more silent apology for being overprotective. He knows she can look after herself, has ensured she knows how to use a gun, some basic self-defense. But he knows he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to her that he could have somehow prevented. All the other workers are men he’s known for over ten years. He went to high school with Mikey. Having someone new, someone he doesn’t know, makes him feel a little uneasy.

                His dad turns up two hours later, wide smile in place and he’s nodding his head, clearly impressed by whatever conversation he’s had with Bradley.

                “Leave him with me, I can show him a few things.”

                “Thanks dad.”

                It will help, if he’s able to get out with the others and drive the cattle, two teams of two working much more effectively, even if Mikey and his dogs work seamlessly as a team all by themselves. His dad worked this ranch for years before Jake took over most of the day-to-day running. He can leave a list of jobs that his dad can do and show Bradley, jobs he wouldn’t generally ask his dad to do now, not with him getting on in years, but he is capable of teaching and knowledgeable in what needs to be done, so getting him to help with Bradley just makes sense.

                The next day goes quickly, working with the others and he wants to keep checking in on his dad, who had collected Bradley that morning. He’s glad Ashley is at school, doesn’t need his attention split three ways rather than focusing on the tasks at hand; two ways is bad enough, but he can’t help it. Not until he knows Bradley Mitchell better and gets a feel of his character. He’s washing up when his dad finds him, Ashley doing her homework at the table.

                “He’s a fast learner. Knows some weird things, but sometimes oddly useful. He came up and looked at my old truck you know, got the engine turning over but said he’d need a couple new parts to get it running properly.”

                “Huh. Okay then,” Jake says, because so far everything is working out. “And what feeling did you get off him?”

                “That he likes to be useful. And that he’s…” his dad lets out a long sigh. “Lonely? No. Isolated maybe? He’s not sad or upset, but there’s something.”

                Jake nods, because yeah, he’d got that feeling too. He’s just not sure what to do about it.

…            …            …

                While Bradley clearly can’t ride a horse or herd cattle he can cook, something the others appreciate when they come back to the bunkroom kitchen in the evening and there is a stew bubbling away with what looks like bread rolls rising in a dish, ready to be slid into the oven.

                “You can cook.”

                “I can. Didn’t think of listing it amongst my skills when I introduced myself.”

                “Well, it’ll endear you to the others a lot more if it tastes as good as it smells. They’ll put up with a lot if they’re getting fed well.”

…            …            …

                “Ashley! Are you wearing makeup?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Where did you get makeup from? When did you get makeup?” Jake asks, and his daughter is sixteen, he knows she isn’t too young for it, but it makes her look so much older and his heart can’t handle this, seeing his little girl, looking so much like her mother, getting ready to leave the house for school.

                “Grandma took me. Plus she took me for some lessons, said what she knew wouldn’t be suitable for my skin tone. Kathryn and PJ are still allowed to come over tomorrow right?”

                “Yeah. Of course,” Jake says, because apology sleepover. Right.

…            …            …

                He finishes for the day and he goes in search of Bradley. His dad had called him, left a message telling him he’d sent Bradley back on a horse of all things, which is a small miracle considering a week ago the man couldn’t ride. But also his dad had suggested that Bradley might need help getting off the horse, so he has to go and check to ensure Bradley isn’t lying somewhere injured. He heads to the stable first and Jake finds him immediately, all in one piece and apparently uninjured, leaning against the fence and watching Ashley ride in the arena doing basic jumps.

                “Afternoon.”

                “Afternoon,” Bradley greets back, but he keeps watching Ashley and Jake tries to not let that bother him. “She’s good…”

                “You can barely tell the front end of a horse from the back, you can’t tell if she’s good or not.”

                “Hmm. Touche. Except your dad’s been giving me riding lessons the last few days. Then this afternoon he said I could ride back here, or walk the horse with a lead. I rode, but I then had to get her help to get off the horse.”

                Jake snorts, he’s glad Ashley was there to help, because he can imagine the damage Bradley could have caused if he’d tried to dismount without help when he’s not used to riding, but he’d been trying to keep them separated.

                “How’s the body holding up?”

                “I have muscles I didn’t even know existed. I think your dad has been limiting it so I don’t become completely useless,” Bradley says with a quiet laugh and Jake would put money on his dad doing exactly that.

                “You’ll get used to it.”

                “So everyone keeps telling me,” Bradley says quietly. “She seems like a good kid. Happy,” Bradley says, and his dad’s words come back to him from a few days ago. Isolated. He wants to dig a little now. Also he wants to head off any questions about how young he is to have a sixteen year old.

                “My god-father has a step-daughter the same age, she reminds me of her…”

                “What’s her name?”

                “Huh? Oh. Amelia. And my god-father is Pete and his wife is Penny… anything else you want to know?”

                “Well, I figure you’re either running or hiding from something. Just don’t want you to bring any trouble to our door…”

                “I feel like I’ve been running my whole life. I guess I’m trying out the staying in one place for a bit…” Bradley says, and his eyes are still on Ashley as she rides around the arena and Jake sucks in a breath, needs to be upfront because he gains nothing by beating around the subject.

                “Well, I’m a little protective, so maybe don’t spend too much time watching her okay? Might give me the wrong idea.”

                Bradley surprises him then by laughing and coughing in an awkward combination that leaves him almost choking, head shaking when Jake offers to slap him on the back.

                “Sorry, sorry… just… no. So many levels of no. She’s a kid. Young enough to be my kid, and also I’m… I’m gay. So I’m not ever going to be, uh, interested, even if she were ten years older…”

                It’s like he’s braced himself for a punch and Jake wonders how many times he’s maybe been hit for just blurting it out like that.

                “Gay people exist in Texas.”

                “Do they? Could have fooled me.”

                “Bisexual people too. You’re fine,” Jake says, looking away, because he doesn’t come-out to many people, let alone strangers he’s known less than a week, even if they miss it as an actual acknowledgement of his own sexuality. However if Bradley hangs around long enough he’ll likely hear about him anyway, he’s definitely a favorite subject of conversation.

                “Okay… good to know thanks. Also I won’t bring any trouble to your door. I’m not in any trouble. The only people looking for me are my family. And I’m not an asshole, they know I’m alive. Just not where I am exactly. I just… need a break. And you’re good to be cautious. You don’t know me.”

                Jake nods, wonders what has maybe happened that he can just walk away from his family, job and life and walk onto a ranch in the middle of nowhere Texas and hide away from the world.

…            …            …

                “You okay baby?” Jake asks, watching as Ashley taps a pen against her bottom lip.

                “Yeah, this calculus is kicking my butt though.”

                “Yeah, I can’t help with that sorry. You want me to see about getting a tutor or something?”

                “No, I’ll ask Mr Mallory and see if he can explain it again. I’ve almost got it, but there’s just like… something I’m missing.”

                “Okay, well you let me know. I’m just going to go and lock up.”

                He heads out to double check the gates, stops by the bunk house and it’s not late by any stretch, he knows the others have headed into town to blow off some steam, which just leaves Bradley Mitchell at the kitchen table, long legs stretched out, reading a book, quietly drinking a cup of something that doesn’t smell like coffee at all. Probably some type of tea.

                “Evening again,” Bradley greets, clearly relaxed and not bothered by Jake suddenly appearing.

                “You said you had a degree in mechanical engineering.”

                “Yeah.”

                “You do calculus?”

                Bradley nods slowly, clearly unsure where Jake is taking this exactly.

                “Ashley is working through some problems, if you have some time over the weekend I’d appreciate it if you could maybe have a look.”

                “Yeah, of course. Got nothing but time. What jobs have you got lined up for me this weekend?”

                “Oh, you don’t have to work weekends.”

                “Jake. I don’t mind. I enjoy it.”

                Jake pauses and then shrugs.

                “You can join me for a few hours. I don’t do as much, like to spend my time with Ashley, riding or doing some catchup on the admin. But you’re right, animals don’t care about days of the week.”

                “Great. I’ll see you after breakfast then.”

                Jake nods, knows a dismissal when he hears one.

…            …            …

                When he gets up the next morning he can see Bradley already out and about, collecting eggs, horses released to pasture. As he watches Bradley stops and tilts his head back, facing the rising sun like he’s soaking it up and he looks calm and at peace, however Jake suspects he is anything but. Nevertheless he does seem to like it here and Jake feels more relaxed about him being around. He has breakfast, leaving Ashley to sleep in because he knows she’s going to have a late night with the sleepover and her friends being here. Also trying to wake her up is a battle he is not picking to have today. He leaves her a note and heads out, mind already on the little odd jobs that he and Bradley can get done.

                The day passes quickly, Bradley helping him pull some of the dead branches down and using the chainsaw to reduce it to moveable and usable pieces for firewood. They move some of the cattle, fix a couple of lines of fence, scrub out some troughs. He’s easy to be around, doesn’t try and fill the silence between them with meaningless chatter and Jake appreciates it, despite his burning curiosity. They head back for lunch and Jake says he’s finished working for the day, but he’ll do some riding that afternoon if Bradley wants the practice. He concedes he definitely needs it.

                They split for lunch and he spends some time with Ashley, talking about school and her upcoming tests. He goes and does the admin, pays bills for feed and veterinarian services, materials and other costs. The accounts are all nice and healthy and in good shape, he’s got nothing to worry about, which is a good thing, he can save all his worry for Ashley and her future. Not that she doesn’t have a significant college fund, her mother’s college fund going to her and her mother’s side of the family all topping it up for years. She’ll have her choice of places.

                Of course when he finds him later he’s sitting side-by-side with Ashley, a textbook held in his hands and he’s pointing at something and talking. Ashley is nodding, scrunches her face in disgust and Bradley laughs, shakes his head, pokes at the book again. Then her face lights up, like she’s suddenly got it and his heart swells and he gets closer, can hear what they’re saying.

                “Thank you so much. I just wasn’t getting it. You explained it way better than Mr Mallory.”

                “What was the issue?” Jake asks.

                “Application of separation of variables,” Bradley states, and Ashley nods and Jake can do nothing but nod and smile, his own calculus at high school so long behind him it’s a hazy memory at best.

                “So much easier to understand now. That’s all my homework done now dad! Which means I can ride until my friends get here.”

                “You still have your chores.”

                “Nope! They’ve already been done. Bradley did them already.”

                “I didn’t realize they were her jobs on the weekends. Ashley, you let me know if you have any more questions. Happy to help.”

                “Thanks Bradley! Tomorrow I can teach you how to get off a horse properly.”

                The look on Bradley’s face is self-deprecating and Jake would tell Ashley off for being rude, but he thinks she legitimately wants to help Bradley with something he can’t do so he just does his best to hide a smile, glad that clearly Bradley doesn’t have an easily bruised ego.

                “Sorry about the whole chores thing, didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

                “It’s fine, I should have told you. Totally slipped my mind to be honest. As long as they get done, I don’t care. She’s a good kid, she still went and checked. Thanks for helping her with the math.”

                “Any time. Was good to do something different with the brain.”

                “You’re welcome to come for dinner. The girls will be making pizza.”

                “Oh, thank you, but I have been to one teenage girl sleepover and I ended up with braided hair, glittery gel nails and a facemask which I am certain is used for torture by the military. Never again.”

                “I bet your skin felt amazing afterwards though,” Jake says, lips twitching in amusement.

                “I can neither confirm nor deny. I will leave you to your evening.”

…            …            …

                Jake’s mom insists on coming to spend the night for the sleepover, like he can’t handle four teenage girls. He’s just going to let them have free reign in the kitchen and hope for the best. However he is glad of his mom’s presence when Angelique is the mom in question to drop the other four girls off. All of the moms and dads of Ashley’s friends are at least ten years older than him, which isn’t that much and definitely doesn’t stop any of them making a pass at him, men and women both, married and divorced. He’s learnt to be very careful about who he is anything more than passingly polite with, lest they take it the wrong way. Angelique is one of the still-married and pushy as hell types and he’s glad he can leave his mom to the negotiating and instructions, doesn’t need to have her running her fingers over his arm as she asks him if he needs any help.

                She does eventually leave, his mom an expert at making it clear she does not need to stay and is in fact, not welcome to stay. The sleepover goes flawlessly, in that he’s back in Ashley’s good graces, makes them all pancakes for breakfast and then arranges to take them all to church, where they’ll be collected by their parents; two girls going with his mom and two with him and Ashley. He isn’t particularly religious, but he does like the sense of community, when they discuss at the end how some people need help with hay baling, or others with harvesting, or branding and he’s always willing to help out. While he’s been the subject of their gossip more often than not, they’ve also been the first to help him or his family.

                He’s back at the ranch by lunch, leaving Ashley with his mom so she can continue to socialize and be dropped home later. He can use the excuse of needing to get back to the chores, although he suspects that Bradley has likely already taken care of some of the more critical ones. Sure enough the horse feed has all been topped up, their stalls mucked out and the horses themselves out in the pasture where Jake had let them out earlier that morning. He finds Bradley in the kitchen, and he’s just wearing jeans and t-shirt, but is barefoot and is kneading what he assumes is bread dough. Everyone else has the day off, and he should have told Bradley he didn’t expect him to do anything.

                “Where did everyone disappear to this morning?” Bradley asks and Jake stares.

                “It’s Sunday…”

                “Yeah. And?” Bradley asks, as if it’s a standard day of the week and clearly for him it is, not like how it’s ingrained for Jake as the day he goes to church. A look of realization comes over his face. “Oh. Everyone goes to church?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Huh.”

                “Sorry, didn’t think to see if you wanted to come. You’re welcome to come along next week if you want. If you want to be the center of attention and have a bunch of people talk about you behind your back that is.”

                “Why do you go if they do that?”

                “Oh. That happens regardless of whether I go to church or not,” Jake states, because it does. He got used to it when he was the seventeen year old father of a new baby, and then the looks had become slightly pitying when Jessica had died. Then they’d continued to watch him, and the looks had turned approving and respectful. He knows he’s proven a lot of people wrong, and he knows he has his parents to thank for their unwavering support.

                “Yeah, I get that.”

                “Anyway, I just wanted to say I don’t expect you to work every day, you’re entitled to days off.” Bradley’s grinning at him and Jake rolls his eyes. “I’m aware I’m not currently paying you anything, and you could decide to just… walk out the gate if you wanted to. But don’t go thinking you need to work yourself to the bone for me or anything.”

                He catches a brief something in the look Bradley gives him and he doesn’t even have time to parse it before Bradley’s laughing.

                “I might make a couple of phone calls home, let them know I’m okay. Once I’ve got this bread rising anyway.”

                Jake just nods, says he’ll leave him to it, because Bradley had mentioned family, and of course he is staying in touch with them. He has a life away from here, one he will likely return to once he’s gotten the break he said he wanted.

…            …            …

                Another week ticks by, the routine becomes settled again, Bradley’s presence still not standard, he asks far too many questions for anyone to be able to just ignore him, but he has found multiple ways to make himself useful, playing to his strengths. He’s become an infinitely better rider, Ashley taking him out every time she rides herself, and it surprises him that he trusts Bradley with her. Although when he learns Bradley has been talking to her about all the places he’s visited it makes Jake wonder if he’s making it up simply to make Ashley’s wanderlust greater, or whether he is as well travelled as he talks.

                He catches him talking on the phone one evening, his voice soft and he’s reassuring someone, asking them about school and he suspects it’s maybe the person Bradley had mentioned, his step-father’s god-daughter or something? He can’t remember, but the fact that Bradley is talking to her tells him it’s someone important to him. He walks away, not wanting to eavesdrop any more than he already has, but it makes something else in him settle, that Bradley isn’t as footloose and fancy free as he’d first thought. That he does have roots and people he cares about, even if he’s away from them right now.

                Another week slips by, and he realizes that the month trial is coming to an end. While Bradley isn’t an experienced ranch hand by any stretch of the imagination, not worth the money Jake is paying Mikey, he definitely makes himself busy and useful enough that Jake needs to consider paying him more than the tiny stipend he’s been leaving in an envelope for him every week. He finds him out riding, following Ashley’s directions and she’s trying to convince him to try a jump, which he is adamant about not trying.

                “Hey dad.”

                “Hey honey. How’s your favorite student coming along?”

                “He’s stubborn! And he won’t take any risks. Just keeps playing it safe…”

                “He’s also old and terrified about falling from a height and breaking a limb!” Bradley calls out, clearly having heard Ashley slandering his good name. Jake laughs.

                “You want to show him how it’s done dad?”

                Jake gives Bradley a look, there’s a flash of amused challenge and he feels a sudden flash of desire to look good in front of his kid and Bradley licking in his gut.

                “Yeah, why not. Come here and let me have a turn.”

                He watches as Bradley swings himself off, clearly more comfortable with that now and Jake immediately adjusts the stirrups before swinging himself up into the saddle, encouraging Chester into a gentle canter. There are jumps set up, clearly Ashley has been riding, her own horse loves jumping, whereas Chester is a steady and dependable work horse, able to jump when coaxed into it and given a firm hand, but the simple bars Ashley had laid on the ground for Bradley to apparently jump over wouldn’t have even made Chester blink. Getting used to a horse jumping is a learned skill though, and he’s glad Bradley at least is willing to speak up about his own limits. Jake never competed in any rodeo events growing up, but he still knows the mechanics of how they all work and he knows he can’t do anything on Chester that is more complicated than letting him just run and jump and hanging on for the ride. He clicks his tongue, jerks his head toward the gate and Ashley swings it open.

                “I’m going to take him for a quick run. I’ll be right back.”

                He lets out the reins then, leans forward and just urges Chester into a full gallop. It’s been a while since he’s just ridden fast for the sheer fun of it and he lets out a whoop of joy, glad that Chester doesn’t spook easily. It’s exhilarating and he makes a wide circle, doesn’t want to end up a long way away on a horse that’s run out of steam. When he comes back into the arena, he can feel the coiled energy and attention of Chester now focused and he heads into a loop, plotting out a route to take the lower jumps, because he does agree with Bradley, he also doesn’t want to fall and break a limb, even if it’s far less likely for him then it would be for Bradley. He completes the circuit and comes to a stop beside them, adrenaline buzzing through him and he jumps off, rubbing his hands over Chester’s neck in comfort and appreciation.

                “Damn that felt good.”

                “I can see where Ashley gets it from. That was amazing.”

                “Thanks.”

                There’s something in Bradley’s gaze and it’s been a while since Jake has had that directed at him, especially from someone who isn’t married, ten to fifteen years older, never had it directed toward him when he’s at home…

                Desire.

                Blatant open attraction.

                He licks his lips and Bradley’s eyes flick down, following the motion.

                Oh.

                God he really needs to get laid. And not with Bradley. Because he is Bradley’s… boss. Even if he’s not exactly paying him yet. He will be. Paying him that is. And not for anything else.

                Shit.

                He turns away, busies himself with Ashley, talking about her schoolwork, and putting the horses away and the moment, if it had even been a moment, slips away and Bradley is simply leading Chester back toward the stables, no longer looking at Jake.

(This is complete, posting a chapter a day)

CHAPTER TWO

[dreamersbcll]

Sam’s Heart

from a tender age, she was cursed with rage

—————————————————————————

I just want to be like you, Sam.

Eight words burned into her mind, echoing every time her hands got that familiar itch. A constant burn flowed through her chest, inflaming her lungs. Unlike Tara, she wasn’t cursed with asthma; she was born with the venomous urge to assassinate.

It was all manageable at first. From the neighborhood dog she had put down after it bit Tara; to the night she beat Jack O’Sullivan to the point of paralyzation for the way he touched Tara on the playground. Nobody could ever prove that it was her, though. Sam was a good girl. She babysat all the kids in the neighborhood, mowed lawns in the summer, and shoveled sidewalks in the winter. The neighbors loved Sam Carpenter, giving her the praise and attention she wasn’t receiving at home.

Sam was ashamed at first. She didn’t want to hurt people. She felt awful for pushing Amber down after she shoved Tara into a puddle, and she cried after breaking Jackie Lucci’s nose after the girl stole her gym shoes. But then she turned thirteen, and the truth came out.

Deep down, she knew that something was wrong. It was refreshing to know that there was a reason that her knuckles were always bruised and her teeth dropped blood. A serial killer father. Fitting for the girl who destroyed anything she could lay her hands on.

For a while there, Sam drifted. She disappeared into her head, putting down her sword and picking up the bottle. Though her head is full of smoke, her mind has never been clearer—years of pulling back results in the relationship she had with her baby sister now.

She knows that she��s selfish and that she used Tara. Her ego gets stroked the tiniest bit after getting inebriated, and she bruises her sister. Not physically- she tears Tara apart the only way she can: isolation and separation.

Sam didn’t know what was wrong with her. Her actions were confusing- one minute she was here, the next she was wiping tears of joy off her face, laughing at how her sister cried. She shows her teeth and laughs out loud- as she never wanted saving from her past, she just wanted to be found.

Eventually, she escapes that town and finally breathes for the first time. Little by little, the urge to maime disappears, and she lives like a normal person.

And then she comes back to Woodsboro, bringing the devil with her.

(Admittedly, she’s glad she met the devil. He showed her that she was weak- and a little piece of him was in a little piece of her).

Despite all her shortcomings and false promises, Tara hangs onto her, sinking her teeth into her shallow skin. Her little sister comes back and still wants Sam.

I just want to be like you, Sam.

Once they kill the devil a second time, Sam then sees the same carnal creature that lived in her, in Tara’s eyes. The bloodthirsty urge to destroy those who have wronged others. The desire to play the victim and the villain: jury, judge, and executioner. She sees it in her little sister when Chad trips Sam for fun, or when Mindy ridicules Sam a little too hard.

It wasn’t long until Sam found the journals full of urges. The makeshift shiv under the pillow, and the extensive hidden knife collection behind the confirmed it. Her sister was turning out just like her.

Sometimes you have to close a door to open a window. And so Sam leaves the window open, letting her sister follow her in the dark.

After a while, Sam finds a new boyfriend. He isn’t good for her; the sisters know that. He takes what he pleases and offers nothing in return. Too many nights of screaming matches and breaking dishes haunt the halls of the new apartment the girls had chosen themselves, a sickly reminder that once the abused, always the abused. Sam had promised never to be like her mother- even begging Tara to prevent her from the inevitable.

So it really wasn’t a surprise when Sam came home to Tara carving his heart out with the butcher's knife Sam had hidden under the bedside table.

(That should teach a man to mess with her)

It wasn’t shoddy work. It was clear Tara had practiced this before. The rising missing persons reports in their area made sense now.

I just want to be like you, Sam.

For a while, Sam just watched. She watched Tara tear apart the man who haunted their halls, disemboweling him on their kitchen floor. Blood soaked Tara’s jeans, droplets flecked across her cheekbones. Her little sister worked with a giddy enthusiasm that was typically reserved for writing or board games.

Sam couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Her little girl needs to work on her technique, but she is doing fine. Tara was turning out just like Sam.

There was a small part of her heart that wanted to scream, pull Tara back, wrap her up in her arms. To pull her away from this carnage that they were woven into.

But a more significant part of her heart was enthusiastic to know that it wasn’t just her that was plagued with bloodlust. She wasn’t alone in this world, and she had a partner ready to execute with her.

So when Tara grins back up at her, those big doe eyes shining with bloodlust, she gives in. She kneels, wrestling the knife from Tara's hands, and pulls her baby sister in. Blood soaks into her shirt, forcing the fabric to stick to her skin like a used bandaid. She doesn’t scold, she doesn’t soothe. She just grins into Tara’s shoulder.

And Tara smiles back.

The mess didn’t matter to Sam. Blood washes away. Bodies go missing. People disappear. It was the way the world worked.

All that mattered was that her baby sister was just like her. Sam wasn’t alone in this cold, cold world. She had a baby sister who wasn’t afraid of the blood that flowed in hollow veins, and she liked it.

There were no soothing or gentle words needed to placate the pair. No amount of prayers or kindness would be enough to help stop them. All they needed was the gentle blessing of bleach to cleanse their souls and make way for a new kill.

They say what’s done in the dark will find its way to shine. Sam has done so much that when they see, they might go blind.

I just want to be like you, Sam.

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 16 - To Eternity (Lucifer's Ending)

Giving into her destiny, Y/N chooses to stay with her soulmate. One thing leads to another, and she learns exactly how the devil loves and what the rest of eternity with Lucifer holds.

(5k)

TW: this chapter contains smut

“It’s my choice, and I choose… Lucifer.”

Lucifer looks surprised for a moment but his demeanor quickly changes as his mouth twists into a cocky grin, his wings standing tall, all of his doubt washes away.

Dean and Sam stand in silence, staring at me with wide pleading eyes, looking as if their hearts have been ripped out of their chest and stomped on. 

Sam’s brows furrow and lips press into a thin line. He stares into the distance, eyes flicking back and forth as he replays the words over and over in his head.

Dean on the other hand stands still as a statue. The only movement is that of his jaw grinding and his fist tightening and loosening repeatedly, itching to punch something, or rather, someone. No matter how much he tries to remain stoic, seemingly unbothered, I can read him from a mile away and all that I see is grief and betrayal. 

Castiel stares down at his feet, shoulders slumped, looking disappointed, but not entirely surprised.

A pain radiates off of them in waves that set the room in an abysmal darkness.

I would give anything for the world to swallow me whole right now, put all this miserable business to rest. No matter how hard I try to do the right thing, I always manage to hurt someone I care about in the process. 

Maybe that’s just who I am, the girl that destroys everything she touches. Perhaps, Lucifer and I aren’t so different after all.

“Y/N, no,” Sam says in a stern voice, shaking his head in denial.

I avert his gaze, a burning feeling of guilt growing rapidly in my gut. I can feel his disappointing stare burning a hole through my head.

“This isn’t right,” Dean says, grabbing my arm in a desperate attempt to get to me. “Please just come home with me, it’s not too late to change your mind.” His eyes fill with tears ready to spill any moment. “Please,” he pleads, his breaths coming in heavy and uneven.

“I’m sorry Dean.” I place a soft kiss on his cheek, it tastes salty and metallic from the tears and blood that muddle together on his face. I take his hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze, longing to feel his touch one final time.

He closes his eyes, tears breaking free and streaming down his cheeks.

I can’t help the tears that begin to prick my eyes as well. I knew this moment was coming, but I didn’t know it would be so hard.

“I’m so incredibly thankful for our time together,” I say to him. “And everything you all have done for me.” I turn to look at Sam and Cas. 

They stare back at me somberly, Sam giving a curt nod, but quickly looking away in an attempt to keep his composure.

“Dean, I love you and I always will, but you have to let me go,” I say with a heavy heart, tenderly pulling my hand away.

He can’t find the words to say it, but with the look he gives me, I can see that he loves me too.

 I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. Perhaps a bit of both.

I make my way back to Lucifer, looking up at his stunning crimson eyes.

He tilts his head and stares back at me with a look of pure adoration and love that I can feel deep inside me.

“Every moment of my life has led to you, and I'm done fighting it,” I admit. “I’m yours,” I whisper, placing my hand on his chest.

“I knew you’d  make the right choice, my beloved,” Lucifer coo’s. He wraps his silky wings around me and pulls me into a loving kiss, pulling away after a few seconds to give the others a look that says, ‘I win’.

“Sorry boys, the angels made her choice.” He gives them a cocky grin and snaps his fingers. 

The three of them are gone in the blink of an eye, leaving just Lucifer and I in the place we call home. The room is trashed from the fight. Shards of broken glass litter the floor, busted furniture strewn around the room, and splatters of blood painting the walls, a grizzly reminder of what had happened here tonight, a memory that will be burned into my mind for the rest of my eternal life.

“What did you do to them?” I snap at him in anger, tired of him hurting my boys.

“Relax, they’re fine,” he insists in a snarky tone. “They’re still in rural Ohio. We’re the ones who’ve moved.”

I make my way to the hole in the wall that once held our front door, it now sits splintered in pieces on the floor. 

Lucifer follows close behind. 

Stepping outside, I find myself on an empty beach, seemingly untouched by mankind, its natural beauty perfectly preserved. The golden sand sinks beneath my shoes, seashells and tumbled rocks sprinkled all around. The water is a stunning aqua blue with gentle waves of white foam lapping over the calm waters. The sun sets above it all, the reflection of the pinky orange skies painted over the water on the ocean, taking my breath away. This place brings me a sense of peace that makes me want to melt into it all, becoming one with the land.

“What is this place?” I ask, closing my eyes and breathing in the crisp salty air, listening to the waves crash and sea birds sing.

“Somewhere along the coast of South Africa,” he replies, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at me, seemingly not talking about the view at all.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, meeting his gaze with an adoring smile.

“I’m glad you like it, but it’s only temporary,” he replies, fixing his gaze on the setting sun upon the horizon. “I’ve got bigger plans for us.”

“Bigger plans?” I question, taking his hand in mine.

“Of course,” he says as if it’s obvious. “We have an eternity together, the world is our oyster,” he smiles.

“Right,” I nod my head, warming up to the idea of spending the rest of my life with Lucifer, my angel. “Where do we start?” I look at him quizzingly.

“How about here?” he says, pulling me close and crashing our lips together. It’s soft and tender. The electric feeling of our graces blend together, becoming as calm as the ocean waves.

He catches me off guard by sweeping me off my feet and carrying me bridal style. I don’t protest. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder, allowing him to carry me back to our bedroom with ease.

He throws me on the bed and passionately captures me in a kiss. His lips move hungrily against mine, our teeth, tongues, and lips hastily crashing against one another, but we’re too infatuated to care. His cold hand snakes up my body, leaving chills and goosebumps in their wake. It slides under the thin fabric of my shirt until he reaches my breast and tentatively palms me through my bra. 

My breath hitches at the feeling of his large hands kneading at my sensitive flesh.

 He presses his body firmly against mine, his aching erection in his jeans rubs against my inner thigh, so close to where I need him, yet, so far. His touch becomes more frenzied, trailing to other parts of my body with fervor. Frustrated with the multiple layers of clothes that separate us, he lets out a low growl and snaps his fingers, leaving us both completely naked and pressing against one another. The contrast of his cool skin against mine sends pleasant chills down my spine.

Despite his scruffy looks on the outside, he’s surprisingly muscular under all that clothes. The pale skin of his body perfectly compliments the gold and white tones of his feathers, making him look more ethereal than ever. 

 It’s my understanding that this isn’t his true form. That he’s simply occupying a human vessel. But there’s no doubt that the vessel he chose is certainly well endowed, to the extent it’s rather intimidating.

“L-lucifer!” I yelp, suddenly feeling all too exposed.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he gives me a wicked smile and licks a long stripe up my neck with his forked tongue. 

I lean my head back into the pillow, my body aching with need and my worries fading to black. 

He finds a certain spot on the base of my neck that makes me whine from the sensitivity. He smirks. This is exactly what he was looking for. He bites down hard, his pointy teeth breaking my soft skin with ease.

“Fuck,” I hiss, trying to wiggle away from the sensation. My brain has gone offline, unsure whether it hurts too much or if it feels so good I crave more. Ultimately, I give into the latter, craning my neck to the side to give him better access.

He happily obliges, lightly kissing my neck around the bite where drops of crimson roll down to my collarbone. He peeks his forked tongue out of his teeth, then licks all of the blood that dribbles freely, cleaning my skin until all that is left behind is a pinky sheen from his saliva mixed with the remnants of my blood.

Part of me hopes that it will scar.

He lifts his head and captures my lips in a fiery kiss, forcing his tongue into my mouth. His cool tongue swirls around mine forcefully, pinning it down and proving who exactly is in charge here.

I moan as the rich metallic taste of blood dances across my tastebuds, a rush of exhilaration coursing through my veins. 

Once Lucifer is satisfied, he pulls back, his eyes falling to my puffy pink lips, still wet from the saliva of our tongues clashing together. He quickly makes his way down to my breasts, pulling at my nipples until they’re perky, leaving sloppy kisses and light bites on each one of them. He continues to work his way down until he reaches my thighs, masterfully kneading my flesh in his hands.

“Say the words and I’ll stop,” Lucifer says in full seriousness. “Or, submit to me and I’ll show you what it’s like to be taken by the most powerful archangel.” A smile tugs at his lips as he gazes at me with dark lustful eyes.

I return his gaze and give him a nod. “Please,” is all I can manage to say, my mind clouded with lust.

He wastes no time and wraps his forearms against my thighs, pulling me closer so that I may not wiggle away.

 I’m left totally and completely at his mercy.

He wets his lips with his long forked tongue, making me wetter at just the sight and dives in. 

I whine as his tongue slowly and lightly drags from just above my clit, all the way down to my aching hole, teasing my body ever so slightly. My hips involuntarily arch off the bed, desperate to feel more.

He doesn’t take kindly to my squirming and slams my hips down onto the mattress, pinning me in place with one of his strong forearms, the other wrapping around my neck and squeezing slightly. He’s very careful not to hurt me. If he wished too, he could snap my neck like a twig, right here, right now. Instead, he squeezes just light enough to restrict my oxygen and make my head go fuzzy, but still allow me to breathe.

His tongue runs circles over my clit, sending wave after wave of arousal to my core. I can practically feel myself dripping onto the satin sheets of our bed. Each split end of his tongue explores both sides of me at once, driving me crazy in ways I can’t explain, and he’s clearly enjoying the power he has over me, how he can make me into a mess with such ease.

“Luce, Luuuuuce,” I whine desperately, barely able to recognise my own voice. I squeeze down around nothing, my body craving to be filled by Lucifer in any way possible. I just need something.

Of course he picks up on this, exploiting our connection, and knows just what to do. His cold tingly grace creeps up sound my thighs and probes at my entrance.

My eyes snap open and meet his, glowing with passion.

He smirks and his grace slowly pushes into me inch by inch until I'm completely filled to the brim, rubbing against all the sensitive spots that make my mind go blank.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell, clamping down around the feeling, every nerve in my body tingling with pure pleasure and anticipation.

‘Shhh,” he coo’s, watching me intently like I'm some wounded animal in a nature documentary, and he’s the prey playing with his food before he strikes. He pulls his grace out slightly before thrusting back in, earning a deep moan from me. Experimentally, his graces pulses and thrusts in an unpredictable rhythm, leaving me completely unprepared for whatever pleasure he wishes to give me. His tongue returns to my clit, passionately swirling around sending shiver after shiver of arousal through my core.

“Luce, please! I’m gonna!” I moan, my body writhing beneath his tongue and grace. I teeter on the edge of orgasm as he takes my clit fully into his mouth and lightly sucks. “YES!” I scream, ready to let go at any second.

He pulls away with a devious smile before I’m able to fall over the edge.

“NO!” I plead with wide eyes, my body shaking in frustration as the most promising orgasm of my life was ripped away. 

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” he clicks his tongue in a mocking tone. “You’ve been a bad girl today, don’t you think? Running back to the Winchesters, putting yourself in danger,” he says in a voice that parodies concern.

“I’m- I’m sorry Luce, please!” I beg for his forgiveness, giving him the best puppy dog eyes I could muster.

“Hmm…” he says, putting his finger up to his lip and looking at the ceiling, pretending to be lost in thought. “How about this, you be a good girl for me, you don’t cum without my permission, and i’ll think about letting you cum when i’m satisfied with you.”

Before I'm able to form words, he flips me over so that I'm on my knees and forearms, face pressed against the pillow, and my body on full display for him. His rough fingers trails between my wings, down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake until he reaches my butt. 

I hum in appreciation, trying to show my agreement with the plan.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Lucifer taunts. He lands a hard smack on my ass, surely leaving a red handprint in its place.

“Yes Luce!” I squeak, trying to keep my body still for him.

“Good girl,” he praises, striking another smack on my other cheek.

I whimper in response, my eyes glazing over with tears of pain and pleasure.

He makes his way down to my pussy, spreading it open to really admire it. “Of all my fathers creations, you, my dear, are by far the most beautiful.”

My heart swoons at his words.

Once he’s had his share, he runs his fingers over my pussy, gathering up my slick. “All of this because of me, love?” he teases. “You really are a dirty girl.” He plunges two fingers deep inside me, twisting and thrusting perfectly.

A series of moans fall from my mouth that I barely even register. It’s like my mind has gone blank and my body is completely fuzzy in the most pleasant way. Nothing else matters right now. Just Lucifer. Just me. I’m easily able to hold myself from falling off the edge until he reaches a certain spot.

“Ah!” I cry out as his fingers brush against my G-spot ever so slightly. My hips buck against his fingers, my back arching, and my wings stretching out to their full extent. I don’t have to see him to know he has that signature smirk as he watches me moan and writhe from just his fingers.

He finds that angle again and rubs over the spongy spot repeatedly, each time applying more pressure.

I grip the sheets in my hands, my knuckles completely white from gripping it so hard. I clench my muscles and close my eyes, focusing with all of my strength not to come right then and there. “Fuck! I’m gonna!” I warn, trying desperately to fight back the feeling.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum without my permission,” he hisses, grabbing a fistfull of my hair and yanking my head back, his fingers picking up their pace.

Not wanting to feel the wrath of Satan from breaking his rules, I hold back, my whole body shaking with anticipation and overwhelming pleasure. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finally removes his fingers, leaving my walls clutching around nothing.

I whine, both frustrated that I didn’t get to cum and happy that I didn’t cum without his permission,

“Good girl,” he praises, running his fingers through my silky wings in a pleasurable way. “I think you’ve earned your reward.” 

Without even a warning, he flips me onto my back and slams into me, burying his cock all the way to the hilt.

“Oh God! Feels so good!” I cry out, savoring the pain and pleasure that his thick cock provides me..

“My father has nothing to do with this,” he growls, pulling out almost all the way. “This. is. all. me,” he says, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. “You will be praying to me from now on, do you understand?” His eyes glow red with passion and a drive for power.

“Yes, Lucifer! Anything for you,” I scream, thrusting my hips up to meet his with each stroke.

“You’re mine. All mine. A divine gift from Heaven just for me. My soulmate.” he growls, his pace picking up. 

I can feel my orgasm building as each stroke is angled just perfectly to rub against that amazing spot. My grace burns hotter and hotter by the second, reaching out to his cold one, desperate to feel them dance together once again.

He plays my body like a fine tuned instrument, and he’s putting on a symphony. 

“Yell my name, tell the world who you belong to, Y/N,” he demands with a particularly harsh stroke that sends shocks of electricity up my spine.

“LUCIFER! I BELONG TO YOU LUCIFER! NO ONE ELSE!” I scream, my throat dry from all the yelling and panting.

“Good girl,” he praises, bringing me into a passionate kiss. His grace tangles with mine, the perfect contrast in feeling bringing me to the edge, taking everything in me not to give myself over to the promising orgasm that calls my name. 

He’s close too, I can sense it.

“Cum for me beloved,” he says in a soft voice. He stares intently in my eyes, gripping my wings and twisting the feathers in the way he knows will drive me crazy.

The dam finally breaks and my orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave that pulls me under the water, drowning me in pleasure. My grace explodes outward as he does the same. The lights flicker and the room shakes, both of our eyes glowing a dazzling red. Our grace’s coil together, the electric feeling buzzing from our head to toes. This time when it settles, it doesn’t feel like two separate entities. Instead, it’s like two ends of a wire touching to complete a circuit. it finally feels whole.

Collapsing on top of me, he rolls us to our side and pulls me against his chest, gently running his fingers through my wings. He cuddles me close, holding my head to his chest as we bathe in the afterglow. I listen to his heart beating, enjoying the hum of our graces in harmony, and match my breath to his steady breathing. Everything just feels so right. 

How could I ever deny him again? He completes me. We complete each other.

“Y/N?” he asks, pulling me out of my peaceful daze.

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he says in a calm but possessive voice. “Promise me that, beloved.” He wraps his wings around us like a protective cocoon, his soft feathers pleasantly grazing my bare skin.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I nuzzle my face into his chest, finding comfort in the warmth of his glowing skin. “I promise,” I assure him, closing my eyes in relaxation.

“Good,” he sighs, allowing himself to relax again.

“...I see through it all, you know,” I say, catching him slightly off guard in the sudden change of subject. “You pretend to be this evil wrathful archangel, but you’re not.”

He quietly scoffs at the notion.

“You’re just hurting. Everyone you've ever cared about has left you. Your father. Your brothers. But not me. Even the Devil deserves love. You deserve to be loved, Luce, and I'm going to be the first to show you that.”

He looks at me surprised, never having heard such kind words before. “I love you Y/N,” he says, pulling me closer.

“I love you too Luce.”

For a moment we both sit in comfortable silence. 

He stares at the ceiling, like he’s mustering up the courage to say something that’s heavy on his mind. He breaks the silence with a sigh. “I was going to give you more time to adjust, but I just can’t wait anymore.” His eyes meet mine, lighting up with anticipation. “Tomorrow we return to Hell where you will rule by my side.”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” I snap, sitting up and looking at him with wide eyes, mouth falling agape.

“Well, I’m the King of Hell -new and improved- and naturally, that makes you my Queen,” he says in a tone way too nonchalant for the news he just dropped on me. He smiles, finding my reaction rather amusing.

I think for a moment, sitting in shock. The Queen of Hell? I’m just a girl. I don’t know the first thing about royalty, let alone ruling the forces of Hell. A thousand thoughts run across my mind at once. I ponder the idea for a moment before giving in.

“I accept.”

“Really?” He asks, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Under one condition.”

“Go on…” He says, eagerly waiting to see where I'm taking this.

“You have to stop hurting my people on earth, including the Winchesters. These are my people and I’m going to protect them for as long as I'm kicking.” I lift my head up with determination, ready to fight tooth and nail for my cause.

“A diplomat already? you’ll make a great leader,” he says with a cocky smile. He thinks for a moment and nods. “I accept.”

And with that it’s decided, for better or worse, tomorrow I become royalty.

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

“So this is Hell?” I ask skeptically, my eyes wandering as we make our way down the winding hall toward a set of large golden doors.

“Part of it, yes.” He walks with one hand in his pocket, the other around my arm.

“It’s not exactly what I was expecting.”

Lucifer glances at me with a cocked eyebrow. “And what exactly were you expecting?”

“I mean, where's all the fire and demons with pitchforks? Shouldn’t there be a lot more screaming?”

Lucifer laughs. “Bit outdated, don't you think?” He chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the theatrics of traditional torture, but there’s other ways to torment people. We like to keep it creative.” He flashes me crazy eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to the doors we’re rapidly approaching.

“Right…” I chuckle awkwardly, still a bit freaked out about being in Hell of all places. Compared to the demons and sinners that reside here, a goody two-shoes like me sticks out like a sore thumb. I can’t help but feel like an imposter.

“Here we are,” Lucifer says, stopping at the heavy golden doors. Two demons dressed in high end suits stand tall at the doors, holding it open for the both of us and averting their eyes out of respect, or maybe fear.

“Wow,” is all I can say as I enter the room. 

The walls go as far up as the eye can see, each section illuminated by stained glass windows with the depiction of Hell's greatest hits - many of which starring Lucifer himself, no doubt to please his ego. 

Red light pours through the windows, bathing the room below in a colorful wash of crimson. The walls and floor are made of black obsidian blocks, streaks of red marble decorating them like a battle of bloodshed had just occurred. 

Half a dozen demons stand post on either side of the room, so still that they could be mistaken for statues. 

And in the middle of it all is an intimidatingly large throne made of pure gold, sculpted to resemble an army of snakes standing high above the room.

“This is incredible, Luce,” I say, turning on my heels to look around in wonder.

“Oh, my love, this is just the beginning, I have so much to show you.”

My eyes light up. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Buuut, we can start with this,” he motions to a section of the throne room that stands out from the rest.

Along the interior walls is an open room designed specifically for me. There are large bookshelves that tower at least 10 feet in the air with the library of books he had accumulated at the house, my favorite books organized in alphabetical order, as well as a large red velvet chair to read them in. 

Hundreds of records line the walls, each of them an album that I've enjoyed at one time or another, some that I'd even forgotten about, accompanied by an old fashioned record player playing a classic that I've listened to a hundred times over; “I came back to let you know, got a thing for you and I can’t let go.” I hum along to the music, swaying my hips ever so slightly as I explore the rest of the area.

Most surprisingly, is a shelf dedicated to hundreds of trinkets from throughout my life. The seashells I collected on my road trip through the west coast. A little clay bird I sculpted as a child and gifted to my mother. The floral porcelain teacup I drank out of religiously as I studied for finals. And even the diamond ring that’s been in my family for ages.

“How- how did you get all this?,” I ask, my eyes sweeping over everything, discovering new clever details and secrets.

“I have my ways,” he says ominously. “I knew you’d like it.” He smiles, puffing his wings out in pride. He takes my hand and guides me to the towering throne. He takes a seat, propping himself in a pose that demands respect, and pulls me onto his lap with ease.

I relax against him, resting my head on his shoulder and crossing my legs. I run my hand over his fingers, mindlessly toying with them as I find myself lost in thought.

“This is so much better with you here. It just feels right,” he says with a satisfied sigh, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his chest.

“Yeah, surprisingly, it does.” 

“Makes you wonder if this was God’s plan all along?” He smirks. “That old bastard finally did something right.”

“He does work in mysterious ways,” I chuckle, having that lesson slammed in my face over the past few months of my life. I snuggle into his chest with little care for what the demons may think, it would be a deathwish for them to even look my way without permission.

“This calls for a celebratory drink, don’t you think?” He winks. Putting his fingers up to his mouth, he whistles so loud that it leaves my ears ringing.

After a few moments a stocky man begrudgingly walks into the room carrying a tray of drinks. He has short dark hair and well groomed facial hair that suits his jaw nicely. He wears an all black suit with a gray tie and a look on his face that screams ‘I’d rather be anywhere but here’. He stops in front of the throne, squinting his eyes and sending Lucifer a glare that could kill, but he doesn’t dare step out of line.

Lucifer beckons with two fingers, motioning for the man to step closer and hand out the two fancy glasses of amber liquid.

He clenches his jaw, but reluctantly hands Lucifer his drink. His face is flushed a light shade of red, practically fuming with anger and humiliation. 

“Good puppy,” Lucifer snarks with a devious smile.

The man looks like he’s fighting the urge to strangle Lucifer with his bare hands but decides against it, as anyone who values their life would. He hands me my glass with less anger, looking more intrigued with me than anything. 

“Thank you…?” I give him a questioning look, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Crowley,” he states, straightening his posture and giving me an enchanting look. “At your service, my dear.” He takes my hand and lightly kisses the back of it. There’s a sort of charm to him I can’t explain.

I smile back politely, happy that I may have a new friend in this dreary place.

“That’s enough of that,” Lucifer sighs, and with the flick of his wrist the man goes flying across the room, hitting the wall with a loud smack. Blood drips from the back of his head, but it doesn���t seem to phase him much.

“Lucifer!” I scold him, lightly hitting him on the chest.

“Don’t mind him, he’s still in training.” He rolls his eyes and continues our conversation like he hadn’t just hurled someone across the room. 

“This is too us.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “To eternity.”

“To eternity,” I repeat, clinking our glasses together with a smile.

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[tttovarichhh]

Fuck the polis

Edinburgh has a few simply rules, divided into two categories: rules for all those annoying tourists, blocking the Royal Mile during Fringe and rules for everyone else, who is calling themselves locals.

Brandon settles somewhere in between, paddling around city centre, mostly looking out for some places to find a new girl as well as he follows the main idea of Leith and Muirhouse - fuck the polis. Only one difference, that he’s taking it way to literal, both fucking the polis and being fucked by it regularly.

It all started as they bumped into each other at the hookers. Purely an accident, stupid coincidence that quickly turned out into something way more exciting. That time, Bruce was a first one to pay for an hour with a girl both of them wanted and Brandon spent all that time fucking waiting. Why not to pay for another? Fuck knows. Something inside Sullivan was itching the whole hour, while he was sitting in the old leather sofa, watching men come and go, listening to all the groans and moans from the rooms. And that was killing him.

Next time, he was first, leaving Bruce with the same fate on the sofa behind, but there was the same feeling of itchiness under the ribs, Brandon wasn’t able to understand. Fucking the girl, he didn’t feel the same as usual - no excitement at all, just movements and rapid breath on the skin.

Sullivan wanted something more.

He came to Scotland, searching for redemption, promising himself he can change. Start a new chapter, without any addictions and stupid decisions, but Edinburgh had other plans for him. And Brandon was fucked.

Leaving the room, Sullivan lingers his eyes on Bruce, trying to catch at least some glimpse of what causing that burning sensation inside him. Robertson smirks, enjoying that moment of strange curiosity, his eyes meeting Brandon’s.

“Wanna shag her thegither next time?”

Thick accent hits Brandon and he stops, looks over the man again.

“Fine. Tomorrow, the same time.”

There was no redemption for Brandon in this city, only slow death and even more dirtiness, mixed with whiskey and coke. At least, he remembers only that and God knows what else he tried.

They started to go for the threesome every other day, slowly pushing the boundaries of each other. First awkward session quickly changes to confidence and full absence of any shame whatsoever. From guilty glances at each other, while mostly focusing on the girl between them, Bruce and Brandon went to power control, trying to show who is a better lover. Showing off like two stupid teenagers, but even it those moments the difference was there. Bruce, never casually gentle and Brandon, kissing and licking the girl, meaning all that. With every damn kiss he was looking up at Robertson, teasing him and himself with the idea of Bruce being jealous. The problem was that policeman was actually fucking furious by every glance. Not to mention, bloody hard as well.

“Whit are ye daein', eh? Bein' fucking clever?”

The grip on Brandon’s throat makes him smirk. The rain falls down on them as Bruce pins Sullivan to the dirty wall outside.

“Well, I am clever.”

The punch in the stomach hurts, Brandon groans, closes eyes for a brief second before looking back at Robertson. Fuck, those eyes.

“Don’t ye dare think I’ll let ye shag her like that,” Bruce hisses, steps closer. Brandon chokes, but still doesn’t look away. He knows this game and isn’t about to lose.

“D’ye unnerstaun?”

Robertson lets Brandon breathe, steps away. He takes a pack of cigarettes of the pocket and extends his hand to Sullivan, who rubs his fingers over the throat.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Of course ye don’t.”

“You know you are a fucking bastard, yeah?”

Bruce smiles, puffing the cigarette. He leans against the wall and Brandon takes his cigarette for a drag.

“Fucking rubbish,” he mumbles, giving it back, “can’t afford better ones?”

“Fuck off.”

Brandon laughs dryly, looks over Robertson again. This time, with growing curiosity and the same itching feeling under the heart. Bruce glances back at him, flickers the cigarette away and runs his fingers over the wet hair.

“Fuck ye, Brandon, ye dae shag her better.”

“Natural talent,” he smiles, still looking at Bruce. Robertson hisses, slides hands into the pockets.

“You can have her. Enough of that stupid game.”

“And who are ye gonna hae?”

“We both know there are enough girls on this city.”

Bruce nods slowly. Brandon hesitates, wants to say something, but decides not to risk. Robertson glances at him and smirks.

“Wanna come tae mine?”

“Sure.”

Edinburgh has a few rules and as Bruce says, same rules apply to everyone and everything, but fuck the police isn’t open for everyone.