#it is so dark outside and it’s not even three o’clock yet i hate storms

[merchenary]

good morning gamers, it’s storming pretty bad and i have to leave for work in like an hour!

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day Five- Photograph

“That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.” ― Hope Collier,

Aubrey was almost out the door when her mother dropped the bombshell on her. Usually her mom wasn’t even awake when she was leaving for school, she was still sleeping off whatever bender she had gone on the night before. She was up today, in a stained robe with unkempt hair, but she was up.

“We’re going to visit Flora for dinner tonight. Go home on Basil’s bus, I don’t want you trying to skip out on this,” Past Aubrey would have been elated. Not only was her mom up, but they were going to see her best friend for dinner. Now she growled in irritation and rolled her eyes.

“Mom-”

“Aubrey, don’t even think about starting up,” Her mother cut her off with a warning look. Aubrey shut her mouth but hot anger lit up in her veins. She bit her tongue to stop from screaming as her mother continued her lecturing, “That woman is old and her time is coming soon. Respect thy elders, it’s the godly thing to do,”

The hypocrisy of it filled Aubrey’s mouth with poison, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her mom loved to spout religious crap like this all the time, acting like saying scripture somehow equated to being a good person. Aubrey would have loved to ask her what part of her oh so precious book told her that getting drunk every night was godly, but if she started that fight again she would never make it to school on time.

“Whatever,” Aubrey muttered in lieu of her actual thoughts, pushing past her mother and out the front door. Her mother’s little lecture had taken long enough that the bus stop was completely empty, and that only made Aubrey’s mood even worse. She seized her scooter and whipped it around, putting all of her mental frustration into the physical act of riding to school and away from her house as fast as possible.

The ride did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s anger and a dark storm cloud hung around her through every period. Students gave her a wide berth and teachers looked at her with distrustful eyes. They were all expecting something to happen, and she hated them for it. They always expected the worst of her. Kel had tried approaching her during their shared study hall, and she ignored him till he left. He wasn’t a true friend, he didn’t really care about her. Aubrey had to remember that, or she would fall for his tricks again.

By the end of the day, Aubrey was exhausted. To the rest of the world, she seemed just as bitter and angry as she was when she got to school, but it was just an easy front that she put out to keep them all away. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, climb the stairs to her room, and curl up with her bunny (). She wanted to block out the world and all of the fake people in it, forget about false friends and the never ending loneliness that threatened to crush her at any point.

She couldn’t. She had to go to Basil’s.

She found Basil waiting outside, off in a corner. He was standing slightly hunched over, like he was trying to disappear right where he stood. Absolutely pathetic, but that was Basil. A weakling who had used Aubrey. Kel was with him, clearly talking at Basil and not to him. Basil wasn’t even paying attention, just staring off at the trees and playing with his fingers the way Aubrey hated. She walked over in long purposeful strides, putting herself in the middle between the two boys.

“Get lost,” Aubrey snapped, hoping that Kel would argue right back with her. It would be a good outlet, something that would get rid of the storm cloud. Basil was no fun to fight with, he just cried and apologized. At least Kel would do it properly.

But luck was not on her side. Kel didn’t fire back with a harsh retort or even give her a glare. He just sighed and rolled his eyes, something that instantly set alarm bells of resentment ringing in her head. She hated when he acted higher and mightier, rising above her like he was too good to fight with her. It was the same as her mother’s religious rambling, just another hypocrite who thought they were better than they were and judged Aubrey for not playing their game.

“I’ll see you later, Basil ,” Kel said, deliberately putting emphasis on ignoring that Aubrey even existed. The urge to kick out his legs and pound him into the dirt was overwhelming, but the sound of the buses starting to rumble cut off that train before it left the station. She growled and yanked Basil along with her by the wrist, walking over to his bus and climbing the high steps. Aubrey practically threw him into an open three seater and launched her bag in after, sitting as close to the aisle as she could and as far away from him as possible.

She didn’t want them, but as she sat on the bus with her former oldest friend, memories of all the times they had done this before came to her one by one. They had always chosen a two seater before, they hadn’t needed the room of three. They would cram close together and read the same book, or chat about all the things they could do when they got to his house. They had almost missed their stop multiple times because they were so lost in their conversation, and oftentimes they had to shout for the bus driver to hold on so they could get off. It was funny, sweet to the point of saccharine.

The thoughts made Aubrey sick now. She tried to pretend it was just the righteous fury she obviously should have felt at their betrayal, but there was something else in there. A thing with dark claws that dug into her chest and made itself known with pain. The word for it sat heavy in her mind, there but unspoken, pushed to some long forgotten corner that she never looked at and never wanted to. Aubrey had enough trouble grieving the dead, she had no need for grieving the living too. The bus reached their stop and she hopped off without looking back. Basil would follow or he wouldn’t, she didn’t care either way.

“Aubrey!” Flora tottered towards them down the sidewalk, her cane clutched firmly in her right hand. Her white hair was pulled up in her signature bun, and her dress was a pretty floral blue that matched her eyes.

She pulled Aubrey into a hug once the young girl was close enough, holding her in a tight squeeze. Aubrey put her hands around Flora, but she didn’t hug her back. Flora was fragile, her bones easily felt through paper dry skin. Aubrey hoped she never got old enough to feel this breakable, but the hug was still warm and comforting. Flora smelled like old lady soap and dried flowers and clean laundry, a smell that Aubrey loved for how safe it made her feel, and hated for how fleetingly often she got to experience it.

When Flora pulled back she kept her hands on Aubrey’s upper arms, looking the girl up and down. Aubrey resisted the urge to squirm, holding her breath as the old woman appraised her. She hadn’t seen Basil’s grandmother since the funeral almost two years ago, and she knew Flora hadn’t seen her shocking pink hair yet, or the new styles she liked to wear. Aubrey began to steel herself for a long winded speech about respecting her body like a temple, the kind her mom liked to preach after her second bottle of wine.

“You got taller,” Flora commented, turning around and leading the way back to the house, “Come inside, I made some snacks for you two,”

Aubrey slowly let out the breath she had been keeping, letting Basil walk in front of her and towards his house. Flora had never been a mean spirited woman or purposefully judgemental, but Aubrey’s threshold for trust was a lot lower than it used to be. Her anger began to bleed out and shame took its place. Aubrey usually thought the worst of people, and that didn’t bother her because she was usually proven right in the end, but there were exceptions. Flora had never done anything to earn her ire, even if her grandson had.

Aubrey followed them into their home, taking her shoes off at the entrance and looking around. Nothing had changed really, flowers and plants still hung in pots all around and the bookshelf was still packed to the brim. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and vegetables half cut on a board next to it. Flora gestured towards the table and slowly made her way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and two oranges. She made quick work of the fruits and was soon putting a platter of cut up pieces of fruit between the two children.

“You two can finish your homework here while I finish up the grub. Dinner is going to be in an hour and a half. I know five o’clock is a little early for you youngins, but I like to be in bed by six!” The old woman laughed at her own nonexistent joke, the sound creaky and roughened with age. She had to stop to cough halfway through, but she waved away Basil’s worried gaze and reaching arms, “Please dear I’m fine. Aubrey you have to teach my grandbaby here how to relax more and just enjoy life,”

Aubrey didn’t respond, using digging through her backpack as an excuse to not have to acknowledge what Basil’s grandmother had said. It was less of a hassle to pretend that she hadn’t heard then to lie and act like she cared if Basil was uptight or not. Basil also didn’t say anything, he just started his work in silence. Flora’s genial mood faltered ever so slightly, but she took their dampened mood in stride.

“Okay then, while you two mope, I’ll keep working on dinner,”

Flora went over to the kitchen proper and turned on the radio, listening to some talk show that Aubrey’s mom also liked. The girl settled into her seat and began to flip through her work, picking and choosing which assignments she would do and which ones she would blow off. There was no point to doing some of them, the teacher was going to fail her anyway, so why should she try? At least if she put all her efforts into one or two classes with cool teachers, she might pass. It was almost dinner time when her peace was broken without her permission

“Did you understand the earth science homework?”

Aubrey looked up, shooting Basil a derisive look for even bothering to speak. He flinched away from her, but held firm, waiting for an answer. She didn’t even want to bother, but she knew Flora was nearby and probably listening, and she would have questions if Aubrey ignored her grandson, or worse, told him to shut up.

“It was easy,” Aubrey tersely replied, putting her anger into her pen. Her words started to come out jagged and uneven, but she didn’t care. It felt good, “It’s just identifying minerals,”

“I don’t get it,” Basil murmured, more to himself than to her. He scratched something out on his worksheet and fisted a hand in his hair, “She explained this over and over, I don’t understand why I don’t get it,”

Aubrey watched the display of his anxiety for a few moments before letting out an exaggerated sigh, letting her head flop back against the chair. It wasn’t even fun to watch him get upset, it just made her feel bad, which only made her angrier. She pushed her chair away from the table, enjoying the loud screech it gave and how uncomfortable it made Basil. Then she stood and walked around the table, leaning over him and getting in his space.

“Which one are you confused on?” She demanded, and he pointed to the question with a shaking finger. She looked at the problem and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even one of the difficult ones. Their teacher had given them a table of potential minerals and then a series of questions with specific properties. They had to correctly pick which mineral went to which list of properties.

“Okay so you already got half of them, so you just have diamond, muscovite, talc, and gypsum left,” Aubrey stated, going over the options, “The mineral cleaves into thin sheets, has a white streak, and a pearly luster. Which out of those ones has those traits?”

Basil didn’t respond, still shaking from their proximity. He stammered out some unintelligible words, his hands clasping together around his middle. Before he could devolve into an entire anxiety attack, and more importantly before Flora noticed what was going on, Aubrey would have to deal with this

“Would you quit that? I’m not gonna bite,” She barked, and he flinched further away. Great. Aubrey forced herself to take a breath and count to ten, the thing that the annoying school counselor had showed her that almost never worked. Aubrey tried again.

“Okay instead of thinking about it that way. Let’s go with which ones don’t have those features. Does diamond have a streak?”

“No it’s harder than the streak plate,” Basil responded, which was what their teacher had said word for word. Aubrey had started off with a question she knew he would know the answer to, because Mrs. Tommen had made Basil repeat her when she thought he wasn’t paying attention earlier that day.

“So then obviously it can’t be diamond.” Aubrey said, unable to take all of the snottiness in her tone. It had to be good enough, besides he should know it was stupid that he needed help with this.

“The rest have a white streak though,” Basil said after a quick check of his notes, “It could be any of them,”

Aubrey briefly considered banging her head against the wall. Anything to get her away from rocks and this idiot. She walked around to her side of the table and went back to her own work, putting her head close to the paper.

“Look at the rest of the traits. They don’t all have the same traits. Just do it that way, and quit bugging me,” She hissed. Basil wilted, but he focused back on his work.

“Thanks for the help,” It came out quiet and timid, but it was there. Aubrey jerked her head in a nod, and the two of them lapsed back into silent solo work until Aubrey’s mother knocked on the door. She was dressed in a purple dress that had seen better days and came bearing store bought cookies that still had a sale sticker on them. Her hair was done, but flyaways surrounded her head like a dust cloud, and her smile was entirely fake.

Flora came over and greeted Aubrey’s mom with enthusiasm, thanking her for  her generosity and guiding her to the table. They made small talk as Basil and Aubrey gathered their things and Basil set the table. How her mom’s job was going, how was Flora’s health, all the usual things Aubrey couldn’t care less about.

The conversation only got more boring when dinner started. When they had done this in the past, Basil and Aubrey easily entertained one another with jokes and teasing jabs and barely noticed the time passing. Now each minute was an hour and Aubrey had achieved levels of boredom previously never reached. Aubrey caught Basil’s eye and nodded towards the doorway to the bedrooms, hoping he caught her hint.

“Um G-Granny?” Basil stuttered, grabbing her attention, “May Aubrey and I be excused?”

Flora looked at both of their plates and nodded, patting Basil on the arm. They gathered up their plates and put them in the sink. As she was about to finally escape, Aubrey’s mother crooked a finger in her direction. She walked to her mom and was pulled down roughly by the arm. It was nothing like the gentle pats that Flora gave Basil, but a clear warning.

“Behave,” Her mother said in a harsh whisper, and Aubrey gritted her teeth.

She hated that word. She hated her mother. She hated this whole stupid dinner. Aubrey didn’t bother to answer as she pulled away from her mom. Her mom didn’t want an answer, she wanted a doll for a daughter. A pretty perfect doll that made small talk and smiled at jokes that weren’t funny and did whatever she asked. Aubrey stole away from the kitchen table, walking into Basil’s room and shutting the door. She didn’t like spending time with him anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, but anything was better than being reminded just how much her own mother didn’t like her.

Basil’s room was also in a stasis, unchanged and unevolved from when she last saw it. The only difference was a blooming white orchid, the petals spread around the stem like angel wings. An orchid that was cared for meticulously, surrounded in the dying light of the day with a golden halo. An orchid that stopped Aubrey in her tracks when her eyes landed on it.

Aubrey had only seen orchids like this in one place. She had assumed that the Pastor did it, or some of the church ladies. She knew that the auxiliary had a circulating list of volunteers that went to tend to the graveyard. Aubrey had even considered that the strange man who always seemed to be in the cemetery might put them there next to her.

She knew Hero didn’t visit. He never went anywhere near the church, hadn’t in years. She didn’t know or care what Kel did, and Sunny didn’t even leave the house anymore. Aubrey had thought she was the only one that visited, the last person that even cared. For some reason her brain had completely blocked out the logical idea that Basil, who loved flowers more than anything, would be the one to carefully tend to a difficult to grow bloom.

“You put these by her?” Aubrey asked quietly, tracing a finger over the delicate petals. Neither of them needed Aubrey to say who “her” was, there was only one person left that connected them. Basil nodded, keeping his eyes down and away from his former friend. Aubrey continued to stare down at the flower, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.

“It’s a white egret,” Basil said, sitting on his bed near her and looking at the flower, “It means my thoughts will follow you into your dreams. I thought it was...I thought she might like it,”

She would have. Mari would have thought it was incredibly sweet, and she would have been able to tell Basil so. She wasn’t like Aubrey who spewed hate without a care in the world but who could never manage to say something kind without stuttering. She would have been able to bring them all together so effortlessly, there would have been no issue. None of this would have ever happened in the first place.

Aubrey was adrift, alone in a sea of confusion that sent wave after wave to try and drown her. She wanted to sit on the bed next to Basil, wanted to finally crack open and let everything out. She could trust him to listen, trust him to care. He was the only one besides her who still cared enough to visit. She should do that. That would be good. But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“Aubrey?” Basil said, hesitant but still reaching out. She pulled away from the orchid, stumbling back and looking around. A thick leather bound book in the middle of his bookshelf caught her eye, and she wandered over to it. She knew this book.

“Aubrey, don’t.” Basil ordered, his words meaning nothing to her. She could hear him say it, she could even be mildly shocked that he even dared to talk to her like that, when he had been so timid before, but none of it really reached her. Aubrey pulled his photo album out from the shelf, holding it in her hands and opening it.

Instead of the soft faded colors of their childhood, there was black. There was black over Sunny’s birthday, black over her pink raincoat. She could barely make out Hero and Kel arm wrestling, and she only knew which pictures were from the beach based on the small bits of yellow that peaked through the marker staining the memory.

He had scribbled over Mari’s picture.

Aubrey had never had an out of body experience like this. She was always solid, always grounded. Even when she had heard what Mari did, there was no part of her that was able to check out of the situation. Now she was high in the sky, somewhere distant and far where she could only watch as her heart was broken all over again.

A rough tug jerked her back into her body. Basil had snatched the album back from her, his eyes wild and blown wide open. She couldn’t even respond, she had no idea what to do first- steal the album back, or kill him.

“Get out!” Basil shrieked, holding the book against his chest and falling to his knees. She didn’t want to. She wanted to hit him, to feel his bones breaking under her fists and hear him crying out in pain. She could hurt him worse than he hurt her, make it so she wasn’t the only one suffering. He did this. He was the one who did this, and she wouldn’t be to blame for that. She wanted to wring his neck, to break down and start sobbing.

She wanted to run.

Aubrey shouted in rage, beyond words and beyond any outward expression of the emotions roiling within. She bodily threw the door open, running past the table and out the door. She heard her mother and Flora calling for her, but she ignored them, slamming the door and continuing to sprint away. She got back to her house in record time, not bothering to close the front door as she climbed up the ladder to her room as quickly as possible.

Aubrey locked the trap door to her room, finally letting out the scream that had been building up within her. No one was there to hear it but her bunny, and she was currently hiding in her hut from Aubrey’s meltdown. Aubrey flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillows, screaming again. She could hear her mother coming into the house now, screeching in rage at Aubrey’s dramatic exit, catapulting insults left and right about Aubrey. The girl wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. She would get that album back from Basil, whatever it took to do so, and she would never, never, trust him again.

[fandom-necromancer]

Brothers take care of each others

This was prompted by an amazing anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | Character: Elijah Kamski

The ceiling above him was still clad in total darkness, the sky outside the window turning light blue only at the horizon and stars sparkling peacefully. It was an hour that demanded everyone to stay in bed and get a couple hours’ worth of sleep. Yet Gavin laid in his bed and stared up at his ceiling unable to fall asleep ever since the call of ‘Hah, it worked!’ had woken him up ten minutes to four o’clock. Since then he tried to ignore the distant sounds of tools clattering to the floor. One thing was for sure: Sleeping over these noises was far easier than falling asleep to them. he cursed, looking at his alarm that read 4:30 completely indifferent to what that time meant for Gavin. He sighed deeply. There was no use staying under the sheets any longer, he was awake now. Might as well stand up.

Not bothering with any clothes other than the boxer shorts and the loose old T-shirt he had slept with, he opened the door and yawned heartily on his way to the bathroom. ‘Oh, you are awake!’ Gavin’s lids fell in resignation, as he showed his brother the middle finger and continued walking towards the bathroom without even looking at him. Ten minutes later, he had splashed some water in his face and had readied himself for another day. Sort of. He had zero interest in trimming his stubble and trying to hide the dark rings under his eyes was of no use either. At least he felt ready to deal with his brother now.

‘Morning’, he hummed as he entered the living room, stifling yet another yawn. ‘Good morning indeed.’ ‘Says you’, Gavin commented. ‘I didn’t phcking asked to be woken up at four.’ ‘Sorry. Forgot you’re not a morning person.’ ‘Nah, I’m normal, other than you’, he huffed. ‘Okay, I need a coffee now.’ ‘Perfect! Then you can already try out my improvements!’ Gavin stopped in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Improvements?’

‘Yes! I hooked up your coffee machine with the internet! It is now able to import recipes for any kind of coffee you might like and start brewing it – if you have given it the right ingredients of course.’ Gavin looked at Elijah with a face that expressed to equal measures pain and frustration. ‘And what about a regular damn coffee, like I always make it?’ ‘I called that program a “phcking” coffee’, Elijah mocked him, tapping at the display hastily attached to the machine. Gavin watched how his favourite mug filled with his life saving drink and sighed. ‘Oh, the wonders of technology…’ ‘Oh, then you will love what I did to your microwave!’

Gavin groaned, sipping on his coffee instead of commenting. It had only been three days so far and already Elijah had “improved” half of the technology he had in the house. He would have told him to stop, but as long as Elijah was busy tinkering with his stuff, he wouldn’t become bored. And if Gavin remembered one thing from his childhood, then he knew that was about the worst state one could meet his brother in. Even with Elijah no longer being part of Cyberlife, he was still an influential and rather public person. His latest talk about the autonomy of androids had had quiet the impact, especially in the anti-android community, as they had looked up to him as the creator of these “supposedly alive” machines. It shouldn’t have surprised Eli as much as it had that afterwards, people would come to him with their hate. But since someone had broken into his heavily secured house and had killed one of the Chloes without leaving as much as a trace, his home was an active crime-scene and it was either a hotel room or Gavin’s apartment for the man.

Elijah, curious as ever, had of course taken the latter, if not to spy on police investigation, then to spend a few weeks with his brother he hadn’t seen in ages. Not that Gavin really could complain - it was fun having him around. But he was also a usually very private person and Elijah’s constant energy had quickly started getting on his nerves.

‘And? When will you drive to work today?’, Elijah asked. ‘Still time for breakfast?’ Gavin sighed. ‘Yeah, sure. Want some toast? Don’t think I have much-‘ ‘I want to come with you.’ That made even sleep deprived Gavin suddenly attentive. ‘What?’ ‘To your workplace’, Eli explained. ‘I could find out more about the status of the investigation of my home. Also, I could finally see for myself who that certain android is you put an eye on!’ ‘I don’t- Elijah, you can’t just stay at the station. You are a civilian! I will keep you updated.’ ‘I’m also one of the richest men in the world. I doubt anyone would want to stop me.’ ‘I- Elijah, you still can’t-‘ ‘Come on!’, the man just talked over him. ‘It will be fun! I’ll drive us.’ Unable to stop his brother storming out of the flat with the keys, Gavin sighed, downed the rest of his coffee and hastily got dressed. That would be the worst day of his work life for sure.

-

‘So this is where you work. Interesting.’ ‘You’ve been here before’, Gavin grumbled, not really sure if he was more tired or more embarrassed at the moment. ‘Promise me you’ll leave me alone for at least the first hour, okay? I seriously have to get some stuff done.’ ‘Oh, of course!’ But despite his words, Elijah followed him to his desk. Gavin decided to ignore him in favour of starting up his terminal, but Nines had never been the one to hide what he was thinking: ‘Mr. Kamski? What are you doing here?’ ‘Oh, you must be Nines! I’m just accompanying my brother to work. Wanted to take a look at the place he keeps complaining about.’ ‘You can’t be here.’ ‘Well, but I am, am I not?’ ‘That… That really isn’t a valid argument.’ ‘Listen, Nines. How about instead of talking about something you can’t change anyways, you show me around a bit?’ Nines looked at Gavin for help, but it was his partner’s silent pleading him to “yes, please, get him away from me” that let him cave in. ‘Okay, but I can’t show you everything.’

Gavin watched them walk off and praised the blissful silence. He concentrated on the screen in front of him, knowing he had to finish all the important work now before Eli would come back and annoy him further. He loved his brother. But some distance was clearly needed after all these years. He actually managed to answer his mails and find himself back into his case, reviewing evidence and the first lab results that had come in regarding blood analysis and genetic information about the murderer. Then Nines and Elijah came back. Gavin saw him passing Fowler’s glass cube and his heart sunk. But then the door opened.

‘What the hell is Kamski doing here?’, the Captain shouted in the room, effectively silencing any conversations. ‘I wanted to take a look around’, Elijah simply answered. Fowler looked at him as if he had just lost his mind. ‘This is a police station! Not some kind of tourist attraction! You can’t be here.’ Every other person would have long apologised and run for their life with Fowler this angry, but Elijah stood his ground and smiled. ‘And you can’t make my brother work his ass off like a Lieutenant and still pay him Detective money, especially after his recent achievements, yet here we both are.’ In over eighteen years of working in this precinct, Gavin had never seen Fowler speechless. The man stared at Elijah, who smiled at him in all confidence, while most of the officers in the precinct seemed ready to duck behind their tables.

‘Leave’, was all the Captain pressed out. ‘Now.’ ‘Alright, don’t want any trouble.’ Elijah grinned, winked at Nines and made his way over to the door. ‘Gonna pick you up later, bro!’ Gavin didn’t give him any answer as he knit his brows and rubbed his forehead. Too little sleep, too much early morning conversation, too little coffee and now the whole precinct’s attention. Great. He just wanted to get his work done, get home and sleep. And exactly that he was going to do.

Until his break began and Nines approached him. With a sigh of regret, Gavin turned around and waited. ‘Is it true?’ ‘Is what true, tin-can? I had a really shitty day so far and I still can’t read minds.’ Nines shifted his weight on his other leg and continued: ‘Your brother… When I led him through the building, he told me you had a crush on me.’ Thinking about everything that could have happened today, Gavin certainly hadn’t expected that.

‘This asshole! I will phcking kill him, I swear!’ ‘So… It’s not true?’ ‘Hell, of course it’s true!’ Gavin froze. Why had he said that? ‘Oh.’ Gavin looked up at the android, that was smiling to himself, cheeks tinged blue. ‘That’s… nice to hear.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘I mean, I like you a lot, Gavin. To learn it’s mutual is… very nice.’ Gavin sighed deeply, holding his head. ‘I will phcking kill him…’ ‘Are you not happy about this?’ ‘Phck, Nines, I am. I really am. But I’m tired, I have an annoying as phck brother at home that just won’t shut up and I really wanted to ask you out any other way than this.’

‘I understand’, the android nodded. ‘But it’s nice to have it out now, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah it is. Listen, I… Let’s forget this happened for just this day, okay? I will leave early today, speak to my brother about all of this and if I’m not charged with murder tomorrow morning, how about we do this properly? Tomorrow is your free day, right?’

Nines nodded and smirked. ‘Call me if you need to hide the body.’

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twelve

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

  Posting new chapters on Wednesday and Friday!

 Under a nearly full moon

That same evening, Sarah received Dr. Roberts information and sent him an email. She explained that she needed to call him as soon as possible, signing with her birthname and nothing else. She was sure he’d remember her. He responded to her email about an hour later, suggesting she call him in the morning before eight o’clock.

Shutting her laptop, she looked around and sank further into the sofa. She felt lonely but didn’t want to call Martha who was already worried to death and likely to smother her in affection. Rising from the soft couch, she headed into the kitchen ready to brew some tea. As she filled a pot of water, she glanced out of the window over the sink at the miserable patch of land she called a backyard. At least it’s fenced, she mused. She’d tried to keep up with some gardening, but the grass wouldn’t stop dying and she wasn’t sure of what she was supposed to do.

A door from the kitchen led out onto the dying patches of grass and weeds, where she’d placed a small round table and two chairs. A couple dirt-filled pots could be found near the door. She’d bought flowers at a local greenhouse, but she’d never truly gotten the time to plant them.

The pot on the stove, she pulled the blanket tight around her frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She unlocked the door and moved the outdoor lantern onto the table. Sarah stared at the sad daffodils in their plastic vases, waiting for attention. Her mother, Tara Stacker, loved gardening. Sarah could sometimes smell the flowers, hear the buzzing bees, and see the most colorful butterflies in the office. It was a natural connection she made whenever thinking of her mom.

In the light of the lantern, she looked at the insulting, small excuse for a yard she owned. She could see her breath form small clouds in the cold air, but she’d already decided.

Sarah headed back inside, turned off the stove and slipped a tea bag into the boiling pot of water. She found an elastic and tied her hair back before slipping into her heavy winter coat.

Firmly decided, she marched back outside and stilled herself against shivering. She moved the lantern so she could see more of the yard. First, she busied herself with planting the daffodils into their respective pots. She watered them and mixed some coffee grounds in the dirt, as she remembered her mother doing. Then, she tackled the main issue with the yard: when she’d moved in, the most displeasing aspect of the space was the number of awkwardly positioned dead bushes. There were four to be exact, and she needed to uproot them.

And so, she set herself to it, pulling and pulling with all her strength. The first three took a while, but she ultimately tossed them to the side. The fourth, however, proved to be quite the challenge. She clenched her teeth and pulled. She wanted to finish what she’d started. Maybe she just wanted a yard where she could feel closer to her mother. She crouched over, breathing heavily. She felt the characteristic warmth fill her, enveloping her and guarding her from the cold.

Alarmed, she moved back and blew out some air. She waited until she was calm, and the cold came rushing back. She couldn’t help but let out a small angry imprecation.

And then she heard it. A small scuffle, maybe someone stepping onto unstable terrain. She slowly turned around to look at a dark corner, “Who’s there?”

The silence stretched for a few long seconds, until someone cleared their throat and stepped out into the light. Black Noir. He proceeded over to the bush she’d been having trouble with, and promptly teared it out of the ground with seemingly no resistance.

“I swear,” she accused, “you want to give me a heart attack.”

He shook his head no.

“No?” she shook her head incredulously, choking down her initial moment of panic. “What are you doing here?” she asked glancing at her watch. It was going on midnight.

He raised a hand and mimicked holding a pen and writing.

She stomped into the house and grabbed their usual notebook. Once back outside, she handed it over before taking a few steps back. Was he always watching her? How much did he know?

Wanted to make sure you were safe

She narrowed her eyes, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Your ex

She watched him carefully, but it’s hard to distinguish the true from the false when the person is hidden behind a mask.

And I missed you

She looked at him in another light, feeling her walls come crashing down. If he were here to kill you, he would have already done so, she reminded herself.

“Ok,” she cleared her throat, “I’ll—,” she hesitated. “I’ll just get some tea. You can sit.”

She hurried inside and pressed her back against the wall. What was she going to do? Things were moving fast, and while she found herself enjoying his presence, she couldn’t help but feel dread. He was a threat, and yet she felt safe around him. But when he finds out who you are? Sarah knew he was Edgar’s personal hitman, a tool to eliminate any threat to the company’s success. She’d soon become another target.

She hurried and prepared a tray with the teapot and two mugs, plus a straw for him. She headed back out, balancing the items, and setting them onto the miniscule table. Honestly, it looked even smaller when compared with Noir’s large frame, as if a grown man had been invited to a twelve year old’s tea party.

She poured the scalding liquid into their mugs and sat down. Immediately she wrapped her fingers around hers, reveling in the warmth it provided.

You are cold

She smiled, “You’re very observant.”

We can go inside

“Ah no, I can take it—plus, the stars tonight are lovely,” she switched off the lantern and looked up at the nearly full moon and twinkling stars around it. They would come and go, alternately concealed by the dark clouds crossing the sky.

She took the dark as a chance to look at him and found him already watching her. The light blue hues folded over his mask’s hard edges and he looked dangerous, and otherworldly.

They drank their tea in silence, bathing in the moonlight and enjoying the companionship. While she hated that he’d surprised her in a moment of weakness, she was ultimately glad he did. It guided her mind away from her memories and reminded her to not get lost in her own head. These were the nights she didn’t sleep, the times when her mind conjured up butterflies in the air to cope with her loss.

When she finished sipping the drink, she almost whined in disappointment. Her hands quickly grew cold again. She saw him move within the corner of her eye as he moved his chair to the side of hers. He reached towards her.

She tensed, ready to lash out. All he did was reach behind her head and tug on the band holding her hair back into a puffy ponytail. Immediately after freeing her hair, his hand lowered and grabbed a hold of her own, lacing their fingers together. She was surprised when she found that he’d taken his gloves off, their skin rubbing together. She sighed, content with the warmth he provided.

Sarah hummed, “You’re like a walking heater—it’s delightful.”

His shoulders lightly shook as if he were laughing before he settled down.

And that’s how they stayed for a while until she went to sleep, and Noir headed back to the tower. They stayed quiet, her hands pulled to the side and into his lap, covered by his larger ones. At a certain point, he even began to trace pensive circles into her skin, watching the moonlight highlight her features, and the bouncy kinks in her hair.

That night he was something solid to lean against. Shielding her from the cold night, he kept her tethered to the ground, keeping her from blowing away with guilt. He kept her head above water, keeping her from drowning in her thoughts.

Somehow, they clicked. In her sketchy backyard, minds momentarily void of anxiety and stress, they silently accepted each other’s companionship and watched the moon cross the sky.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Thirty-Three: The Phone is Ringing ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Haruno Sakura, Hyūga Hanabi, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It takes exactly eight rings before the answering machine picks up.

When it does, a honey-sweet voice speaks.

“Hello! You’ve reached Hinata Hyūga. I can’t make it to the phone right now, but leave your name and your number, and I’ll c-call you back as soon as I can!”

She’s always hated how she stutters in it. After a dozen tries and every single one having at least one hiccup, she just gave up and took the last one. In part, she wonders if it’s played any roles in certain calls simply hanging up rather than leaving a message.

The machine is on a little table in the entryway of her apartment, the volume soft as not to be too terribly overheard by anyone walking by. Beside it is a little bowl where she typically keeps her keys, and a hook for her coat and purse. Today, all three are missing.

When the phone rings, it proceeds all the way to voicemail.

“Hinata, this is your father. This is the fourth time I’ve tried calling you the past two days, and you’ve still returned none of my messages. This is hardly becoming behavior, young lady. Something we’ll have to discuss once you finally get back to me. Your sister tells me you’ve been ignoring her texts. You can’t avoid us, Hinata. We’re family, no matter how disdainful you might find that to be.”

There’s the subtle sound of a landline being set back in its cradle, and then the apartment goes quiet again. A bright red 5 blinks along the screen, eager for attention.

No one gives it.

A few hours later, rain begins to pour. Carried by the wind, it impacts rather noisily against the windows that face the north, droplets exploding and slithering down the glass. The view from the fifth story blurs. Downtown is drenched in grey as the storm settles over, headlights a soft yellow as they struggle to cut through the gloom. Neon signs of downtown flicker and warp in the view through the water.

Just as the sun starts to go down, the phone begins to ring again. After eight tones with no answer, the machine picks up.

“Hey Hina! It’s Sakura. Just thought I’d check in on you - it’s been a while! Haven’t heard from you in a hot minute, and uh...figured I’d see if maybe you’d be down to hang for a while! I’m back in town next week for a conference, and I’d love to see you. I know you’re pretty busy, but hey, if you’ve got a spare hour or two while I’m around, let me know! Bye.”

There’s a few muffled background noises before the message cuts off completely. The 5 changes to a 6.

Night falls, and still the table remains empty save for the machine. Light creeps in around the main door, and a light on a timer in the kitchen flares to life. Otherwise, the apartment remains dark, and just as silent.

And so it goes until morning.

At seven am sharp, the phone is ringing once again. Once, twice, all the way to eight times.

“Hello Miss Hyūga. This is your supervisor Kurenai Yūhi. It was brought to my attention that you failed to appear at work yesterday with no prior notice. I know that you mentioned, in passing, that you had some...personal issues going on. But work policy mandates that, outside of an emergency, you give at least eight hours notice before a missed shift. If this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to write you up and place you on temporary suspension. You’ve been an exemplary employee during your three years with us, but I can’t make exceptions. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.”

The line goes quiet.

The table is empty.

The 6 becomes a 7.

Midafternoon, the ringing tone of the phone shrilly sounds five times...and then silence. On the phone’s caller ID, an obvious spam number displays. It leaves no message.

It’s nearly five o’clock when it rings again. And again. And again, until her pre-recorded message greets the silent apartment.

“...hey, ‘nata. It’s me, Hanabi. Look, uh...I’m seriously starting to get a little freaked out? You’ve never ignored me this long. Not even when I broke that old rabbit figurine Mom gave you. Please, just...let me know you’re okay? I dunno what I did to make you mad, or...maybe it’s not me you’re mad at. But I’m your sister. We might not always get along, but like...we’re sisters. Talk to me, ‘nata. If Dad’s being an asshole, just ignore him. But please...don’t shut me out. Okay? Love you…”

There’s a small, audible sigh...and then silence. The 7 blinks, and is reborn as an 8.

The rest of the evening passes quietly. The only interruption is a rowdy group of young men stumbling drunkenly past the door, the sober among them shushing for silence only to be ignored. They enter the apartment next door, where music begins to play and raucous laughter easily bleeds through the thin walls. But despite all of the rowdiness that carries well into the night, there’s no one home to complain.

The next morning, it’s foggy with a light misting of rain. Kurenai calls again and informs Hinata that her formal suspension is now in place. Should she miss one more day of work, she’ll be forced to terminate her employment.

The 8 becomes a 9.

A random number calls around ten, proclaiming that a recent fraud case in her town may have affected her identity, and to immediately call this number to confirm. Yet another clear case of spam.

9 makes way for the double digits of 10.

And then, in the early afternoon, another call.

“Hinata. This is your cousin Neji. Your father is furious that you have yet to return his calls, and is in the process of filing a missing person’s report. I implore you - if you are simply being obstinate - to drop this charade immediately before the police are forced to intervene. You know we can’t have a scandal like this in the family over a petty disagreement. Whatever Hiashi has done...surely it isn’t worth things becoming this complicated. Whatever has happened, you know I’m here for you. But this has carried on long enough. I only hope that...drama is all this is, and you aren’t in any trouble, cousin. Please call me as soon as you hear this message.”

...10 becomes 11.

The day continues to wane. The rain continues to fall. The machine continues to flash, seemingly desperate to be seen as the bright red numerical digits only get brighter as the ambient light fades.

...and then the door opens.

Heavy-footed, a figure steps in, exhaustion clear in their posture, but otherwise seemingly fine. A bag is tossed under the table, keys barely flung into the bowl. Coat still worn, she pauses as she spies the machine.

“...oh, s-shoot…”

A dainty finger presses the play button. The first message is a telemarketer, which she promptly deletes. The next four are from her father, and Hinata’s lips press into a thin, irritated line. Each message becomes more and more agitated, and a small part of her can’t help but feel satisfaction.

After all, he brought this all on himself.

Her gut twinges in guilt at Sakura’s message - she’ll have to call her back later. Kurenai’s earn a grimace. She has her mobile number...why didn’t she try there? Hanabi also makes her shoulders wilt guiltily. As soon as she’s done, she’ll shoot her a text. She just...hasn’t been in the headspace.

Neji’s, however, makes her swear. Sure, it probably looked bad, but...really? Really? What an idiot her father is...she’ll call Neji and let him know Hiashi can call off the stupid missing person’s case. And let him know that any drama isn’t her fault. That lies solely on her father’s stubborn shoulders!

But before she gets to any of that, she takes out her cell and scrolls through her contacts, finding the appropriate name before calling. It rings once, twice, three times.

“Hello?”

“Hey...I’m home.”

“Oh, good. Glad you made it okay. So, uh…?”

“I’ll talk to my landlord tomorrow. It’s g-going to take some doing. I don’t have much, but some should probably go into storage…”

“That’s fine. I think there’s units near my place, so we can just put what you don’t want in there.”

“All right. Um...I think I might have gotten fired…”

“Oh shit, really?”

“I’ll call Kurenai here in a minute, but...for some reason she never bothered with my mobile. And I was just so out of it…”

“Well, hopefully she’ll understand. Anyone else?”

“Family, mostly...my father being r-ridiculous. Hanabi was worried, and Neji. But I’ll talk to them, too. They aren’t going to be happy…”

“Sometimes you have to think about your own happiness, Hinata. This is what you want, right…?”

“It is.”

“...I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t. I told you they’d react like this. I knew they would...it’s my fault for being so quiet about it, but...I just didn’t want to deal with it after telling him. I needed a few days. Seems even that was enough for them to go ballistic…”

“All the more reason to stick to your decision.”

“I know...thank you, Sasuke.”

“We’ll make this work, with or without them. I love you.”

“...I love you too. I better go, though...I’ve got a l-lot of phone calls to make before I can call it a night.”

“All right. You need anything, just let me know. We’ll get you moved in and settled down. And if the job thing fell through, we’ll find you something new. Maybe even something closer.”

“Yeah...I just really like this job...I feel d-dumb for not calling in, I just…”

“Well, talk to Kurenai. Maybe she can pull some strings for you.”

“Maybe…”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay? Get things straightened out, and call me when you’re done. We can plan from there.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Hearing the line go quiet, Hinata ends the call and sighs. Just the first of many...it’s going to be a long night. Glancing to the 0 on her message machine, she makes her way in to her sitting room and dials the next number.

Here we go...

                                                            .oOo.

     This is really random, and uh...I really dunno what it is xD The suspense concept kinda just hit me, and I rolled with it as best I could given how day tired and burnt out I am, lol      But in case it isn't clear: Hinata told her father she's planning on moving in with Sasuke because they're dating. Mister Uptight Jerkface decided to throw a huge tantrum because traditionalism and being a controlling father. Hinata thus just...disappeared for a few days at Sasuke's place, hence missing all the calls (and ignoring texts because she just...did NOT want to deal with that).      I dunno if I really managed to make it as suspenseful as I wanted, with the question of whether or not something had REALLY happened to her. But I tried - I don't write this sort of thing very often xD      Buuut anyway, it's late, and I have yet another looong day ahead of me tomorrow. So just a warning: I might not post tomorrow. I know I'm abysmally behind, but this whole situation is VERY draining, and I'd rather be late than post garbo for these entries.      That said, I'll do my best. But no promises. For now though, I need to get some sleep! Thank you for reading~

[broadwaybaggins]

Holiday prompts: Leia Organa, 13, 21; Rose Tico, 12. 7

(Will do the Leia ones later, I promise!

One day, years from now, someone will ask me what my legacy was on this website. And I will answer, writing niche crossover fanfiction that maybe three people care about. And I will be proud)

#7 Drinks, #12 Ice

When Miss Tico arrived for her first official day of work at The Sketch, she was limping. 

Edith watched her shuffle to her new desk--right by the window with the best view of the street below, Edith had taken care of that specially without even realizing why she had the impulse. She walked in with her head held high despite her unsteady footing, ignoring the hushed whispers of curiosity that followed her when she entered the office. She was dressed smartly in a dark grey dress and matching hat, although Edith thought that some color would suit her well...blue maybe, or red...

She shook her head as one of her head writers came in, his eyes wild and mouth already moving a mile a minute. She tried to listen to his information--a scoop on some political scandal or other that would keep the office buzzing all afternoon--and tried to keep her thoughts away from the dark-haired woman in the window.

All day that first day she meant to make time to check in on Rose, to see how she was settling in. But that day seemed to bring one disaster after another, everything from a delayed delivery to two malfunctioning typewriters and something that Edith still can’t quite figure out involving an upcoming by-election. One of her columnists left midway through the day with a headache, and Edith was left scrambling to figure out how to do damage control. As with so many days since taking over the newspaper, it was a perfect storm of disasters and, not for the first time, Edith found herself wondering what Michael would do if he were here.

She barely saw Rose that first day, other than briefly when Edith took a break to drink a cup of tea and scarf down some decidedly stale biscuits. At some point in the day when Edith was otherwise occupied, Rose snuck into Edith’s office and placed her carefully typewritten work to be edited, leaving only the faint scent of perfume in her wake. Not roses. Some kind of lavender, maybe.

The next few days passed in a hazy blur. Edith saw Rose occasionally at meetings, watching as she took copious notes in a little leather-bound notebook that was never far from her side. She took the time to joke with her as she passed her in the stairwell (”Have you acclimated to our chaos yet?” “Nothing like what I’m used to, Miss Crawley!”) Still, it was not until the end of Rose’s first week on the job that the office calmed down to such an extent that Edith finally felt like she could breathe.

It was nearly five o’clock in the evening on a Friday night. Edith had sent the rest of her staff home almost an hour ago, as congratulations for a job well done. Their take on the latest breaking story was, in Edith’s opinion, by far the best-written and most nuanced that the public was going to find in any of the papers, and she felt they had earned an early start to the weekend. She stayed late as she often did these days, finishing up last minute tasks, making lists of future ideas for columns and stories to explore and challenges to tackle. The office was quiet as she worked, snow gently falling outside the window, bright white against the gently darkening sky. If she didn’t know any better, Edith would think she was the last person in all of London. Which was why she was so surprised, when she finally poked her head out of her office door, to find Miss Tico still at her desk, watching the snow fall outside.

“Miss Tico?” she asked, so quietly that the woman didn’t hear her at first, “Rose?”

She turned around, surprised but not startled. Edith offered her a smile. “I thought you’d have left ages ago.”

Rose smiled back. “I thought about it, but I do hate getting the bus in the snow. I thought I’d wait to see if it let up. Besides, it’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” Edith agreed, crossing to her and perching on the edge of one of the nearby desks. They watched the snowfall in silence for a moment before Rose spoke again. “It reminds me of one Christmas I spent in France. There was a ceasefire--just for a few hours, on Christmas Eve. And it started to snow. It was the most peaceful thing I’d ever seen. Like the war was already over, but only while the snow kept falling. Only for that one moment.”

In the dim light, Edith could swear she saw tears shining in Rose’s eyes. She gave a gentle smile and thought about offering her a handkerchief, but she had the suspicion that Rose wouldn’t want it. Instead, she said. “Did you enjoy your trial by fire? I’m afraid you picked a frightful time to join our staff.”

“It was amazing,” Rose said without a hint of insincerity. “Exhausting, but amazing. Just like I always imagined it would be.” She looked up at Edith through her long eyelashes. Edith had the sudden, unmistakable urge to reach out and brush her hand across Rose’s cheek, but she wasn’t sure where it came from. “Is it always like that?”

Edith blinked, unsure of exactly what she had just been asked, but then she chuckled. “Not all the time, no. And thank heaven, or we’d run ourselves ragged.” She looked back over her shoulder towards her office, then back to Miss Tico. “Since the snow doesn’t show any signs of letting up, would you care for a drink? I’ve got a bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked at Rose. “I’d say after this whirlwind week, we’ve earned it.”

Rose nodded eagerly, and they retired to Edith’s office. Drinks were poured, and they toasted the week and the work they’d done. They chatted softly as they sipped, the alcohol loosening their tongues until they might not have been employer and employee talking, but equals. Before Edith knew it, they had both sank into the cushions of the settee in Edith’s office, lounging in a way they never could if others were around. Edith occupied one corner, Rose the other, and they’d even removed their shoes when Rose complained about how her toes pinched terribly, they were too small for her but they had been Paige’s and she couldn’t bear to throw them out.

“I meant to ask,” Edith said, nudging Rose’s leg gently with her own. “You were limping on your first day. I never had the time to ask you about itWhat happened?”

Rose seemed to blush, or maybe it was just the Madeira. “Took a nasty fall on a patch of ice. I can’t exactly blame the shoes for it, though. It was my own fault. I was in too much of a hurry, as usual.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” Edith said gently, “although I’m sorry you hurt yourself.”

Rose thought for a moment, taking a careful sip before she spoke. “It’s bad when you don’t stop and take a look at what’s around you. I feel like ever since the war--since before that, even--I’ve been going nonstop. I’d quite like life to slow down now. Does that make sense?”

“I think it does,” said Edith. And as they drained the bottle of wine between them, as they passed it back and forth and Edith tried not to think about how every brush of Rose’s fingers against hers caused her heart to race, she couldn’t help but wish that she could slow down this moment in time just a little longer.

[beitingz]

Special (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

I love Tohru if you haven’t guessed it yet, but anyway... this is just something I made to ease my rusty imagination when it comes to Shingeki no Kyojin.

O-Oh! And this is a Modern AU.

Enjoy!

-

-

“Looks like it’s going to rain today, Erwin,” Levi observed as he gazed out of the clear window with his dead fish eyes. The sky was considerably grey and cloudy, just as he said it would be the previous day. Perhaps if he were on the other side of the glass he would receive the sweet, fresh, and evocative smell of fresh rain before it actually fell.

His peeled his eyes away from the window and glanced at the digital clock on the wall. A small, tired groan escaped his lips as he saw that it was nearly 8 o’clock in the morning. It looks like he would smell the rain sooner than later.

Levi gently pushed his seat back and went to stand, only to stop and stare at the empty seat across from his spot at the table. There was no one there to quietly drink tea or coffee with him while filling out outdated crossword puzzles and the occasional documents from work; and it was all because Erwin was dead. Just like most of his old friends.

His fingers balled up into fists for a moment as he let that thought sink in before he let out a deep sigh and relaxed. Today was going to be a long day.

After quickly and thoroughly cleaning up his mess on the dining table, he threw on a coat and started heading towards the front door with the day’s schedule and routine wrapping around his mind. It felt like something was missing, but his brain completely drew blank whenever he tried to think of it. He slipped on his shoes with a confused frown, grabbed the black umbrella that rested against the wall, and then opened the door. His grey-blue hues widened as he saw a familiar young woman with a bright expression on her face.

It was you.

“Good morning, Levi!” you chirp, rocking on your feet while happily twirling your [fav color] umbrella.

Levi sighed yet again and took a step outside, dragging the door behind him until it was shut. “Hello, Y/N…” he mumbled so quietly that you almost miss it.

“Lovely day, isn’t?” you ask, leaning back to get a good look at the dark sky that suddenly rumbled with thunder.

“What’s ‘lovely’ about it?” he remarked, swiftly brushing past you to start heading work. You look down with a hum and panic as you realize that he started walking without you. You hurriedly jog to his side and spin around so you’re walking backwards.

“It’s going to rain! I love rain,” you beam, smiling in his direction just as he turned away. “Don’t you just love rain?”

The imagine of finding his dear friend Isabel in cold blood at a gas station during a storm flashed before his eyes.

“...No,” he answered honestly.

“Must you hate everything, Levi?” you ask, now frowning with slumped shoulders.

You’ve known each other for about three years and have been walking to work together for just as long. Levi had no clue where the hell you lived, but figured it didn’t matter since you never seemed to be at your own house anyway because you were always stopping by his place with intentions on staying for a minute or two, yet ending up staying for hours.

At first he found you annoying since you shared some similarities with your crazed boss Hanji, but he found that you were just eager to befriend him since it had been rumored that you used to be much like him before you met. Now, he didn’t mind your slightly clingy side and somewhat bubbly character since he felt that you were that way only with him. He felt special to you in some way.

As the thought came to mind, he turned his head to look at you only to find that you had the same idea. Instead of getting flustered, you simply smiled as best as you could before looking straight again. Levi forced himself to turn his attention to the path you both took.

Maybe you were special to him in some way, too.

A cold, wet drop of water fell from the sky and smacked against the nape of his neck. Without even having to look up, he knew that it was finally beginning to rain. Another drop of water fell, followed by another one, and another, and another before he finally opened and raised his pitch black umbrella over his head.

“That was sooner than expected!” you squeal, closing your umbrella as quickly as possible. Levi gave you a hard look as you smiled at the dark skies that showered you in return.

“You’re going to end up getting soaked, idiot,” he chastised as he came to a sudden stop. His usual dull expression was no longer conveyed as he genuinely seemed thrown off by your actions.

You look back at him and coyly chuckle. “You are so right.”

Before he could even blink, you practically dive underneath his umbrella and pressed yourself against his side to avoid getting wet. Levi stood silently for a moment before slowly speaking over the deafening sound of downpour.

“Don’t you have your own umbrella to use?”

“Yes, but I very much prefer yours, Levi,” you answer with a shrug. You reach for his left hand and raise it high enough to be able to read his silver watch. “Hey, we better hurry or else we’ll be late!”

Without much protest, he grumbled under his breath and continued journeying to your workplace with you practically connected to him at the hip.

[cordonianchoicesqueen]

Rewritten: The Royal Romance: Truth or Dare (Part 10)

A/N: Took a little longer to write this than anticipated! But this is my first entry into this series that is not based on an actual chapter. It takes place between the Royal Picnic in chapter six and the trip to Olivia’s Chateaux in chapter seven. I wanted to capture how quickly this group bonds but without spoiling any plot. ALSO, thank you so much for all the support on my last part of this series. Seriously I started writing this just for me and it feels amazing that ANYONE reads it.

Summary: With no plans, Riley hosts a dinner and drinks night in her suite at the palace for Hana, Drake and Maxwell. The night takes a turn as they decide to play a game of truth or dare.

Choices Chapter: Book One, between chapter six and chapter seven (original addition)

Disclaimer: Characters and main storyline from Pixelberry’s Choices.

Word Count: 1900+

Warnings: one use of strong language

Tags: @krsnlove

Truth or Dare

That evening, there was no social event planned. No huge state dinner. No meeting royalty. We had the option to attend dinner in the dining room at a time that pleased us individually, with access to the palace’s award winning chef’s delicacies. If we did not feel like having company we could have our dinner sent up to our rooms and eat in peace without the watchful eyes of the other members of court. I, however, had plans of my own. 

“Why don’t we all order our food to my room and we can have a little dinner party,” I had asked the group back at the picnic. Liam had had to decline as any time he wasn’t scheduled for a social appearance, he was in meetings with his father to discuss the future of the country. Hana gleefully agreed, loving the idea of avoiding Olivia and spending more time with me. Maxwell was, also, on board, no questions asked. Drake rejected the invitation but after some tactical persuasion from me, he was in. I considered inviting Penelope and Kiara but thought best to solidify my alliances with Maxwell, Drake and Hana before wading into the swamp. By eight o’clock, we were sat around the table in my room picking out our meals and relaying the information to a member of the palace staff to bring up to the room. I had lit candles, ordered a ridiculous number of bottles of wine for four people and had put on some pop music in the background to give it more of a party vibe. We had all agreed on wearing comfy clothes. I had, therefore, decided to wear some thick socks, comfy sweats and a black cami. Drake, too, had followed the dress code in his own comfy cottons and a loose fitting blue tee. Hana and Maxwell, however, seemed to not understand what comfy really meant. Hana wore a casual dress with floaty sleeves, thick colourful tights and socks. Maxwell was still in a pair of smart trousers, a short sleeve button up but, to be fair, had walked along the corridor in just his socks. Regardless of the obvious cultural and economic divides in the group, we all seemed quite at easy sipping on our wine and laughing. Even Drake had cracked a couple smiles. “So, what is the plan for tomorrow,” I, asked Maxwell. “Unfortunately, due to security reasons, the social calendar’s specifics are kept under wraps to protect the royal family’s whereabouts until necessary,” Maxwell explained. “Nevertheless, I know we will be travelling tomorrow so we should go to bed early.” “But the night is still young,” Hana giggled, the amount of wine she had drank making her sway slightly in her chair. “How about a game of something then before we hit the hay,” I suggested, one eyebrow raised. “Depends what the game is,” Drake said pouring himself another glass of wine. “We could have a good old fashioned game of truth or dare,” Maxwell offered. “Yes! I feel like I’m at a sleepover straight out of one of those American movies,” Hana said her eyes wide. “Well, I’m out,” Drake said, grabbing one of our bottles of wine and heading for the door. “Oh no you’re not,” I grabbed his hand and pulled him back into his chair. His hand felt nothing like Liam’s. Whilst Liam’s hands felt soft and comforting, Drake’s hands were rough and firm. He looked at me as though to complain but shook his head, instead, pouring another glass of wine. “Who goes first?” asked Hana, leaning forward. “Riley,” Maxwell said, arching his hands together, “truth or dare?” I actually hated this game. It was very overrated and I was much more into games that just involved drinking. I felt I had no option but to look tough with my choice. “Dare,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Maxwell. “I dare you… to run down the hall, knock on Bertrand’s door and hide,” Maxwell said, wiggling his eyebrows. “So you want me to ding dong ditch your brother?” I laughed. “Not just once, I want you to do it three times… and not get caught!” Maxwell said. “I support this dare,” Drake said raising his glass. “Okay,” I said, confidently. They followed me to the door of my room and peered out as I tip toed down the hall. It was dark in the palace and it seemed as though most people had retired to their rooms for the evening. There was a chill that ran through the air when there weren’t staff and guests bustling through the large building. I stood outside Bertrand’s door and felt my heart rate increase. This was so stupid, childish. Yet, it felt weirdly fun. I looked back towards my door. It was too far to run between knocks. Behind me was a huge window with thick red curtain’s splashing onto the floor. I had a hiding spot. I calmly knocked on Bertrand’s door three times and legged it to behind the curtain. I tried to regulate my breathing and not laugh as I heard the door screech open. I placed myself so that I could just see Bertrand’s as he leant out into the hall. “Hello?” Bertrand said. Obviously thinking he was hearing things, he retreated back into his room. I heard Maxwell giggle from down the hall as I made my way back to the door. I knocked, again as calmly as I could, and bolted for the curtains. I held them steady so that he wouldn’t see any movement. The door opened faster this time and Bertrand stepped fully into the hall, looking up and down. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “This isn’t funny,” he announced to the empty hallway before going back into his room. The pressure was on for the final knock. Bertrand could be standing directly behind the door, waiting for me. He knew someone was messing with him. I tip toped across the hall and listened for a moment against the door. After a deep breath, I knocked so loudly I almost scared myself and hid again. There was no way anyone could have mistaken that knock as anything else. Bertrand was much faster opening the door this time but I was faster. I held my breath and looked up, trying to focus on not giving away my hiding spot. Bertrand was in the hallway, looking around himself, absolutely seething that anyone would trick Lord Ramsford like this. He stormed to the next door now and started hammering on Maxwell’s door, “Maxwell! I know it’s you! Get out here right now!” No answer at the door just made him angrier as he kept thumping his fist on the door. I wondered how long I’d have to hide for as Bertrand’s anger didn’t seem to be diminishing... until Maxwell came sauntering down the hall from my room. “Hi Bertrand!” he said smiling. “Do you need anything? I was just checking that Riley was all set for the night.” Bertrand did a double take, knowing that Maxwell couldn’t possibly have played this trick on him from the distance he had just arrived from. “No, no,” he muttered. “Wind is… bothering…” He kept muttering to himself as he went back to his room and slammed the door. As soon as the coast was clear Maxwell doubled over laughing. I finally let out a relieved sigh and laughed with Maxwell back to my room. “Not too bad,” Drake said, handing me a glass of wine as I re-entered my suite. “Truth or dare, Drake,” I said. “I guess I have to go dare,” he rolled his eyes, pretending to not enjoy the game. “Lick Maxwell’s foot,” I said, sitting down. “No way!” he said, jumping up and backing away. “A dare is a dare,” Maxwell said taking off his sock and flexing his toes. “Gross,” Hana giggled. “You have to do it!” “Or are you chicken shit?” I looked up at Drake daringly, remembering every childhood game of Truth or Dare I had ever played. “Oh lord,” Drake said downing his glass of wine. Drake approached Maxwell with the utmost look of disgust on his face. At the very least, it looked like Maxwell had very clean feet. If I had to choose I’d rather lick Maxwell’s foot than Drake’s. Drake held Maxwell’s foot in his hand and grimaced. He very carefully edged his tongue towards his foot and then, quickly, licked it. Hana and I jumped up as he backed away. “GROSS!” Hana and I yelled in unison. “Wine,” Drake begged holding his empty glass to me, which I happily refilled. Once he’d gulped down half the glass he turned on Maxwell, “Truth or Dare?” “I’m going to have to go truth if you’re asking,” Maxwell grinned. “What is your deepest secret,” Drake asked, testing him. Maxwell paled and I said, “Wow, you must have something to hide.” “I have secrets that are not mine to tell,” Maxwell shifted uncomfortably. The mood in the room changed as Maxwell looked at Drake. It seemed as though there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. I wondered if he was thinking about the Beaumont family being bankrupt but it seemed that there was something else going on entirely between Maxwell and Drake. Finally, Maxwell shook his head and put a smile back on his face, “I guess… my biggest secret and something I’ve lied about is that… I’ve never had a girlfriend…” “Really?” Hana said, cocking her head. “Yeah, I’ve just never seemed to meet anyone that kind of got me and I’ve been so busy with… Bertrand and I’m sure I’ll meet someone when the time is right,” he smiled. “Cop out,” Drake rolled his eyes. Maxwell shot him a dirty look, breathed deeply and went back to his normal happy self, “Okay, last one. Hana, truth or dare?” “Truth,” she said, stone faced, ready. “You are obviously very talented. What would you say is your best talent?” he asked. “That’s such an easy one,” I laughed at Maxwell. “Agreed,” Drake said clinking glasses with me. “I’d say,” Hana said, thinking deeply, ignoring us, “that my actual favourite, maybe not the most useful talent, is that I have been trained to make the most amazing hot chocolates.” “I love hot chocolate,” I exclaimed. “I knew you were a good friend choice.” She blushed, “I promise I’ll make all of you some at some point.” With that Hana, Drake and Maxwell made their exits. It had been a weird affair but fun all the same and I did feel like we had bonded. I cleaned up our mess and stepped out on the balcony with my glass of wine. A cool breeze swept through my hair and I leant against the railing overlooking the gardens. I looked at the tall oak at the middle of the hedge maze and thought of Liam. It would have been so nice if he’d been able to join us. I was proud that I was making friends so fast but there felt like an empty place where he should have been. A door opened on the veranda below me and I watched Drake step out. He took out a cigarette, lit it and leant against the cold marble of the palace. After a moment, he looked up and spotted me. Our eyes met and I felt like I couldn’t have looked away even if I wanted to. Eventually, he waved slightly at me, smiling and I raised my glass to him before retreating back inside.

[monabela]

Day two of ship dominoes, where I write twelve ships using their members as domino stones, each set in a different month, over the twelve days of Christmas. I’ve never actually finished a fic with this pairing before! I remember starting to ship them during the time I wasn’t much into Hetalia, somehow. Purely for the Aesthetic(TM) I think. But they’re also just an interesting duo!

Message to Me

February

pairings/characters: Luxembourg (Noah)/Romania (Dragos), Moldova (Luca), Portugal (Simão), Netherlands (Maarten), Belgium (Manon)

word count: 3102 summary: It's Valentine's Day, Noah Krier keeps receiving mysterious letters over the course of the day, and his assistant seems to be hiding something. What is going on here?

<< Bulgaria/Romania || Romania/Luxembourg || Luxembourg/Seychelles >> [all parts]

also on AO3 

“Luca, what’s this letter?”

Luca’s head pops up around the corner of Noah’s office, pencil wound tightly into his hair as always and expression inquiring.

“This letter was on my desk.” Noah waves it at his assistant. “It’s, ah… Pink.”

“It is Valentine’s Day, Mr Krier,” Luca offers, but he looks confused by the presence of the letter as well, and sorting through Noah’s letters is part of his job. “I definitely would have remembered seeing that, though, and I didn’t.”

Noah eyes the soft pink envelope, on which his name is written in an unfamiliar, spindly longhand. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything in it but paper, so he reckons he could open it without risk.

“Thank you anyway, Luca, never mind it.”

The man is definitely pulling an amused face as he turns and walks back to his desk just outside. Noah shakes his head after him before leaning against his own desk, crossing his legs at the ankles, and grabbing the letter opener to rip the little envelope open.

Out comes a letter in the same handwriting on thin, plain white paper, with an elaborate, honestly quite beautiful, pen drawing of thorny roses around the words.

Noah—

I should forewarn Though you surely see Not unlike me These roses have thorns

The day is still young There’s much to be seen Places to be And rhymes yet unsung

Noah stares at the poem, reading it three times. It doesn’t make it any clearer. The loops on the letters are long but neat, and the lines themselves are perfectly straight, and none of it helps. Is this a prank? It must be a prank, mustn’t it? Surely, no one would go through the trouble of writing a poem for him seriously?

He’s still busy doing that, when Luca pops his head in again.

“I hate to interrupt, but we should get going if we want to make the ten o’clock, Mr Krier.”

“Yes—yes, of course.” Noah quickly fumbles the letter back into its envelope and shoves it into his briefcase.

“Love letter?” Luca asks teasingly as they walk to the elevator, because for all that he’s great at being a professional assistant, he’s also Noah’s friend and a horribly nosey person.

“I’m not actually sure,” he replies. The poem isn’t necessarily romantic, but Luca was right, it is Valentine’s Day, and then there’s the pink paper… The roses… “It’s strange. I think it’s a prank.”

Luca nods, pulling a quasi-impressed face, and Noah smiles.

They reach the ground floor of the building, and after quickly checking with the receptionist that there aren’t any more messages—or poems, as it were—, make their way to the car waiting outside.

The driver, Simão, nearly jumps against the roof when Noah opens the passenger side door. He raises his eyebrows, shaking his hair out of his face.

“Alright there?”

“You scared me. Good morning, Noah. Luca.”

Luca flashes a smile from the backseat. Simão rakes his fingers through his dark hair a couple of times, fidgets with the clutch.

“What is it?” Noah asks, watching him with half an eye. “Do you want to leave earlier because you’ve got a date? Because I’ve told you before, I’m terrified of your girlfriend, so you can leave whenever you want.”

“What, no—I mean, I appreciate that. I think.” He blinks, finally starts the car, and pulls away from the building. Luca types busily on his phone. Noah, who can’t do anything useful in traffic because of his motion sickness, watches Simão with suspicion.

He’s known him for a long time, and his driver has always been a bit of an odd one, but this is strange even for him. He doesn’t say anything else about it, though. Who knows, maybe the guy’s planning to ask his terrifying girlfriend to marry him or something like that, and he’s nervous about that.

However, when they reach the house Noah is supposed to look at and see if it can be sold, and Luca has already leaped out of the car as if he’s twelve and not 23, Simão tells Noah to wait a minute.

“Hm?”

“There’s something… Uh, check the glove box.”

Frowning, Noah does so, and there’s another pink envelope in there, lying innocuously on a box of mints. He looks back at Simão, who holds both hands out defensively.

“It’s not from me! This dude came up and handed it to me, said to give it to you. It just seemed so weird.”

As he examines the envelope—same paper, same thin handwriting—Noah considers this information.

“What did that man look like?”

Simão shrugs apologetically. “He was wearing a scarf and had his hood up. Tall, though, maybe even taller than you. He had a red bike.” He shivers. “Way too cold to bike.”

Luca knocks on the window of the car, jumping up and down outside and pulling an impatient face. Simão laughs, and Noah quickly stuffs the envelope into the inner pocket of his woolen coat.

“Thank you, Simão. We’ll be back soon.”

The driver wink cheerfully, apparently not nervous anymore, and Noah shakes his head while opening his door and walking over to Luca and the current owner of the house.

“Apologies for the hold-up, ma’am.”

A while later, having gotten lunch down the street and walking back to the company’s building, he remembers the envelope, and then it suddenly seems to be burning a hole through his coat.

“Are you okay, Mr Krier?” Luca asks from next to him, somehow eating at the same time. It’s kind of morbidly impressive.

“I got another one of those letters,” he says faintly. “Simão gave it to me.”

That does make his assistant look up.

“What does it say?” he asks, sounding almost excited.

“I… Don’t know.”

That makes Luca halt his step in the middle of stairs to the doors of the building.

“I haven’t looked yet!” Noah says defensively, in response to his almost accusing look.

“Well, look,” Luca urges.

“In a minute!”

Luca is laughing at him, Noah’s sure, as they walk to the elevator and ascend to Noah’s office, and then he’s sitting down on Noah’s desk, thin legs swinging back and forth.

“Sometimes I don’t remember why I hired you,” Noah tells him, but Luca just grins, so he fishes the envelope out of his pocket. It’s a little wrinkled, but the text on the paper that comes out is perfectly legible.

Noah—

Don’t be alarmed I mean you no harm I just want to say On this certain day

I am fascinated And often captivated In more than one way You make me gay

Noah reads the text again, eyes the little envelopes drawn around the edges of the paper. No, this is too bad, it has to be a prank. That, or someone actually really likes him and isn’t afraid to be embarrass themselves like this. Himself, probably, if that’s what the gay line is referring to.

“Well?” Luca asks, and Noah is speechless, so he just hands his assistant the letter, watching as his eyes widen.

“See?”

“Well, that’s… Something,” he says, seemingly unable to stop looking at the piece of paper. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, Luca, I don’t know.” He takes the letter back, smoothes it out, and puts it on his desk, laying the first one down next to it. “If it’s genuine, it’s… It’s so weird it’s sweet, really, but Simão described the man who gave the second one to him, and it could very well be my brother, so it could also be a prank.”

“Your brother plays pranks?” Luca seems surprised.

“Don’t all siblings?”

“Well, I mean, my brother definitely does, but you know Dragos a little, and he’s just weird. Your brother always seems so serious.”

Noah smiles, because he knows that’s exactly what Luca thought of him at first, a couple of years ago.

“Believe me, Maarten and Manon are a terrifying team.”

“That’s definitely true,” Luca says faintly.

Unsure how to proceed with this, Noah claps his hands and announces that it’s about time they got back to work, giving Luca a push when he lingers by the desk, chewing on his lip. That’s odd, really. Luca is a forward person, which Noah deeply appreciates about him, yet now it seems he’s hesitant to tell him something. He figures that he’ll find out if it’s important. For now, he works through his normal messages, and it isn’t until three in the afternoon that the routine is disrupted again.

“Mr Krier?”

Noah looks up at Luca, who is standing in the doorway to the office with his hands clasped behind his back and his hair escaping from its ponytail as if he’s been messing with it.

“Yes?”

“Message for you.” He steps into the room.

The emphasis on the word message alerts Noah, and he stands up to take the pink envelope from his assistant.

“The receptionist said a woman handed it to her downstairs. Tall woman, she said, with light hair.”

That could be Manon, Noah reckons. His whole family is tall, and although her hair is darker than his, it could still qualify as light. Light brown, at least.

He opens the envelope nonetheless, as Luca hovers curiously.

Noah—

You must think me strange To have this arranged And that may be true But that’s what I do

I think it could be More than a dream If you give me a chance This could be romance

“That’s it,” Noah says. “I’m calling my siblings.”

“Why?” Luca, who has read the letter from next to him and huffed an exasperated laugh at the text and the tree drawn in the background in sure pencil lines, asks. Noah knows nothing about trees, but it looks like one you could sit under without getting wet even in a storm. It looks certain, steady.

He dials Manon’s number, then presses his lips together irritably when she doesn’t answer and the call goes right to voicemail.

“Maarten, then,” he mutters, ignoring the bemused look Luca is giving him. He needs to get to the bottom of this. Somewhere, he wants it to be a prank, but he also really doesn’t, flattered that someone would go to such lengths for him.

Maarten picks up the phone with a hello. “Noah.”

“Yes, Maarten, I’m—”

“Before you go on, I got… Well, I got a message for you, apparently.” He sounds bewildered. Noah blinks.

“A message?”

“Yeah, I got a letter delivered at work addressed to you. I think it’s a poem?”

Luca is now obviously trying to stifle laughter, muffling snorts into his hands. Noah swipes his hair out of his face brusquely and glares at him.

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually,” he tells his brother, aware that he sounds just as confused now. And, when his brother makes a confused noise, barely audible over the background noise of his workshop, “Never mind that. What’s the message?”

A rustle of paper. Maarten clearing his throat. Luca snorts into his hand again.

“Noah—

If you hear this You must have doubts But nothing’s amiss You’re what I’m about”

Noah blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yes. Were you expecting more?”

“Kind of.” He shakes his head and swipes his hair away again. “Who did you say delivered it to you?”

“I didn’t. And I have no idea, one of my employees handed it to me.”

“Right. Alright.”

He sounds honestly confused about the situation, and Noah likes to think he’s known Maarten long enough to tell when he’s acting, even when he can’t see him.

“Well, do you think it could have been Manon?”

Maarten laughs. “Sure. It wouldn’t be the first time she pulled something like that. We still have to get her back so much.”

Noah shoots Luca a significant look, at which the man rolls his eyes, and then he thanks Maarten, saying he’ll call their sister and hopefully find out more about this.

“You know, I believe you now,” Luca comments while he scrolls through his phone to find Manon’s number. “Your siblings are just as weird as my brother.”

“Maybe not quite that weird,” Noah replies, because he’s met Dragos Bălan, and the guy was great but also the most eccentric person ever.

Finding Manon’s number, he tries it again, and this time, she answers quickly, cheerful as always.

“Hi, Noah! I saw you called just now, but this telemarketer was trying to talk me into getting a subscription to razors or something. What’s up?”

“Razors? Why would—sorry, I’m calling about the poems, Manon.”

“The poems? There’s more than one?”

Confused, Noah doesn’t reply, and Manon continues.

“I got an email to my blog address. It said to relay a message to you if you called. It’s a poem.”

“Of course it is,” he sighs. “Well, let’s have it, then.”

A laugh, then, “And if you feel That way about me Let’s make a deal Under the linden tree”

“The linden tree?” Noah groans. It just keeps getting weirder. Manon just laughs again, teasingly, and he can just imagine how she looks, with her mouth pulled up in that familiar mischievous smile.

“Have you got a secret admirer, Noah?”

“Shut up,” he replies, and then he hangs up when his sister just keeps laughing at him. He pushes the hand still holding his phone through his hair, now just even more confused. If it isn’t a prank, at least by his siblings, then what? Someone evidently knows a lot about him, and, “Isn’t this creepy?”

“I don’t know,” Luca replies. “Not necessarily. You’re a public figure, you know, and everyone knows your family.”

Noah sits down heavily on the edge of his desk, trying to figure out if his ‘secret admirer’ has left any clues as to his identity. He’s a man, apparently, and what is that about the linden tree?

“Luca, you know things about poetry. What connotations does the linden tree have?”

“Many.” He shifts from one foot to another, turns his phone over between restless fingers, and grins awkwardly when Noah frowns. “Noah, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course?” It must be something personal if he’s calling him by his first name during work hours. He’s always maintained the weird distinction between Noah and Mr Krier.

“What do you think of the person who wrote these? Are they creepy?”

Considering this—with some amount of suspicion, because what is Luca getting at?—Noah chews on his lower lip. Like his assistant said, all the information used wouldn’t be terribly hard to figure out with some determination, nothing untoward was written in the poems, and the writer seems aware that he’s being strange, but that’s just who he is, apparently.

“No, I think he’s sweet, in some odd way,” he replies, and Luca’s expression shifts to the strangest mix between relieved, pained and amused.

“I guess that’s one way to describe it.” He laughs a helpless laugh. “Figures.”

Noah shakes his head at him in confusion.

“The linden tree is an important symbol in many Slavic countries,” Luca explains. And, with a deep breath, “As well as in the Romanian-speaking ones.”

“The Ro… Luca, for god’s sake, you’re the only Romanian-speaking person that I know! Don’t tell me you—”

“No!” He holds both hands out. “No offense, but no.”

“Then who…”

It dawns on him when he searches Luca’s guilt-stricken grey eyes.

“Your brother? Did you know?”

He shrugs in apology. “Not until I saw the handwriting.”

Groaning, Noah collapses onto his back on his desk, swinging his legs out in a manner unbefitting of his position or his age. Luca’s brother. He must have gotten his schedule for the day from Luca somehow, without Luca knowing. True, Noah liked Dragos when he met him, but he barely knows the man when it comes down to it, and he’s sure Dragos barely knows him in turn. And yet, and yet. He’s genuine about this, if Luca is to be believed.

“What do you think he expects me to do?” he asks the man, sitting up.

“Who knows with him, really. He’s way too impulsive for his own good.”

“Maybe not.” He swallows. “Give me his phone number?”

“You’re both as bad as each other,” Luca says, but he sounds thoroughly amused and turns his phone screen towards Noah so he can copy Dragos’s number. “I hope you’ll be very happy. Also, can I leave earlier? I’ve got a date.”

Noah just stares at him.

An hour later, Luca has gone home to prepare for his date, and Noah is staring at the new contact in his phone. He’s tempted to send the elder Bălan a poem back, but, maybe fortunately, Maarten used up all the poetic talent in the family, and he isn’t that shameless even if Dragos is.

In the end, he receives a message from the number.

Luca is a traitor. I hope I didn’t creep you out, but he says it’s fine. Dragos

Deciding to act on his impulses for once, Noah presses the call button instead of texting back.

“Hello?” comes the voice he vaguely remembers, with the hoarse note to it and the same lilt that Luca has.

“I’d say Luca is a very good assistant,” Noah says, and smiles at the skyline of the city outside of his office when Dragos laughs at that, easily and openly.

“He’s a great kid, but a terrible brother.”

Noah wets his lips, takes a deep breath, and tries to think of something to say, but he’s forestalled.

“I really hope you don’t think I’m creepy.” Some creaking and rustling. Noah imagines Dragos fidgeting. “I mean, a lot of people would argue that I am, but not in the stalkerish way, I promise.”

“I don’t think that,” Noah assures him. “Maybe a little strange, but aren’t we all?”

A chuckle. He smiles.

“Dragos,” he says, the name sounding like a thrill.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not sure if there are any lindens around here, but I’d like to meet you somewhere.”

A pause, then a reply in a tone that sounds more unsure than anything so far.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Noah smiles, glad he’s not the only one out of his depth. “Yeah, I’d really like that. You seem like an interesting man, I’d like to get to know you. Plus, I know from experience embarrassing one’s siblings is a great pastime, and I happen to know where your brother is now. He’s on a date.”

“I knew I made a good decision,” Dragos says, grin obvious in his voice. “I can’t wait.”

[southsidexslytherin]

Dirty Laundry--Sweet Pea & OC (Part Two)

Summary: October Addams is the new kid in RIverdale. She has no friends, no family, and a dark past she tries to keep hidden. But as she starts to make new friends with the South Side Serpents, secrets start to be revealed, and October isn’t certain that she’s ready to let them see the skeletons in her closet.

Warnings: language, mild violence

Word count: 4,434

Author’s note: So I thought I had finished this last night, but then when I started editing it this evening, I wasn’t happy with it. But after some tweaking I think it’s pretty good. Obviously it’s a lot longer than the previous chapter, and I’d like each chapter to be roughly this length going forward, but we’ll see what happens. Please let me know what you think! I love getting feedback, even constructive criticism. Constructive being the keyword.

Taglist: @the-greatt-perhaps @misskarynie

Part One

When the bell rang, signaling the end of first period, I gathered my things back into my bag and stood to leave.

“What do you have next?” Toni asked. I pulled my schedule out of my back pocket and we made our way into the hall.

“English with Caruthers.” I responded.

Toni frowned and nodded at Cheryl, “We have math. Sit with us at lunch?”

“For sure,” I smiled brightly. They walked off, leaving me alone with Sweet Pea. He smirked down at me. I turned on my heel, walking quickly away from him without a word towards my next class.

In a few long strides he had caught up and threw his arm around my shoulder. “Wait up, gorgeous, I’ll walk you to class.”

I shrugged him off forcefully. “No thanks, Soda Pop, I think I can find it myself.” I picked up my pace, trying to leave him behind, but he followed along behind me. I wished he could take a hint. I gripped my hands tightly around the strap of my messenger bag and tried to ignore the feeling of being watched.

I entered the classroom and headed straight for one of the empty desks in the back. Sweet Pea followed right behind, once again taking the empty seat in front of me. I glared at him. “Are you even in this class?”

“I am, actually.” His grin was gleeful. I rolled my eyes and pulled a notebook out of my bag. Soon Mr. Caruthers was walking past each desk, handing out paperback copies of Romeo and Juliet. As he set a copy on my desk, Sweet Pea was still turned in his seat, watching me intently.

Mr. Caruthers made his way back toward the front of the classroom and announced, “I want each of you to find a partner and pick a scene. You will all be performing whichever scene you choose for the rest of the class on Friday. Since we have an uneven number with the arrival of our new student,” I sunk lower into my chair as all eyes turned to me, “we will need one group of three. Please let me know which scene you’ve chosen by the end of the period so we don’t have duplicates.”

Sweet Pea winked at me. “Meet me at the Whyte Warm tonight at 8. We can run lines for the balcony scene.” I stared at him blankly. “Unless, of course,” he continued, his voice as smooth as dark chocolate, “you’d rather do the scene where Romeo and Juliet make out.”

Face unflinching and without breaking eye contact, I shot my hand straight up. “Mr. Caruthers? I prefer to work alone. Would it be alright if I did Mercutio’s Queen Mab monologue from Act 1, Scene 4?” Sweet Pea’s confident face fell slightly.

“Yes, that’s fine, Miss Addams,” Caruthers agreed. Sweet Pea pouted at me with big, brown, puppy dog eyes, feigning heartbreak. I sneered at him and buried my face in the text. I heard him chuckle softly before getting up and walking away. I glanced up at him only briefly, to see that he was talking to another boy a few desks away. Unfortunately he looked back over at me just at the same moment. Before I could avert my eyes, he caught my gaze, and winked again. I wanted to smack him.

When the bell rang, Sweet Pea was back at my side, picking up my bag from where it sat on the floor next to me.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. He walked out into the hallway and I hurried after him, gripping my copy of Romeo and Juliet tightly. He was waiting right outside the door. I grabbed for my bag but he jerked it out of reach, holding it high above his head. He was roughly a foot taller than me, and I wasn’t going to demean myself by trying to jump for it.

“What is your problem?” I demanded.

“Come to Pop’s with me tonight. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

I hissed, “If this is your way of flirting, it’s not working.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he insisted.

“Not interested,” I snapped. “Give me my bag back before I hurt you.”

“Feisty. I like it.” He grinned down at me devilishly. I reciprocated with a look so filled with hate it would’ve made the devil run like a bat out of hell. He sighed and lowered my bag. I snatched it ferociously and stomped off.

After English I had Algebra and Chemistry, neither of which I shared with Sweet Pea it appeared. I relaxed slightly and took solace in my silent note taking, grateful that both lectures kept me from having to interact with my peers.

Soon enough the bell rang for lunch and I made my way back to my locker to drop off my bag. After grabbing a bottle of water and a pre-wrapped turkey sandwich from the cafeteria, I headed outside to the courtyard where Toni and Cheryl had said they would be.

I sat down next to a boy I hadn’t met yet who was also wearing a leather jacket with the South Side Serpent logo. He nodded at me in greeting.

“October, this is Fangs Fogarty,” Toni introduced. I tried to smile warmly, but was afraid it came out more grimace than anything.

“Is your name really October?” Fangs asked.

“Is your name really Fangs?” I countered.

“Touché.” I laughed as I began unwrapping my sandwich. I’m not sure why I was surprised when Sweet Pea walked up and straddled the section of bench next to me so he could look at me head on.

“Just can’t get enough of me, can ya, babydoll?”

“Oh my god!” I practically shouted in exasperation. “Can you just fuck off?”

“What’s the matter? I’m just trying to be friendly. They don’t call me Sweet Pea for nothing.” Cheryl and Toni rolled their eyes in unison and Fangs let out an amused snort.

“Is that what you call it? Because I would call it sexual harassment,” I snapped. I took a ferocious bite out of my sandwich and chewed angrily.

Sweet Pea clutched a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “Me? Never.” I opened my mouth to tell him off but Cheryl cut in.

“You should come hang out with us tonight, October,” she offered eagerly. Fangs nodded in agreement. “Mon cher is bartending, so you can keep me company.” Cheryl placed a perfectly manicured hand over mine. I pursed my lips and thought for a moment, side eyeing Sweet Pea and debating whether or not is was worth it to subject myself to more of his obnoxious, misogynistic behavior.

Toni noticed the look. “Sweet Pea will be on his best behavior. Won’t you, Pea?” She growled.

“Scout’s honor,” he promised. He drew an X over his heart with his index finger.

“That’s not—“ I started. I stopped and shook my head. “Yeah, okay. Where at?”

Fangs chimed in, “Whyte Wyrm. 8 o’clock!” I nodded and returned to my sandwich as the conversation shifted. They spoke of people and places I hadn’t heard of and, though they tried to fill me in and and include me in their discussion, I found myself zoning out, wondering if it wouldn’t be better if I got up and walked away. Did I really want to make friends here? I mean sure, everyone needed friends. And it couldn’t hurt to have some people to spend time with. But after what had happened before I couldn’t bring myself to let anyone that close to me again.

As lunch ended I stood from the table, lifting my leg over the bench and accidentally, though unapologetically, kicking Sweet Pea in the shin as I did so. I tossed my trash in a bin a few feet away and walked back into the school with the people I was trying to decide if I should call friends. And Sweet Pea.

I chatted quietly with Toni at my locker as I retrieved my bag for the next period, art. Fangs and Sweet Pea leaned against the lockers across the hall from us, absorbed in their own conversation.

As I slammed my locker shut I was approached by a guy in a blue and gold varsity jacket. He flashed a bright grin at me and placed a hand on my waist, pulling me close to him. Only halfway through my first day and I was already so sick of the boys in this school.

“Hey new girl,” he greeted. His voice was as slick as his dark hair. “Name’s Reggie.” I placed a hand on his chest and shoved him backwards. Toni was tense, beside me.

“Back off, Mantle,” she barked.

“Come on,” he whined at me, “ditch the Serpent scum and let me walk you to class.” He reached out and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. I slapped his hand away, rage filling my belly like molten lava. I was about to snap, but I clenched my teeth and tried to brush by him without a word.

He grabbed my forearm roughly as I began to walk away. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” That was the last straw. I barely had time to register Sweet Pea shouting as he crossed the hallway. I swung my fist at Reggie’s face, colliding with his nose which began to spout blood down the front of his jacket.

As I turned around Sweet Pea was right behind me, eyes wide in shock, fists clenched tightly, ready for a brawl. He took a step towards Reggie, as if he wanted to finish him off. I scowled. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” I growled at him fiercely, ramming a finger into his chest, “I don’t need you, or anyone else, to fight my battles.” With a flick of my hair I stormed down the hall alone.

I wasn’t surprised when I got called into the office during my art class. I waited impatiently outside Weatherbee’s door, ready to defend myself against expulsion. The door opened and Reggie walked by, an icepack held against his face, eyes already rimmed in purple and black bruises. I tried to hide a smile, proud of my work, and entered the principal’s office.

I took my seat across from Weatherbee’s desk while he glowered at me. “Is it true you punched Reggie Mantle?” He inquired.

“He touched me inappropriately,” I said sharply. “I have witnesses.”

“Be that as it may, we have a zero tolerance policy for violence here at Riverdale.” I bit my lip in an effort to keep from rolling my eyes. It was starting to give me a migraine. “I’m willing to let you off with a warning this time, since you’re new, but don’t let me hear about this happening again, Miss Addams.” I nodded and stood to leave.

“One more thing,” Weatherbee called, stopping me in my tracks, “it’s been made apparent that you’ve been spending some time with a few members of the South Side Serpents. I would advise you to reevaluate your choice in companions. You have a lot of potential, Miss Addams. Don’t let your past corrupt your future.” I turned sharply on my heel and walked out without a word.

I made my way to the gymnasium for sixth period P.E. where I was given a standard set of gray athletic shorts with the school seal on the front left corner and a white Riverdale High athletics department t-shirt, along with the combination to a gym locker. There was an old hooded sweatshirt inside, leftover from the previous occupant. I changed amongst the other girls in the locker room and stowed my regular clothes in the locker beside the sweatshirt. I hadn’t thought to bring gym shoes and wasn’t given any, so I was forced to wear my combat boots which looked absolutely ridiculous.

The gym coach made us run a few laps to warm up before dividing us into four groups, two on each half of the court, to play basketball. As I joined my team on the court the door to the boys’ locker room opened and slammed shut as someone entered.

“You’re late,” Coach Wadell called. “Pick a team.” I turned to see who she was speaking to. Of course, it was Sweet Pea. Why was he always around? Was this school really that small? I knew immediately he was going to pick my team, and were unsurprised when he made his way over to my side of the court. Instead of joining my team on offense, however, he took up a position on the opposite team for defense.

Coach Wadell blew her whistle. “Addams, Keller, take point,” she shouted to me and the preppy boy I had met in the lounge this morning who was on the opposite side of the gym. She threw each of us a basketball. I began dribbling the ball at the top of the court and made my way towards the basket. Suddenly Sweet Pea was blocking my path. I turned away from him, trying to protect the ball and keep it away from his batting hands. I tried to find someone to pass to but no one seemed to be open.

“Why don’t you guard someone your own size, you oaf?” I bit.

“This is more fun, princess,” he chuckled. He moved closer to me, chest nearly pressed to my back. I could feel his breath on my hair. Frustrated and tired of his bullshit, I threw all my weight backwards, barely managing to stay on my feet as I knocked him to the ground.

“I’m nobody’s princess.”

Coach Wadell blew her whistle sharply. “Foul, Addams. SP, take your shot.” Sweet Pea made his free throw, sinking the ball directly into the hoop. The rest of the class period went much the same way, with Sweet Pea invading my personal space, and me throwing elbows at him to get him to back off. I could tell it was a game to him, which only made me dislike him more.

By the end of the period I was tired, sweaty, and pissed off. I quickly rinsed off in the cold water of the girls’ shower before changing back into my school clothes. I decided to take the old sweatshirt from my gym locker and shoved it into my bag. Though one of the other girls had offered to lend me her hair dryer, there was no time. I towel dried my hair as much as I could and tied the wet strands into a bun on the top of my head.

Seventh period history was uneventful. I sat next to Betty with whom I shared the class and studiously took notes. We chatted briefly after class as we walked to our final periods. She was a nice girl. The type of person I probably would’ve been friends with had I not come to Riverdale. But she made me uneasy. I knew she shouldn’t, but she was just so familiar. Too familiar. She was too much a reminder of my former life. She was a cheerleader. She had top grades. She was an overachiever. I wanted—needed—to distance myself from her as much as possible. For my own mental stability.

My last class of the day was study hall. As soon as I took my seat I pulled out my laptop and plugged in my headphones. I opened youtube and started searching for videos of the monologue I was to perform at the end of the week. As I pulled out my notebook to take notes, Fangs and Sweet Pea sat in the desks to my left. “That was badass.” Fangs said excitedly.

“What was?” I asked in a bored tone.

“You totally fucked up Mantle’s face!” Fangs grinned.

I shrugged. “He shouldn’t have touched me.” I paused. “Why are you even here? Betty said you guys usually duck out last period with Jughead.”

“Easy, Killer—” Sweet Pea started.

I flashed him an evil look, eyes bright, and hissed, “Do not ever call me that again.” My heart was beating fast and it took everything in me to keep the memories at bay. I breathed in deeply through my nose in an effort to calm my nerves.

He raised his hands in surrender.

“We don’t usually bother, but we wanted to congratulate you.” Fangs explained.

I shook my head. “But how did you know I’d be here?”’

“Fangs insisted on stealing your class schedule from the office during sixth,” Sweet Pea explained.

“I sweet talked the secretary lady. She thinks I’m pretty.” Fangs announced proudly. Sweet Pea patted his cheek fondly. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why did you steal my schedule, Fangs?” I asked with a smile.

“Well you see, October—if that is your real name—“ I cocked an eyebrow at him, amused. “We’ve decided to recruit you.”

“Recruit me into what?”

“The Serpents,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“And what exactly are these Serpents I keep hearing about? Some kind of school club?”

“Something like that,” Sweet Pea said, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“We’re a gang—“

“A family, really—“

“Of bikers. You do ride, don’t you? Or was that not a helmet I saw in your locker earlier?” Fangs asked.

“Yes…” A biker gang? Really? I supposed it explained the leather jackets.

Sweet Pea swooned exaggeratedly, “I love a girl with her own bike.”

“Shut up, West Side Story.” I snapped. “Why do you want me to join your biker gang?”

Fangs answered, “Because you’re a badass.”

“Because you’d be perfect,” Sweet Pea offered.

“You’d fit right in.”

I pursed my lips, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I’m not really the gang type.”

“We’re more than just a gang—“

“We’re a family—“

“So you said. I’m not really the family type, either.”

“Just think about it,” Fangs said. I nodded my agreement and placed my earbuds in my ears, finally returning to my work.

The halls were crowded as school let out, everyone in a hurry to grab their things and get the hell out of there. I pushed my way through the throng of students to get to my locker. I grabbed my helmet and a couple of textbooks and prepared to head out. Toni walked by then, lifting her hand in a wave.

“8 o’clock, October. Don’t forget!” She called, bouncing away. I waved in acknowledgement and headed for the exit.

Once home I set about doing my homework and making dinner. As seven o’clock rolled around I cleaned up and started touching up my makeup. My black lipstick had held up pretty well throughout the day with only one minor touchup after lunch. I wanted something fresher, though, so I wiped it off and applied a forest green metallic lipstick instead. I sharpened my eyeliner wings, added a little highlighter to my cheek bones and called it good. Then I took my hair out of its bun and ran my hands through it. It was mostly dry by now, damp only in the places where the air couldn’t reach it. The tight bun had left gentle waves in my hair and I decided to leave it down.

I opened my bedroom closet to find a change of clothes, peeling off my shorts and cropped hoodie, and throwing them in a corner of my bedroom. I shuffled through skirts, dresses, and tops of various materials before plucking out a gray plaid button up, a black fishnet top, and my leather vest. I chose a black bandeau bra and gray moto skinny jeans from my dresser and got dressed.

At 7:55 I slipped my feet into a pair of studded, scrappy biker boots with chunky three inch heels and tied the plaid button up around my waist before slipping out the trailer door into the night.

I arrived at the Whyte Wyrm a little after 8pm. It wasn’t much to look at—a dingy looking brown building with an awning above the door depicting a large snake next to the name of the bar. I pulled my Harley Davidson to the end of the row of motorcycles and removed my helmet. I quickly ran my hands through my green hair, shaking out the kinks, then pulled a compact from the black heart-shaped mini backpack I was wearing to check my makeup.

Once satisfied, I tucked the mirror back into my backpack and hung my helmet from one of the handle bars by its strap. I took a deep breath, and walked inside. It was dim inside the bar, a light fog of cigarette smoke blurring my vision slightly. There was a stage with two dancer poles on each end to the left of me, and a long bar to the right. There were tables and chairs scattered throughout. Across from the stage there was a pool table and an old Mortal Kombat arcade game.

The bar was busy, full of men and women in leather or denim Serpent jackets and vests. What was I doing here? I didn’t belong here. I didn’t need these people, didn’t need friends. Letting people in was only going to make it easier for them to walk away like all the others. I could feel the panic bubbling in my chest, constricting my airways and making my heart race. I was about to turn around and go home when Toni spotted me.

“October!” She shouted and waved me over to the bar. I was caught like a deer in the headlights. I could run, but that would probably only make things worse. I took a few deep, calming breaths, and walked towards the petite, pink-haired girl.

I took the stool next to Cheryl, who was sucking on a straw. She set her drink down and smiled at me brightly. “Well don’t you look… fitting.” I couldn’t tell whether or not this was a compliment, but I cautiously thanked her all the same.

“What’s your drink?” Toni asked.

“Whiskey and coke.” I answered. She pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf and started pouring me three fingers over ice. She topped it off with coke and slid it to me. I pulled off my backpack and started to reach for my wallet but she she shook her head.

“First one’s on the house.” I smiled in thanks and took a sip. Fangs and Sweet Pea joined us a moment later. Toni placed two beers on the bar in front of them. Sweet Pea leaned in closer to me than was necessary to grab his, close enough that I could smell the scent of motor oil and cigarettes on him.

“Glad you came, sweetheart.” He said sweetly.

“I’m not your sweetheart, Grease Lightning.” I snapped. “And I didn’t come here for you.”

“She came here for me,” Fangs pronounced, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“Back down, leather-clad losers,” Cheryl interjected, “we all know she came here for me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder like a shampoo model.

I laughed and nodded. “She’s right.” Fangs pouted and I ruffled his hair.

Sweet Pea slapped Fangs on the chest, “Pool. Let’s go.” Fangs grabbed my hand and pulled me along with them.

“Come on. You’re gonna be my good luck charm.” He called over his shoulder.

“Uhh, and why is that?” I asked.

He grinned. “Green’s my lucky color.” I laughed and let him pull me to the pool table, drink in hand.

I took a seat at a nearby table while the boys racked the balls and chalked their cues. Just before breaking Sweet Pea walked over to me, placing a hand on the back of my chair and leaning over me. “Kiss for luck?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I have a better idea,” I retorted, “Why don’t you take that pool cue and shove it up your—“

“Come on, Pea, just break,” Fangs called. Sweet Pea grinned down at me before returning to the table. He lined up his shot and broke the balls with a loud crack, sending the green 6 and red 3 balls into two of the corner pockets.

I watched as they played a couple of rounds, Sweet Pea kicking Fangs’ ass each time. Toni brought me my third drink of the night as they finished their third round of pool. Fangs handed over another twenty dollar bill while Sweet Pea grinned triumphantly.

Fangs collapsed in the chair across from me, sighing. “I’m done emptying my wallet for the night. You’re turn,” he said to me, slapping his hand on the table.

“And why would I do that?”

“What’s wrong, sweetness? Afraid to lose?” Sweet Pea called from the pool table.

“Are you seriously trying to goad me into playing pool with you?” I raised an eyebrow dubiously.

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“How about we make it interesting?” Sweet Pea asked, walking over to me. “If I win, you let me take you on a date.” There was a gleam in his eye as he said it.

I thought a moment, weighing my options. “Fine. And if I win, you leave me alone.” My eyes sparkled with fire. “No more pet names, no more hitting on me, and you stay out of my personal space.”

He stuck his hand out for me to shake. I took it. “Deal. I’ll even let you break.” I grabbed the cue from his hands, leaned over the pool table, and sent the white cue ball flying into the group of colored balls. Three different striped balls sunk into pockets. Sweet Pea’s jaw fell open.

“Oh shit!” I heard Fangs exclaim behind me. Toni and Cheryl joined us, curious about what was happening. I took my next shot, sinking two more balls. “Are you seeing this?!” Fangs shouted. I leaned low over the table, lining up my last shot. With a loud thwack the last two striped balls fell into pockets.

“Eight ball, center pocket.” I called, hitting the black ball into the exact pocket. I laid the pool cue on the table and walked back to the table where Fangs, Cheryl, Toni, Sweet Pea, and now several others had gathered, eyes wide and mouths agape. I threw back the rest of my drink and picked up my backpack.

“She’s like the lady version of Sweets,” Toni said to Fangs.

“Wh-what just happened?” Sweet Pea asked, confused.

I patted his cheek. “Stay gold, Pony Boy,” I said condescendingly.

As I walked out the door of the bar I knew every eye was on me.

[wilde-world]

For @kylotrashforever -- happy birthday!!

😉😉

Prompt #19 - I could kill you right now!

A persistent buzz distantly flit through her mind, and she’s briefly aware that she had somewhere to be. Rose shuffled around in the other room, frantically readying herself for her three-o’clock study group (they met every Wednesday and Rey quietly loathed that group for always stealing her damn dark roast coffee grounds and never re-stocking them). Wait—Wednesday. 3:00. Class. Oh, fuck.

Rey jolted awake, throwing her covers to the floor in an instant. She slammed down the alarm button, silencing that persistent blare just in time to glance at the time. 2:45.

Great, she still has time. Quickly throwing her books, pencils, and everything else on her desk into her bag, Rey slams through their two-bedroom apartment, running (well, power-walking since running was forbidden) out of her apartment complex.

It was just like her, deciding to live fifteen miles off-campus just to save on living costs. And her car was tilting weirdly toward the driver’s side. Stupid, Rey, she mentally berated herself, physically shaking her head.

She less than eight miles from campus when, as expected, a giant clap of thunder engulfed her whole body, shivers running down her spine.

It’s fine, she reasoned. She would make it before it started raining down too hard. Her little car would be fine.  

Nope. In less than a minute, sheets of rain came pouring down. She slowed down to fifteen-miles-per-hour (as she was inherently terrified of being pulled over and scolded my police officer) and continued on her way. Dr. Skywalker was understanding, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t be scolded for being a little late.

It would be fine, she soothed herself.

Nope. The slight stench of smoke rose to meet her, and was immediately followed by a loud sputtering sound.

“Fuck,” she hissed, pulling off to the side of the road. She sharply tugged her door open, stepping out into the cold, pouring rain to check under her hood. 

She sighed, , and leaned dejectedly on the left side of her little Ford, finally looking over to see why her car was tilting. 

Great, she thought, my fucking alternator hates me and I’ve got a flat tire.

She crawled into her car, hair dripping over her seats, and turned on her emergency lights, letting out a feral growl as her fingers tangled in her hair, banging her head on the dash. 

A quick knock on the driver’s side window startled her, and she let out a loud shriek. 

“Rey?” Of course her rescuer would be none other than Ben-Fucking-Solo. Of course he would fucking stop in the rain at the sight of her little car. He was Snoke’s previous TA (before Snoke had been fired off for sexually harassing one of his female students) and he had played the role of “knight in shining armor” for her many times. He had personally helped her study for a number of tests (it totally wasn’t a big deal, she had always bought the coffee so they were completely even) and he had nearly assaulted a fellow TA who had gotten too handsy with her at a house party. Still, she continued to listen to the countless tales of his assholery from Finn and Poe, allowing them to poison her perception. She leaned over and used the crank to roll down the window. 

“Yes?” she deadpanned, raising her eyebrow. She raised her voice so that she could be heard over the roll of thunder that decided to make an appearence.

“What are you doing?” He had the fucking audacity to scowl at this moment? He was holding an umbrella, yes, but the waning sheets of rain continued to soak his very fitted t-shirt.

“Oh, you know. I’m just enjoying some alone time. On the edge of the road. In a thunderstorm. How about you?” She leaned her chin on her hands and awkwardly rested her elbows on the steering wheel, trying her best to convey her sarcastic interest. 

Ben scoffed, opening up her door, “What’s wrong with your car?” He eyed her soaked clothes and dripping hair with more sympathy than was necessary and her jaw set in annoyance.

She rolled her eyes and straightened up, “Engine’s dead and my tire’s flat. I would call a tow, but I forgot my cell phone at my apartment.”

Ben nodded. He looked away from her, casting a bare glance at her hood. “My dad owns a repair shop not too far from here. You can wait in my car until he comes.” 

Rey eyed her warily, “Are you sure?” As much as she loved her little car, it wasn’t exactly known for withstanding storms. She had been able to buy it at scrap-metal price from Han when it had suffered more hail damage that it was worth (according to Han, at least). 

“I have towels.” He rolled his eyes and made a sweeping motion with his hand. 

Rey settled wordlessly into his vintage silencer, subtly gawking at the chrome and leather interior. She breathed a quiet, “Shit,” and them turned to him, “What time is it?” 

He glanced at his phone, “3:11, why?”

Irritably rubbing her eyes, she let out a quiet groan, “I’m missing class right now.”  Ben let out a scoffing laugh, “Aren’t you in Skywalker’s program?”  He’d set off her defenses, he knew. “Yes, what about it?” “Well, I don’t think you’re missing much to be honest,” he grinned to himself, as if indulging in a private joke. “Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?” she rolled her eyes. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he swore, “It’s just that Skywalker has been known to go on philosophical rants from time to time. It’s a bit strange. Especially considering that he works in the physics department.” A slight cackle left his lips, and Rey’s face flushed with anger. 

“Oh, like you’d know anything about what Skywalker teaches,” she scoffed. Everyone had heard the stories of Ben getting thrown out of the department. Although, no one had ever really heard why. 

His face darkened and he set his jaw, so Rey darkly smiled to herself, pleased to have gotten underneath his skin.  

They sat in silence for nearly five minutes, gathering potential insults to hurl at one another. Things like goth beanstalk and Crylo Ren. (Okay, maybe it was just Rey gathering insults)  Ben cleared his throat, “I left the program to study under professor Snoke. Luke and I didn’t see eye-to-eye, but that doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t expect you to understand how difficult family can be.” He didn’t know he hit the wrong wire until the entire building exploded.

Rey whipped her head to glare at him, fuming. Part of her was hurt, yes, but the more pronounced emotions stirring within her dictated that she was pissed. “What?” she asked him, her tone sharp.

“What?” he questioned, and his anxiety swelled, pronouncing his every possible fault in the conversation. 

“Just because, what, I don’t have a family--that gives you the right to judge me?” Her voice became increasingly accusatory. Ben realized his blunder, and his eyes widened. 

“Rey, no, that’s not what I meant at all-” but she was on a roll.

“The fact that people don’t have what you have. Does that register with you at all? Not everyone has families that they can just throw away, Ben. God, I could kill you right now!” She spit his name like venom, and he felt the guilt in his chest crack open and start to consume him. He couldn’t think of anything to say, just staring, open-mouthed, at the girl who he’d always perceived as flawless. 

Luckily (or unfortunately, he didn’t know yet), a large star-fighter tow truck pulled up next to them, effectively ending any conversation. 

Rey quickly exited Ben’s silencer, slamming the door shut for measure. She walked over to Han, accepting the fatherly hug that he offered and helped him set up the cables. The rain and cleared in their short wait, and Ben could see the sun beginning to peek out from the clouds once again.

Han offered her a ride to the shop so Rose could pick her up, and she was in the pickup before he could even finish his sentence. He turned to Ben, who had been quietly surveying his and Rey’s work. 

“Thanks for taking care of her, Ben,” he only nodded reluctantly in reply.

“Well, I’m sure I caused more issues than I fixed, but that’s nothing new,” he frowned, staring after her.

Han chuckled. Like father, like son. “Just give her a while. She usually comes around,” he waved vaguely toward his truck.

Ben just nodded, so Han began to slowly walk back to his truck, “And call your mother!”

Ben gave her exactly two days. He had seen her around, each time receiving a death glare from either her or Rose. Now, he stood outside Skywalker’s class room, holding the sweetest cup of coffee he knew how to order (caramel macchiato, four shots, too much caramel) and wearing an expression not unlike that of a lost puppy. 

When she saw him, she shook her head, stalking over to him only when he had held out her coffee.  “I’m sorry,” he told her, a pleading look etched across his features. For a second, she was caught off-guard. For all her positive interactions with him, Rey had still taken Ben as the difficult ass everyone painted him to be.  “I didn’t know about your family, and I’m sorry that my words upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He looked almost pained to say it, but Rey supposed he hadn’t had much practice.  A small smile bloomed across her features. “I’m sorry too,” she told him, “I shouldn’t have said all that stuff about you and your family.”  She cleared her throat daintily, “So...Han’s your dad?”  He grinned slightly, “Yes, that would be him.”  Rey shook her head, releasing a tiny sigh and smiling, “That explains...so much.”  Ben grinned slightly, and he dropped his gaze so he wouldn’t get caught staring at the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

“Forgive me?” he asked after a pause, clearing his throat, his brow creasing adorably.  She answered him with a simple smile before taking a sip of her coffee.  -

They sat down at the student center, and it was seven before they even noticed the time. Ben walked her to her car and stared into her eyes a few seconds longer than he could handle without the tips of his ears burning red. She giggled, tucking his hair back to expose them. “They’re cute!” she insisted, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in reply. 

“I’d like to do this again,” he told her, and he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she grinned at him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

“I’d like that,” she whispered to him before sliding into her car.

He stared after her car until he couldn’t see it anymore. He was so screwed. 

[sserpente]

A/N: It’s the last day of the year… gosh… how did this happen so fast? Anyway, enjoy the last Loki Imagine for 2017. There will be more next year! Enjoy and happy New Year! This was a request from @doctor-who-wolf-art and anon.

Words: 2647 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THOR RAGNAROK, smut

Your dress was green—short and sexy and accented with a golden chain forming the straps. A cliché, really, catching a man’s attention by wearing his colours, only… how else would you draw Loki’s mesmerising blue gaze on you? Unlike his brother, he had never wasted his time with lusting after mortal women and at times, you had even wondered if he was asexual until one day, you subtly asked Thor about his brother’s preferences.

It turned out that the only experience, as far as he was concerned, Loki had ever had was bedding willing concubines of Asgard; in other words, royal whores who satisfied his every need without any questioning or hesitation. He was a skilled lover in bed then—but he had never been in love.

More than a thousand years… without feeling the most powerful emotion in all of the nine realms… how was this possible? No wonder Loki had done so many terrible things. No one had ever been there to stop him, to tell him to listen to reason, to ask him not to for the sake of love.

Pondering over whether you could be this one person, however, wouldn’t get you anywhere. Tonight, on the last day of the year, you would simply try your luck. You knew Loki didn’t hate you quite as much as he hated everyone else living in the manor, Thor excluded, but apart from small favours like preparing food for him, doing his laundry when you were about to do yours and occasional conversations about all and sundry, you surely were but a petty mortal woman who so happened to be around.

It was exactly what you intended to change tonight. Nodding at your own reflexion in the mirror, you made your way downstairs. Tony had spared no expenses. Golden champagne, a bristling buffet and festive swags met your eye, followed by the pounding bass of loud party music in the background. Sighing, you checked the time. It was nine o’clock. Three hours to convince Loki to kiss you at midnight.

He was absorbed in a conversation with Thor when you approached, frantically thinking about how to best talk to him, how to gain his interest and most of all, keep it.

The God of Thunder smiled upon seeing you. The knowing sparkling in his eyes should have unnerved you but you were too preoccupied with Loki’s presence to notice it.

“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”

“Thank you, Thor.”

Loki remained silent; his curious glance on you burned you nevertheless.

“Are you two enjoying the party?”

“Absolutely! Tony wants to take us outside in a minute to try some of the fireworks and make sure all is settled for midnight. It is so exciting, he said it would be a magical spectacle!”

Now, the God of Mischief snorted, your eyes drifting over to him in an instant.

“It really is magical, Loki. Wait for it.” You gave him a timid smile, your heart in your mouth.

“Exactly, brother. After all, it is not like you have to kiss someone at midnight. Just enjoy the show.”

Loki furrowed his brows shortly after your heart skipped a beat. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s tradition that couples… or people in love, for that matter, kiss when the clock strikes midnight.” You explained quickly, shrugging as you did. The fact you wanted him to do it to you, you didn’t mention as of yet.

“Alright guys, let’s do this!” Tony shouted enthusiastically. You quickly grabbed your winter coat in the hallway, then hurried outside with the others. It appeared to be rather tricky to wear high heels in the snow but as long as you didn’t move, you figured, it would be fine.

“Loki, are you coming?”

The God of Mischief only rolled his eyes in response… but he joined you. You doubted it was due to the tender smile you met him with when he stepped into the cold, yet when he came to a halt right next to you, you feared to faint, looking up at the black sky in joyful anticipation of a colourful spectacle.

“How did you celebrate New Year’s Eve on Asgard?” You asked, eager to start a conversation now. There were quite a few feet between the others and you, your words swallowed by the cold darkness around you. You felt safe to approach him—he would be the only one to hear it.

“If you live for thousands of years, celebrating the start of a new one becomes rather insignificant, however, there used to be a bonfire.” Loki gave back, lost in thought as he watched the first rocket sizzling up into the sky to explode into millions of green, red and purple dots of light.

“No fireworks?”

Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “No fireworks. The bonfire was a symbol of renewal—burning old pains and creating space for something new. It is lit by the king… this duty would have fallen to Thor this year.”

He wouldn’t ever admit it but losing the throne yet again sat deep within him. He might get along with his brother now, accepting to remain a ‘mere’ prince, forever the second in the line of succession but there was no doubt it hurt and clutched at his heart like an angry cheetah.

Loki wasn’t one for compassion or pity—frankly, he did a good job feeling sorry for himself, yet it didn’t drown the urge to comfort him. Reacting quickly before you could change your mind, you reached for his hand and held it tight.

You might not be king of Asgard, your gentle gaze spoke. But you have long been the king of my heart.

“They say one can’t be a king without a kingdom but there is a lot more to it than that. You know that, Loki.”

The God of Mischief frowned, his lips parting in confusion all the while more and more fireworks decorated the nightly sky and dotted it with colourful frizzles of light. His blue eyes, however, were resting on you, taking in not only your soft expression but your whole body. Curiously, he drank in your form, his gaze roaming over your green dress and then, suddenly, something about his cool and reserved demeanour changed.

He laughed. He laughed when you clinked your glasses and melted lead pieces. You spent two hours talking and dancing. Loki swept you off your feet with his dancing skills, earning startled looks from the other Avengers when they saw you having fun together.

He didn’t question you, nor did he meet you with suspicion or coolness, yet you couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of him sussing you. A kiss at midnight was not all you wanted—it was his heart in return for yours, which he had, unbeknownst to him, stolen months ago.

“It’s almost midnight!” Tony shrieked, his drunk voice echoing through the vast living room and barely drowning out the music. All at once, his guests stormed outside, some of them not even bothering to put on warm winter clothes.

When you finally joined them with your coat, never letting go of Loki’s hand, less than a minute remained to start a new year. Your heart was beating like a steam hammer. You had never kissed at New Year’s Eve—getting Loki to press his surely soft mouth against yours was madness. Sweet madness.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

You joined in, screaming at the snow-covered trees around you.

“Seven, six, five, four…”

Your grip around Loki’s hand tightened, your heart seemingly stopping altogether.

“Three, two, one… Happy New Year!”

Fireworks erupted in the sky, disturbing the silence of nature. Even more beautiful than three hours ago, the colourful rockets offered you a truly magical sight, accompanied by the loud cheering of the crowd on the ground.

Tears were spilled, good wishes were exchanged and hugs were gifted. You turned to Loki in a haze, your whole body filled with inexplicable joy and excitement.

“Well?” He suddenly started, stopping you from wishing him a happy new year. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Freezing, you stared at him with widened eyes.

“You have been trying to get my attention all night, have you not?” He explained casually. “First that astonishing green dress of yours… then your considerate behaviour… spending your time with me instead of your embarrassing superhero friends and not treating me like someone who tried to take over the planet… which I did… you are awfully obvious, my pet.” He winked.

My pet. There was no time for you to reply though.

Loki’s thin lips came crushing down on yours only the fraction of a second after, his strong arms pulling your body flush against his to keep you from retreating. Lustfully, he moved his mouth against your own and sneaked his tongue between your lips.

Your eyes fell shut, revelling in the numbing sensation when the fireworks going off in your body outdid the colourful show in the sky. You hardly registered how your hands came up to wrap around his neck, inching even closer to him.

Now this was one way to begin a new year—with a boom and a bang and an explosion of feelings in your belly, threatening to overwhelm you.

Thor was the only one to notice Loki’s affection, roaring his name with a laugh before hugging Bruce like a clumsy giant. He ceased to watch the God of Mischief lifting you off the ground and carrying you back inside like a cherished bride, his lips never leaving yours.

A funny and tingling feeling spread in your body, tickling and itching like crazy and then, you suddenly found yourself in his bedroom.

“Have you teleported us?” You breathed out with swollen lips when he finally released you, placing you on the bed so carefully you believed he might think you were made of glass.

He only hummed in response before climbing on the soft mattress as well, hovering above you like a god ready to be worshipped—the phrasing could not be more accurate.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N)…” He whispered, his hot breath brushing against the sensitive skin on your neck. You felt the warmth of his exhale and the coolness of his inhale before he pressed his lips on you once more, this time tasting your throat and teasingly licking over your skin to leave a wet trail.

Shivering, your hands came up to hold on to him, your nails digging into the soft fabric of his jet black suit over his shoulder blades.

“Let’s get you out of that pretty dress, yes?”

You only managed to nod when he rolled you on your side to reach for the zipper of the dress, taking his time when sliding the piece of clothing off your body. It felt like being unwrapped like a fragile Christmas present, your impatience growing with every second that went by.

Changing position to lie on your back again once he was done and tossed the dress out of bed, all there was left covering your body was a pair of black panties. They were thin—so thin Loki could almost see through them when he tore them off your legs too to expose your aching pussy to him. The dark fabric was glistening with your wetness as he drove them over your ankles, smirking at you when he threw them to the ground as well and feasted on the sight before him.

His greedy gaze lingered on your breasts and he licked his lips when it wandered further down to where you desired his skilled touches the most.

Loki was breathing heavily by the time he allowed his fingers to ghost over your naked skin to caress your breasts, watching in a satisfied manner how your nipples hardened due to his efforts and then glided over your stomach down to your thighs where he awoke a trail of goose bumps.

“A truly ravishing sight, my pet.” He purred hoarsely.

“You’re… not naked yet… that’s not… fair.” It was all you managed to choke out in response, hardly able to form a proper thought—apart from one—Loki.

“No?” He chuckled darkly before blinding you with a green shimmering wave of magic washing over his body. His clothes were gone, replaced by the sight of well-defined muscles and an impressive erect length framed by raven hair.

Your pussy clenched, longing for him to slide inside you and fuck you into that mattress until you forgot your own name.

Loki leaned down again to capture your lips in another passionate kiss all the while subtly positioning himself between your legs. The tip of his cock leaking with precum poked your wet folds every time he moved, causing you to buck your hips and moan into his mouth. The God of Mischief chuckled once more.

“Patience, my pet.” His nickname shot right between your legs, jerking your clit to life. Begging for attention, it pulsated along with your cunt, your arousal dripping onto the bed sheets already.

“Loki, please…” Was this what he wanted? For you to worship him and beg him to take you? There was nothing you wouldn’t do for him in your current position, exposed and utterly at his mercy underneath him on his bed.

He chuckled for the third time now, his nose brushing against your cheek. His teeth grazed your earlobe—and he bit you tenderly before licking the spot, his strong arms trapping you between his body and the mattress.

“Loki…”

You gasped when he pushed inside, your walls more than willing to take him in to the hilt. He was bigger than the men you had been with before, his hard cock stretching you so deliciously you believed to be able to cum from the sheer feeling of it.

Loki moaned, wasting no time in pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm. It felt incredible, it was pleasuring beyond measure… your fingernails left angry red marks on his back as you fought to keep breathing when he rocked into you relentlessly, pounding and thrusting towards his peek.

You already felt your own orgasm approaching—a constant stimulation of a hidden spot inside you making you squirm and arch your back, needy and helpless. A scream escaped your lips when his fingers found your clit, rubbing, circling and teasing it until you whimpered from pleasure and lust.

Shaking, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper and eliciting another blissful moan from your god. Your arousal built so quickly you barely had time to comprehend when Loki tossed you down a bottomless abyss, your climax rippling through you like hot wires. Clenching around his length, your eyes locked with his, your lips parting as moan after moan after moan escaped you until you were completely spent.

“What…” You sucked in a deep breath when he pulled out of you with a start, his own orgasm only seconds away and you realised instantly what he wanted. Spreading your legs wide in joyful anticipation, you eagerly watched him coming undone for you as he fisted himself to climax, gritting his teeth as he did and whispering your name like a prayer.

His hot load spurted out of him to stain your pussy lips, some of it dripping right down to your slit into your still slightly contracting pussy—a ravishing sight he truly enjoyed.

When he finally came down from his high, it took him only mere seconds to collapse on the bed beside you, his expression tender, soft and almost loving as he brought up his hand to tug a streak of your hair behind your ear, gently stroking your cheek. He smirked—and made you grin cheekily.

“Happy New Year, Loki.”

One thing was for sure—the God of Mischief had, without a doubt, lit your bonfire tonight.

[jaspitch]

Five Nightguards at Freddy’s (3)

Malayn's Archives- Archive 3

Malayn was a couple hours early so he could help clean up before working. And by help clean up, he actually meant annoy anyone and everyone who was cleaning up. Scott was shaking like a leaf when Malayn stood next to him, commenting on different techniques to stabbing people. Yeah, that's what he was talking about: Stabbing people.

As far as looks were concerned, Malayn could techinically be considered good looking. He had black hair that stayed straight and neat 24/7. It flowed down to the end of his ears, so still a bit long. He had ice blue eyes that almost seemed white, which scared everyone because he also had basically invisible pupils. Creepy, to say the least. He was 6′4, and though tall, was jealous of September, who at the age of 23, was still growing. Malayn wasn’t jealous of the fact that September was having brain surgery because the growing harmone in his head needed to be shut off though.

As twelve o’clock rolled around, he helped Justin lock up, who was complaining non-stop about him having to work on Sunday with Scott. Weekends required double-up shifts due to the amount of angsty teens that tried to 1. sneak in or 2. graffiti the walls. They even had three actual cops guard the place, varying each week. As far as Malayn was concerned, he’d rather have a shift with Scott if it meant he could flirt with Serenity, the cop this weekend. She had light pink hair and was of average height with sparkling green eyes. Slim and pretty, she had caught Malayn’s eye at first sight.

Of course, she also hated him, so getting a decent ‘hi’ was torture. Plus she was also so into her job, half the time she ignored everyone. The second cop, and the only boy, a seventeen year old kid named Alex. He had black hair and dark amber eyes and was unnervingly short. His glasses, which were thin framed and larger than his eyes (luckily they didn’t enlarge his eyes), did little to no help. He could see well already, so the glasses did nothing for him. Malayn wondered who the hell told him to wear glasses. Alex was a nervous wreck half the time, and wasn’t very open. He didnt stutter, but never seemed to look anyone in the eye and always rubbed his arm when talking.

The final cop who showed up was a 22 year old girl with light amber eyes and strawberry blonde hair that was currently a light brow. Sherrie was her name, and she was the friendliest of the group. Free-spirited and joyful, but not interesting. Malayn was almost done daydreaming when he felt Justin push a wad of keys into his hand. “Anyways, see ya later, Herrero!” Malayn flinched at his last name but waved goodbye and locked the door. He had about ten minutes until the main lights went off, so after slowly walking to the office he looked down the hallway. After a few moments, the lights shut off.

Malayn yawned and unlocked the desk drawer, picking up and studying a new, light gray Samsung tablet. What the hell was this? The tablet booted up quickly and turned on to Camera 2B. The graphics were about twenty times better, and the kitchen camera was actually on. Though this was great in Malayn’s eyes, it was also unnerving. He checked the paper on the wall and noted September’s shift was last night. So either Henry finally was fed up with people complaining about the old HP or September’s shift hadn’t gone completely as planned.

'As planned' usually meant not being dragged into the backroom and nearly killed, in case anyone was asking. Malayn groaned and leaned his head back, already born out of his mind. After a few seconds, an unnatural hotness overcame him, and he fiddled with his hands, trying to ignore it. As of recent, hot flashes had been wracking his body. It wasn't because once again, Fritz had left the heater on, or due to the fact his mind was hell-bent on Serenity, it was something else.

A familiar thought came to mind. Blood. Oh fuck no. That unhealthy obsession had definitely done something to poor Malayn's head. Pushing up his sleeves to look at the mangled scars on his arms, he groaned in frustration. In moments like these, he'd be cutting small cuts in something (usually bell peppers or tomatoes) to satisfy whatever the hell was telling him to kill people.

Thanks, Byron. Even though his step dad had been around since birth, Malayn insisted on calling him Byron. Byron was a manipulative, abusive, bitch. And only to Malayn, seeing as how he was the only kid that wasn't actually related to him. Maybe if Corren had stayed around, he'd have been there to comfort his younger brother. But he was dead.

Corren was Malayn's real brother. He was around thirteen when he died. Light brown curls, large blue eyes, freckles. Not much else was there to remember him by. He had been killed on the train tracks right outside of Washington County. Malayn preferred not to remember that scene, though it haunted him each night.

The rush of heat finally wavered and he sighed out of relief. A sudden noise made him jump, and he turned to look at Bonnie, who was about to step into the office. Slamming his fist down on the button, the door slammed shut right in the animatronic's face. It was a slow-ish night, to say the least. After about four hours of nobody coming to the office besides the once in a while Bonnie, Malayn granted it safe to go down the hallway to refill the coffee pot with water. Quickly walking to the kitchen, he turned on the water in the sink, and started to fill the pot up.

Malayn turned the water off, eyeing the door. The room temperature had dropped a good 10°. Something felt... Off, to say the very least. The male swallowed, making his Adam's apple move a tad. Slowly walking to the door, Malayn kept his eyes focused behind him. Once opening the door, the male looked in front of him, just to be met with dark purple. Slowly looking up, Malayn swallowed, matching eyes with two blaring red ones.

The rabbit reached for the man, but he ducked and turned, prepped to run to the other side of the kitchen. Scrambling towards the exit, he was met with Chica and Foxy gawking and ready to screech at him. Slamming the door shut, he turned around, already ducking under Bonnie's outstretched arms again. He darted out the first door, starting for the exit. Stopped ubruptly by a dark red arm with an attached hook, he stopped and turned down the other hallway, sprinting into the one and only party room.

Only having a few good seconds to gather his thoughts, the male started to look for some sort of escape route. Of course, he could jump in the vent, but he knew Fritz had left the heater on (again), and it would probably be best to not have an asthma attack because of how thick the air was in the vent. The only other option was to hide under a table or try and get onto the two boards that connected the middle of the roof and the frame of the building. With Foxy now almost at the door, Malayn went for the roof, latching onto the singular rope that dangled from the ceiling.

It was hard to reach, of course, because it’s end was dangling seven feet away from the ground, but Malayn was able to jump and make it. Starting to hurriedly make his way up to the top, he looked down for a split second to see Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and Freddy all looking up at him. Each mascot had their hands raised, trying to grab his pant leg or maybe the rope. Giving a quick thanks to the constructors who hadn’t just yet finished the inside of the party room, Malayn pulled himsef up the rest of the way and sat down on the boards. 

Sighing, he rubbe his eyes. Fuck you, dad. If you didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be here. Damn right, had his stepfather not been a complete asshole all the time, he’d probably be some big-time corporate CFO or something. But no! “Well, my real sons needs their tuition payed. Malayn can take care of his own college.” And so here he was, life on the line, trying to pay his rent and college debt. Leonn and Carter had their daddy to pay for them, as where he, the outcast of the family, had to pay off his own debt. 

A sharp screech made the man jump, and he looked down. Foxy had hooked the rope and was tugging on it. The screech came again and then the rope went falling down, a small piece of flat metal going down with it. Okay, now he was fucking stuck up here. It would probably freak out anyone who was opening up to see him not there. Silently praying it would be someone like Storm or Jeremy, who wouldn’t ask questions and would just help. 

The animatronics below started to shriek with rage, which made Malayn cover his ears. It was horrific to hear them like that. Almost like a dying kid was wailing. Trying to sort out his thoughts, a single screech wracked through the  building. That noise- Wham! It hit Malayn like a truck of bricks. He almost fell backwards, and started to pant as he relived that horrific scenario again.

“C’mon, Mal! It’ll be fun. See?” Corren started to walk on the train tracks, hopping up and over each of the small rails undeneath. “I don’t know, Coryo. Mama said it’s dangerous.” Malayn was standing off to the side, rubbing his neck. Corren stopped and placed his hands on his hips. “Andy told me this place was deserted. No trains ever come here.” Malayn shrugged, “Yeah, but, Mama-”

“Mama this, Mama that! Here, how about this? I’ll run on ahead all the way to that oak tree. You can listen to my music with my headphones. I’ll be right back, okie dokie?” The brunette took off his headset, walked over to Malayn, and handed it to him. Malayn was ecstatic. He wasn’t ten yet, so he wasn’t allowd to have his own electronics. Corren letting him use his was amazing! “O-okay, fair. Just hurry back, Coryo.” Corren beamed and started running across the tracks, skipping through the rails as he started for the oak tree.

Slipping on the headset, Malayn picked a random song and started listening. He was so enthrolled, that he barely realized that he was now no longer standing still, but rather, walking on the tracks. Finally realizing this, the young boy smiled. This wasn’t so bad after all! Yeah it wouldn’t have been so bad had he heard Corren screaming at him to get off the train tracks, as a train was gaining ground on him. And by the time he finally moved over the earjack and asked “What?”, it was almost over. Hearing the loud hoot, Malayn looked to his left to see a train, mere meters from he was.

However, he never felt anything but a harsh push, before landing on the soft grass. Rubbing his head and looking up, Malayn got one final glimpse of his brother, his face contorted in a muted screech, before the train zoomed by. The shriek the train tracks made when the train went by sounded so similar to-

“Hey, Malayn! How the hell’d you get up there?” A smooth voice called from below. Malayn looked over the edge of the boards, staring down at two dark blue eyes. There, in his beautiful glory, was the one and only perfect Augustine Jamairica. He, one of two, was a man at the pizzeria who could easily get a girlfriend yet didn’t have one. “Uh, I climbed.” Malayn said, his voice a bit scratchy. “Want some help down?” Augustine pointed to a white ladder in the corner, which just fueled Malayn’s embarassment. How had he not seen that? “It’d be appreciated.”

With that, Augutine gave a perfect white smile before setting the ladder up and helping his co-worker down. The two walked out together after Augustine explained he ahd only come today to grab his headphones he left. they both split ways and before he knew it, Malayn was laying in his bed, half asleep. After finally drifting off to his slumber, he was surprised to wake up at 2:00, without any nightmares.

Malayn’s Archive Ends Here.

[artificialqueens]

Lipstick City (Sashea Lesbian AU) by Oxford

 AN: So it’s been a minute. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written at 13K+ and honestly I could have kept going despite it being piss poor in quality. I’m not too satisfied with the ending but it’ll do for the purposes of not going on and on forever! This is inspired by Lipstick City, set a year after the events of the film. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. - Oxford 

 “Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.” ― Euripides, Medea

She was wearing Chanel No. 5 draped in her Cartier Paris Nouvelle Vague necklace and all was right in the world once more. Shea Couleé  lounged on her satin chaise, the epitome of ethereal serenity, with her dark eyes cast down to a crinkled copy of Tipping the Velvet. 

Unopened storage boxes towered around her, the team of removal men had spent the majority of the past few days like a colony of leaf cutter ants in a constant procession until they pleaded for dismissal; there was still half a truck to unload. She had journeyed away from her beloved Chicago, from her friends and parties and modelling agency all in the name of love. The love for an eight million dollar empire called Couleé Enterprises.

Shea had married Mr Couleé, the debonair ex-bachelor son of the newly deceased CEO, three years ago back when she was a high rising socialite in the Parisian scene. Born and bred in France, the two fled the European circle in search of expanding their success and found themselves front and centre of Chicago’s elite. 

With a well respected surname and abundant financial security, Shea launched her modelling career to the awe of Chicago. Statuesque with poise of a classical dancer, Shea’s face could be found in any fashion magazine. She was Grace Kelly and Grace Jones combined. But all that was lost once more as her husband followed the money trail out of the city and into a small town just outside New York.

The echoed slam of a door caused Shea to pause her reading but her eyes did not leave the page.

“Darling, I am heading to work now.” Her husband called; in French, of course. Shea had ruled that whilst they were alone they were to only speak their mother language to keep the romanticism alive. He popped his head round the door and observed his wife in her relaxed position. “I shall see you tonight for dinner.” Without waiting for a reply, he pursed his lips, kissing the air and vanished. Shea exhaled deeply. The novel carelessly slipped from her fingers.  Alone completely. Friendless, lost in an unknown town, Shea found little comfort in her housebound state.

Rising, Shea glided to the bay windows, sashaying around the precariously placed boxes. The view from the crystal glass overlooked the vast green patio of her chateau, extending so that Shea also had a full view of the neighbouring garden. Her neighbour thus far had remained a mystery, the modest house seemed silent and unhabituated but the decking that Shea was privy to was crammed full of potted plants of roses. Interesting. 

An iron cast table and chair set looked weathered and well-used, a smaller ceramic pot was sat on one of the two chairs. Shea guessed that perhaps the resident lived alone. In her peripheral vision, sudden movement coming from the house excited her. The backdoor had been swung open and Shea watched with the hungry anticipation of an isolated extrovert to see who would be revealed to her.

At first all she saw was light blonde hair, sleek at the roots but styled so that it permed out half way down the head. The figure, a woman - a young woman – to Shea’s surprise, tottered out in black Capri trousers and a pink blouse. Her face was obstructed by round sunglasses that perched on the end of her slender arched nose. The woman perched herself at the rusting table and chair set holding a book Shea could just make the title of. Gender Trouble. Very interesting. 

The peeping housewife felt her mouth go dry. She was known back in Chicago as a determined individual, if she wanted something she got it and that included people. Imposed friendships always worked in her favour, for who didn’t want the attention of such a talented and glamorous individual that Shea undeniably was?

A (presumably) single young woman living by herself in a small town couldn’t possibly refuse the friendship of big-city star Shea Couleé. Suddenly, the door bell rang loud and Shea jumped into a scowl. The new workforce her husband has employed to run the excessively vast house as Shea instructed kept her busy for the rest of the day. By the time she had a free moment to return to the bay window in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the woman next door, the garden was deserted. Shea ruffled the curtain in annoyance before storming to resume her homely duties.

The next three days were nothing but curious glances at an empty garden. Shea knew she should have just gone over there on the first day to introduce herself but in between the house staff and a visit from the local Women’s Association run by two enthusiastic women called Alexis Michelle and Trinity Taylor, who implored her deeply to grace the weekly meetings with her presence, Shea was unsure if the woman she had seen even occupied the house daily.  

Maybe she was a figment of Shea’s desperate mind? That was, until, a light rhythmic tapping roused her from a Vogue catalogue one afternoon. And there she stood. On the porch, her hands twisted together around an A4 sketch pad, the mystery neighbour beamed with the widest smile at Shea’s surprised yet delighted expression.

“Hello, darling.” She laughed and Shea could not help but return the smile, charmed at the enthused informality. “I’m awfully sorry for not introducing myself sooner but work has taken over my life recently. I’m your neighbour from the next door down, Sasha, how have you been settling in? Is this a good time?” Shea moved from her languid position against the door frame to extend her hand invitingly.

“Absolutely, impeccable timing, chérie.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss on either of Sasha’s pale cheeks, aiming to impress by displaying the full French allure. Unfazed, Sasha leant into the gesture, squeezing Shea’s hand warmly. “Enchanté…Sasha. Shea. Shea Couleé.” Sasha laughed.

“What a fabulous name! You are French? What a breath of fresh air you are to this provincial town.” Shea kept Sasha’s hand firmly in her own, her famous confident smile blooming for the first time since arriving in the unfamiliar town.

“On the contrary, Sasha, it is you who are the breath of fresh air to my lonesome situation. There is not much here in terms of company for a woman, it seems, unless you are a middle-aged housewife. The Woman’s Association have already bombarded me with their…hospitality.” Sasha laughed harder, the sound was unfeminine but filled with unreserved joy, which Shea could not help but fixate her smile on.

“Oh they’re an alright bunch, really. I go to their meetings every once in a while to help out in the community and do art for them. It is a good way to get to meet people so I’d recommend you go a few times if you’re not too introverted.” Shea nodded in consideration.

“Will you be at the next meeting?”

“I shall.”

“Then so shall I.” Sasha flushed, evidently flattered at Shea’s declaration. The model continued, intrigued by her guest. “You do art?”

“I do.” Sasha nodded passionately. “I love painting and photography and performance art – all sorts. Art is revolutionary, you know, it’s so liberating and freeing from social constructs. Not many people appreciate its power. Anything and everything can be art. I lecture at a university in New York and do art shows on the side so…I’m a bit of an art enthusiast.”

“I shall have to get you to paint or photograph me sometime.” Shea pondered before adding with sanctimonious modesty. “I’m a model.” She revelled as Sasha’s eyes widened with awe.

“I can definitely see that.” The two fell into a buzzed silence, anticipating each other’s next words, wanting to say so much more. 

Shea soaked in Sasha’s pale complexion, they were almost at opposite ends of the spectrum with Shea’s dark hand encased by strikingly white fingers. She admired her quirky yet still upscale regalia, Sasha was fitted into a tight orange pencil skirt and a banana yellow turtleneck. The gaudy blue rose pinned above her breast was, however, questionable. 

Much to Shea’s dismay, Sasha turned her head to glance at her own house. “I should be going, you must be terribly busy with unpacking. Please do come over to mine whenever you feel like it. I’m always in after two-thirty. I should very much like to get to know you more, Miss Couleé.” Shea fluttered her lashes. Releasing Sasha’s hand, she resumed her sloped stance against the wooden frame, her hip jaunting out.

“Shea, please. It’s Miss Couleé if you’re nasty.” Winking, she hummed a laugh as Sasha chortled loudly again. She’s either oblivious or she also enjoys the works of Nineteenth century Sapphic literature, Shea mused as she waved her neighbour goodbye.

“Women’s Association, this Friday, Seven O’clock.” Sasha called over her shoulder as she strolled across the small patch of green to her house. “I’m sure Alexis gave you the address.”  

The long summer days leading up to the Woman’s Association meeting passed in a daze. Shea looked out for Sasha in her garden, only spotting her once watering the excessive amount of roses and had to look away to prevent herself from banging on the window to get her attention. She barely noticed her husband’s company, or lack thereof, instead occupying her time with fantastical thoughts of Sasha. 

Her voice had been deeper and smoother than she had originally expected yet its tone was calming and soothing on the ears. She fantasised how erotic it would be to have Sasha read Tipping The Velvet to her as she lay on her chaise lounge in her finest lingerie. She was also enticingly tall, almost reaching Shea’s height. Her pale skin juxtaposed the vivid brightness of her azure eyes and were framed splendidly by big dark expressive brows. And those lips. Shea groaned as she pictured those delicious full red lips that formed words with unusual elegance.

Shea didn’t pride herself on having a type. She was most definitely open to everything and anyone…as long as they were of the familiar body type. Her husband, she was sure, did not pay enough attention to notice this. He was welcome to have his own distractions with flimsy skirts at his workplace as long as he was discreet. At the beginning of their marriage Shea had convinced herself that she had been in love with him; still unsure of her curious feelings towards women. Yet once she felt the sting and heart break over his affair, Shea had tossed caution to the wind, determined to find solace and satisfaction by sating her desire for women. She had, of course, been painstakingly discreet in her rendezvous’.

Only once had there been public rumours of her husband’s adultery, almost smearing their brand name. Shea had be furious. She has screamed and tore at the expensive possessions they had worked hard to afford. They could NOT afford public scandal, it would crumble their empire. He had promised it wouldn’t happen again and begged for forgiveness. Shea had scorned him, insulted that he assumed it was her pride as a wife that had been hurt. She had no qualms if he found satisfaction in the arms of another woman, oh no, just do not jeopardise his – her – their – fortune. Money was everything.

When the night of the meting came around, Shea was filled with shy nerves. Whether it was do to with being accepted by small town minds or being reunited with Sasha, the woman could not tell. She walked around aimlessly, watching as clusters of women hovered in and outside the hall, trying to spot the tall fair-haired figure with an air of blasé confidence. Sasha was sat at a round table surrounded by Alexis, Trinity and a two other women varying in age by the names of Peppermint and Nina.

“What are you looking for, Sasha?” Bright eyes turned their attention back to Peppermint.

“I had thought I had convinced my new neighbour to come along tonight.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Rich folk rarely leave their houses to mingle with the community riff raff.” Chimed Trinity, sitting to Sasha’s left, pausing her conversation with Alexis. “She’s married to some big CEO from Chicago, so I heard. Lucky bitch.” Sasha’s smile downturned.

“She told me she was a model.”

“Honey, she’s not going to afford a house like that just by being a model.” Said Alexis. Sasha laughed dryly in response.

“Have you seen her? She’s pure art.”

“I prefer more classic tastes myself.” The elder woman sipped on her drink. “In fact, I think –”  

“You came!” Sasha jumped from her seat, banging into the table resulting in multiple drinks to spill, and ran towards the tall dark beauty before her. Shea smiled cockily, secretly relieved, flicking the ends of her locks over her shoulder.

“Of course I came, I told you I would.” She grasped Sasha’s shoulders softly before tilting her head to kiss her cheeks in familiar greeting. Sasha gazed up at her with admiration and glee. “Now are you going to introduce me?”

The rest of the evening was filled with a steady flow of drinks and conversation that rose in pitch and tone as argumentative topics were debated. Shea noticed that whilst Sasha was definitely on the quieter side of the group, she had no fear of putting her point across when she felt it should be heard. She had placed Shea in her own seat, stealing Trinity’s when the woman had left to get another cocktail. As the booze set in, everyone’s posture relaxed and tongue’s loosened. Sasha had her arm resting behind Shea’s chair and Shea felt inclined to lean her back against it so that her fur coat brushed against the pale hand.

They stole glances at one another and smiled when their eyes met every time, giggling and passing comments in hushed tones as the older women slurred insults at one another. They argued over who was the producer of an old amateur dramatics production they had created. Rolling her eyes, Sasha pulled a face as Alexis claimed to have been given a smaller part due to dedicating her time as a producer. Hiccupping, Shea gave her meaningful look a she sipped on the remnants of Sasha’s cocktail. Red lipstick stained the straw but Shea didn’t care. The blonde smiled with mirth and Shea had a fleeting thought about how pretty she looked.

“Would you like to come round mine sometime?” Sasha asked sweetly, giggling.

“How about now?” Shea shot back, shooting her a flirtatious look. Again, Sasha merely laughed.

“For dinner. Or late lunch. Or just drinks.”

“Dinner.” Shea agreed. “Two Mondays time, shall we say six?” Sasha beamed.

“I’ll see you then. Otherwise….I know where you live.” Shea chuckled at the whimsical threat.

“Ooh girl, that’s not exactly a punishment I’d avoid.” Any other occasion Shea would not have easily let herself flirt shamelessly. But this was a new beginning, no one here really knew her and her socialite status did not follow her into this suburban town. The alcohol loosened her tongue and made her feel uninhibited. Shea was also realising that Sasha was a very good sport, laughing at all her jokes and flirtatious jibes that Shea was curious to see how far she could push it.

“Miss Shea Couleé,” Sasha drawled, her body swaying in her seat slightly under the influence. “Are you even married with the way you talk like that?” Shea paused, her smile frozen.

“Girl, I’ll have you know it was this mouth that got me my husband.” She licked her tongue across her lips. Sasha smirked and fiddled with the hem of her short patterned dress. Shea let her eyes flicker to her bare thigh. Her gaze traced up, appreciating the slender form of her friend. “And, as the ladies here have speculated, his eight million dollar fortune.” She regarded Sasha’s reaction but the other girl smiled sympathetically.

“Pay none of these women any mind. I hope you’re very happy together.”

“I…am.” Shea knew she didn’t sound sure. “I am happy. How could I not be? I have more money than I can spend. I’m beautiful and fierce and smart and my friends back in Chicago love me. I’m a model in magazines, people know who I am.” Sasha nodded with a pensive expression.

“You must love him very much.” Shea dropped her gaze, the raucous party around them long forgotten.

“I’d have nothing without him.”

-X-

When Monday rolled around, Shea spends the majority of the humid afternoon laying outfits on her bed in preparation for her meal with Sasha. Lost in the inspection between two dresses, Shea’s husband wondered in.

“What are you up to, darling?” Without turning, Shea continued to scrutinize her outfits.

“I’m going out to dinner with our neighbour. Sasha.” Shea heard shuffling behind her but didn’t care enough to see what her husband was doing.

“That’s nice. Who? Never heard or seen any neighbours.” Shea gave a non-committal hum. The man behind her reviewed himself in the floor length mirror. “So what are you doing with yourself these days? I never see you round the house anymore.”

“I spend my time with the Women’s Association. Sasha and I go. She’s going to paint me or photograph me.” No response. Finally throwing a dress behind her, Shea strutted to her shoe cupboard.

“Is that who you call at all hours of the night?” Shea pretended she didn’t hear the question. “You know, Sasha’s a pretty sexy name. Russian.” She froze. Her heart caught in her throat.

“I thought you didn’t know of our neighbours? I’d prefer if you kept your trysts at your workplace and not make a fool of yourself where we have to live.”

“Oh, you heard that then.” Her husband folded his arms and glared at her. “Answer me. Is that who you’re calling at every ungodly hour in the night?” Shea turned to face him and studied his face.

“Yes.” He sighed, expression relieved.

“Good. That’s fine. Just try to keep it down when you’re calling your girl friend. As long as it isn’t a man I have to worry about.” Shea gaped at him incredulously. “Also, I told you I’m not going to have any affairs anymore. It was just a one time mistake.” Lies, lies, vicious lies. Shea bit her tongue, her fiery temper burning to demand the truth.

“No.” She snapped. “I am not and will not be calling a man.” Mr Couleé nodded indifferently and made to exit the room.

A deep cold loathing rose to Shea’s throat. She clutched her shoes with a vice grip forcing herself to not throw them at the back of her husband’s head. It was indeed a fact that, after the first WA meeting Shea attended, Sasha had scrawled her number onto Shea’s napkin with a pencil the artist had found tucked into her hair.

“Call me. Anytime, day or night, if you need someone to talk to.” And as the days bled into one another with no interaction from people outside her household Shea had, with trembling fingers, called her one night. It had rung only three times before the low, smooth tones of Sasha’s voice answered cheerily.  

“Hello?”

“Bonsoir chérie,” Shea winced as she glanced at her grand oak clock. “I am sorry for calling you so late, you weren’t sleeping were you?”

“Hi!” Sasha’s voice had sounded drained and Shea had bit her lip, mortified for clearly disturbing the woman. “It’s okay, I was just cleaning up my brushes. I had an inspired session in my studio tonight. Who knew painted animated projections could look so Warhol?”

It soon became a ritual that every other day Shea would call Sasha in the evening, making sure to not disturb her time in her make-shift home studio creating art. Shea would tell stories about her life in Chicago, her friends there, Lipstick City where the life she lived was beyond the imagination and the crazy shenanigans only stupid people with a stupid amount of money could pull off. Sasha listened avidly, asking interesting questions and offering her own thoughts. 

She presented her own encounters in New York, her performance art, her gallery shows, her social rights works. She spoke eagerly about what she thought the deconstruction of gender would mean for people outcast from the norms, people she knew and loved and shared her art with. Shea wanted to see that side to Sasha’s life. She wanted to take her back to Chicago to meet all her artistic friends and have Sasha school them on what the colours of the rainbow meant and how beauty can be found in anything if you look at it in different perspectives. It was less than a fortnight before every other night descended into calls multiple times a day.

The permanent fixture of this routine raised eyebrows amongst Shea’s house staff. They watched apprehensively as the housewife increasingly spent her time locked away, isolating herself with the telephone into the early hours of the morning. She never ate with her husband for any meal, it was rumoured that they hadn’t seen each other face to face since arriving in the town, taking to live in opposite sides of the house. Some wondered if it was a European lifestyle choice. Others wondered if either partner was having an affair. A minority of smart, thoughtful individuals wondered their estranged relationship was due to Shea’s love of homoerotica extending beyond  literature.

When the hour drew closer to their awaiting dinner date, Shea fixed the details of her outfit before strutting outside to march next door. She was shrouded in diamonds from her neck to her wrists and fingers. Her curves were accentuated by a black bodysuit with gold embroidery. The essence of opulence.

The house was a fraction of the size compared to Shea’s. The paint was peeling and rot was setting in. A purely sorry state. Checking her makeup in her compact, Shea fiddled with her curls as she rapped on the door. A beat passed before it was flung open and Shea could not contain an amused grin. Adorned in a fuchsia pink sparkling evening dress with a giant feather flower pinned to front, Sasha had a crown - was that made of felt?… – perched precariously on her head.

“It’s a good thing I dressed up for the occasion.” Shea laughed. “I love this.” She pointed to the crown and Sasha laughed, her smile simultaneously eerily wide and beautiful. “Very glam.”

“You look gorgeous.” Sasha gushed as they exchanged pecks on their cheeks. “I have to take your photo tonight in my studio. I’ll put it in my magazine – with your blessing of course.”

“How could I resist such an offer?” Shea cooed, strutting into the small living room. She eyed everything, eagerly embracing all the mess. Art supplies were strewn all over book cases haphazardly, posters and polaroids and sketches were pinned to the walls. A true artists den.

“I know this is isn’t as grand as Maison du Couleé,” Sasha said awkwardly, coming up beside her. “but it’s home.”

“It’s perfect.” Shea smiled warmly. “I’m very nostalgic, this reminds me of my first apartment in Paris.”

“I can’t ever imagine you in anything but the chicest and most high-class setting.” Sasha confessed, leading the way to the cosy kitchen. Shea watched her dress sway and curve around her behind with appreciation.

“Oh I was a banji bitch in my time. I’m just equally as bougie now.” Sasha offered a dining chair for Shea as she prepared food at the counter. “I should take a picture of you right now. All dressed like a queen doing her own cooking. Tells quite the story.” Sasha chuckled, blushing the same colour as her ensemble.  

“I never let anyone cook for me. I am queen of this castle and in my kingdom I get to choose what I eat and no one can force me to do otherwise. Mainstream media can fuck off with their body shaming, telling women what and not to eat.” Shea regarded her quietly, a deeper story set behind her words. Deciding not to ruin the mood and dwell on it tonight, she instead gave a breathy sigh.

“Well don’t take it out on the iceberg, you’re practically fisting that salad, girl, let alone tossing it. You use your hands so forcefully.” Sasha instantly snorted and smiled coyly.

“Well, it is known that that bisexuals are some of the most forceful and unforgettable lovers…”Shea felt her stomach tighten as Sasha’s features creased as she choked into laughter at her own joke but instantaneously twisted her face seductively.  Shea felt flawed at the transformation.

“Wanna try some?” She offered her folk up invitingly. Shea traced her tongue over the shape of her lips dramatically.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Leaning over, Sasha brought the folk to Shea’s open mouth. Shea refused to break eye contact as she wrapped her lips around the utensil and moaned deeply. Sasha didn’t move, her eyes were glued to Shea as she swallowed and moaned heavily. Even though the innuendos were a regular circumstance of their time together, tension hung in the air tonight.

“You like that?” Sasha murmured, her head tilting forward unintentionally. Shea watched the action with exhilaration.

“Hmm…needs more chocolate. Nobody eats enough chocolate around here.”  Pale cheeks deepened to a rose hue.

“I agree, I love eating chocolate. But Shea, this is the entreé, not dessert.” The line between humour and sincerity had blurred. Shea gorged herself on the sight of Sasha’s quickened breath, her chest rising and falling at a foxtrot speed and the suggestive allure of her countenance. The only question was, how was Sasha seeing all this? Was it still just a joke? She had stopped laughing but…

“Sasha,” Shea drawled the name affectionately. “Do you have solutions for those of us who love to eat dessert but hate waiting until the end of meal?” Shea slid her hand cautiously across the table to cover Sasha’s. The blonde didn’t move, her face was unreadable. Hesitantly Shea rose from her seat, her hand still in place above the smaller one, her gaze held the unspoken question. This was not Shea’s first time trying to make a pass at a woman and she was confident in herself that her techniques worked. But this wasn’t a random acquaintance in a Chicago bar, this was Sasha. Her neighbour. Her friend. Her best friend. “You never actually told me you were bi.”

Sasha shrugged nonchalantly.

“My sexuality doesn’t define me and is definitely not the most interesting thing to talk about.” Shea nodded.

“Agreed. It’s no one’s business. At all.” Self-assurance flowing, this was the moment, the taller woman  swooped down to finally kill the chase. Sasha jerked her head away. Shea halted, her eyes opening wide with shock.

“W-What…”

“Nice try.” Sasha’s voice was soft with disapproval.  Shea stuttered incoherently. “You’re married, Shea. This was cute but I’m not actually going to sleep with you.” Pulling away gently, the blonde backed herself against the counter.

“So you’re not into me? At all?” Shea pressed, wounded. Sasha’s eyes narrowed sympathetically.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just don’t condone cheating.” Shea clenched her jaw.

“So men can have all the fun but us women have to sit tight, put up with their shit and rise above it?” Sasha was taken aback by the abrupt tone.

“I didn’t say that, did I? Why be with someone if you’re just going to cheat on them? A relationship should be built on love and trust.” Shea laughed derisively.

“Try explaining that to my husband.” Wide blue orbs sparkled with pity into dark emotional irises. Crossing the space between them, Sasha wrapped her arms around her friend.

“I’m sorry, Shea.” She whispered into her neck. The hairs on Shea’s neck tingled and stood to attention. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, is it.” Shea sighed, dropping her head into the blonde locks. She smelt like roses. “I’m not in love with him. I was but…not anymore. I’m so lonely here. All my friends are back in Chicago. My modelling is there. Everything. I’m trapped in this stupid town in that stupid house. No one understands me. Expect you.” Shea timidly brought her arms around Sasha’s waist, accepting the embrace.

“I know, I know, darling.” Sasha consoled. “You’re always welcome here, this is your home now too. You’re an incredible person, Shea, don’t get lost in the negativity.” Shea felt her chest ache. How was she supposed to let go of Sasha when all she felt from her was nothing but the love and acceptance she craved? Her fingers trembled, resisting the urge to dig into Sasha’s waist.

Dinner forgotten, the two young women made their way hand in hand to salvage the rest of their date. Entering the tiny dim studio, Sasha proudly presented her current art pieces to her new audience; an elaborate explanation was recited alongside each canvas and Shea could see the art lecturer in her bloom. Smiling at the set up, she sauntered over to the camera and struck a pose.  

“Here’s your photo opportunity, ma chérie, make it count.” Sasha laughed but hastily lit the set before capturing the arabesque form.  

“Art.” She declared. “Let me take another.”

The sun had melted into an ebony nightfall, unbeknownst to the two friends as they crammed prop after prop into a stream a photos, Shea very quickly coaxing the artist into the frames with her. Laughter rang around the room, completely private, no one to witness the two women dance about in playful bliss.

“I wish we could do this every day.” Shea sighed in contentment as she slipped into the other side of Sasha’s bed. There had been no suggestion of Shea retiring back to her own empty abode. She had quietly followed Sasha, tiptoeing behind her while Sasha smiled knowingly to herself but refrained from commenting.

“There’s no reason why we can’t.” Sasha hummed, letting her dress plummet to the floor. She bared no shame or reserved-ness towards her scantily clad form. Shea averted her eyes as her bed friend removed her stockings and bra before tossing on a satin slip. She has leant one to Shea for the night but it rode too high and her breasts felt exposed. Not that Sasha showed any notice. Shea quelled the bubbling excitement as her mind wondered to fantasies that stemmed from her extensive literature collection. As soon as the room snapped into darkness, the second figure dipping into the bed seemed intimately close.

Shea shuffled to make herself comfortable and brushed against the side of Sasha’s warm body. Murmuring an apology, she frowned as the only sound in return was shallow breathing. Of course she would be asleep instantly, Shea rolled her eyes. Yet despite her complaint, she found herself rapidly following suit. 

The two bodies drew closer as the night progressed, arms thoughtlessly flung themselves around, drawn to the softness and heat of the other. If any trespasser were to come across their resting silhouettes, they’d be none the wiser that the two weren’t steady lovers. Sasha’s hands curled into Shea’s chest, her head buried into her shoulder. Her companion had a hand flung possessively over her hip, fingers curling into the skimpy slip.

The next morning proved a lot less idyllic. Sasha had a piercing alarm set for the crack of dawn, her lecturer life commanding attention back to reality. Shea groaned in protest, swearing under her breath in French, as the warm body in her arms rolled away. Gripping the now abandoned pillow as a substitute, Shea let herself fall back to sleep whilst Sasha quietly prepared for the day ahead. When she finally felt herself succumb to the waking world, Shea immediately felt her back muscles tense. Maybe there was a way to replace Sasha’s mattress without her knowing about it, she pondered in her hazy state. A red note was carefully positioned on the bedside cabinet.

Good morning sleepy head!

I’m afraid I have lectures all day, so I won’t be back until this evening. Feel free to help yourself to breakfast although I’m afraid you may have a more luxurious variety in your own chateau.

Please put the spare key back through the letter box once you go.

See you tonight at the WA?

~ Sasha ~ x

A tender smile etched across Shea’s lips. She arched her back, trying to ease the knots that had been caused by broken bed springs. Swinging her long legs over the bed, Shea traipsed to the tiny kitchen – the uncooked food from the previous night remained untouched in their positions around the crammed work counter. Opening the fridge, Shea cringed at the pitiful state. Leftovers, a spilt carton of milk and some cherry tomatoes were the only contents. So much for breakfast, Shea thought dryly. Flinging the door closed in disgust, the model huffed as she contemplated her current predicament. No food, messy kitchen…only one thing for it.

-X-

Sasha was more than ready for a quiet night to herself after an arduous day with her art dealer. Her hand was being tied to committing more hours to her work, the demand for another soiree was the highest yet but Sasha knew her art, however celebrated, did not pay her extortionate bills. Her hair had frizzed in the heat, the sleek parting appeared dishevelled but Sasha merely hid the mess with a cylinder hat. 

Her favourite rounded sunglasses slipped down her face as she trudged with her materials to the porch. Fiddling with the key, Sasha bit her lip in confusion as the lock refused to turn. Did Shea forget to lock the door when she left? The door opened under her touch and Sasha cautiously entered. Bold brows rose, startled, as a figure lay like a Grecian statue on her davenport sofa.

“You’re still here?”

Shea smiled from her spot, opening her arms in welcome. Sasha noted the change of clothes and pristine makeup and wondered if Shea had gone home to spritz up before letting herself back in.

“How was work, chérie?”  Kicking off her heels and glasses, Sasha dumped the contents in her arms to the side before descending into Shea’s open arms. She felt charmed at the domesticity of the situation, not used to having someone waiting for her return.

“Work was hard.” She sighed in between the now commonplace kisses on cheeks. “Budge over, my feet hurt.” Making room so that Sasha could sit with Shea’s head in her lap, the two stared at each other in comfortable silence.

“I bought groceries.” Shea commented, crossing her ankles. “You had no food.” The blonde grimaced, bringing a hand to run through her hair resulting in her hat falling behind her.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Shea gazed up at her, a sweetness to her expression that made Sasha bite her lip.

“I wanted to. I can’t have you starving, now, can I? You got a nice ass but the rest of you needs feeding up.”

“Don’t, you sound like everyone else.” Sasha admonished.

“How many people have you got telling you your ass is great?” her friend jested, flicking Sasha on the arm. Sasha laughed sarcastically.

“What else did you do today besides be my little hausfrau?”

“I cleaned your kitchen  - well, I sent my staff over to clean it up and I made you dinner.” Shea admitted, her fingers tangled in her beads nervously. “Is that too much?”

“It’s…extremely thoughtful of you.” Sasha praised, mustering an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

“C’est ne rien, ma chérie.” Full dark lips pouted up her companion to blow a kiss.

They spent the next two hours recounting their day, Shea proudly presenting the meal she had slaved over with her own two hands. She was not about to admit that it had taken her the best part of the afternoon to perfect. She mulled over her glass of Cointreau, silently congratulating herself as Sasha flooded her with praise after praise. The woman was, however, disappointed when Sasha suddenly declared that she was leaving for a meeting with Alexis, Trinity and the woman only referred to as Peppermint.

“I thought you said you were tired.” Shea’s voice hitched, pleading for her friend to retire for the night with her.

“I am but it’s important.” Sasha insisted with a final tone. “We’ve got a responsibility to our community.”

Conceding, Shea soon found herself in the midst of a fiery debate over a charity performing arts showcase. To her right, Sasha was passionately defending ribbon dancing whilst Alexis was imploring to the table that the show should focus on Broadway show tunes. Soothing her temple with a gloved finger, Shea sighed.

“Is there no way we can have both and move on from this?” Peppermint chimed in agreement, nodding vigorously whilst Trinity decided to throw in her own ideas. What a mess. Sasha’s were brows furrowed in disgruntlement as she beseeched the bickering table.

“Listen, I think we should – ”  

“What we really need to be doing,” Shea interjected, raising her voice above the blonde. Sasha glared at her, resenting how her friend cut her off rudely. This was her idea. They should be taking direction from her, the artist, as to how this show should be directed. Granted, Sasha had to acknowledge that Shea’s contributions were very good. But she did not appreciate being forcibly ejected from the debate. Silently seething, the blonde simmered to herself.

“Sasha you agree with me, right?” Shea whipped her head round expectantly and Sasha felt the burn of four demanding faces. She had to steer this debacle away from potential bloodshed and tears.

“I do really like your ideas, Shea,” Sasha affirmed. “But – ”

“Honestly, this whole thing is a shambles right now,” Alexis said, loftily. “You’re clearly not used to a leadership role for a project this size and it’s showing. You’re behaviour is too insecure to manage this project.” Sasha was stunned.

“I think I’m doing just fine.” She straightened in her seat. “I think my strategy just doesn’t work for you, Miss Alexis. I would be better if everyone stopped talking over me and  -”

“To be fair,” Shea, intercepted. Sasha bit her tongue in exasperation. “We’ve all been going off over Sasha but she’s been trying to keep us in line and create something that includes everyone.” Alexis leaned forward, waving her hands as she spoke. Trinity and Peppermint threw side glances, roused by the heated debate.

“Frankly I feel like Sasha is explicitly trusting you and your vision of this more than mine or Trinity’s or Peppermint’s.”

“Actually,” Sasha’s voice rose in outrage. “I feel like Shea is stepping on my toes a little bit.” Affronted, Shea’s eyes shone with surprise and hurt.

“Honestly, I was just trying to share my ideas –”

“You straight up just spoke over me like everyone else did, to be honest.” The two eyed each other wearily, an awkward strain rising between them.

“Time to call it a night.” Peppermint piped up.

“Agreed.”

Shea had driven Sasha and herself to the disastrous meeting however as they parted, the blonde made a move to walk away from the direction she had parked in.

“Hey,” Shea called, soured by Sasha’s mood. “I’m driving you home.”

“I would like to walk.” Came the curt reply. Shea exhaled sharply and stomped over to the woman, grabbing her hand.

“Just get in the car, Sasha, you’re not walking home in the dark.” Sasha blinked before shifting in embarrassment. The ride home was thick with a tense silence. Shea was thankful when they finally reached their destination. As she pulled up, she twisted her body to face her friend.

“We’re really not going to fall out over Alexis wanting to micro-manage, are we?”

“It wasn’t just Alexis.” Sasha chastised, looking up at Shea’s worried expression. “You barely let me get a word in, either. I expect that kind of thing from them but not you.”

A lump formed in Shea’s throat, she fought the urge to argument defensively; something she would have done to her friends back in Chicago.

“I…I just wanted to get involved.” Sasha smiled, dolefully, placing her hand above Shea’s.

“I know. Your ideas were the best ones, anyway. I just wanted this to be an equally collaborative project.” She gave a slight squeeze of her hand before taking her leave. Shea remained. Her pensive countenance was noted upon when she finally forced herself to return to her own house, a sinking sensation weighing upon her. Her husband had not noticed her absence, wholly apathetic to her plight. He was leaving for a night in New York. Business purposes only. Of course.

With a new layer of exhausted emotions, Shea cradled her pearl rotary dial phone as she waited for Sasha to answer. Sasha would comfort her, she would forget about their silly tiff and see how much Shea appreciated her. The dial tone sounded continuously until the realisation hit Shea like a concrete brick. Sasha was ignoring her call. Slamming the handset down, Shea flung herself to the chaise lounge unable to face a night of frightful sleep.

Hours trickled one after the other and Shea drowned in a sense of inconsolable dread.  The one person she wanted, needed, to talk to right now was outright rejecting her. No one had ever rejected her before. Shea did not make allowances for moping behaviour. Not from anyone, especially herself. Sasha may be upset with her but Shea would be damned if she was going to let a petty row interfere with their relationship. Blustering with haste, she stormed down and out to her neighbour’s porch. Wrapped only in a silk gown that scarcely hid her lingerie, Shea pounded her fist against the door. A moment passed before Sasha’s lethargic face peered around the door. She was blank with no makeup and her hair was set in rags.

“Shea?”

“Why did you ignore my call?”

“Your…your call? Jesus, Shea, what time even is it?” Shea pursed her lips as Sasha’s drowsy features gazed up at her in confusion. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“I had to see you. To make it right.” Sasha tilted her head, yawning.

“Shea, this is…this is a lot.” The taller of the two women closed her hand around the smaller, holding it firmly.

“I know, I know I’m a lot to handle. I’m clingy person, I give too much of myself to the people I care about and it’s off putting. I know what I’m like, trust me. But…you…this friendship means too much to me. You’re the best thing about this wretched town; you should be in New York or Chicago or Paris living the life you always dreamed of for yourself, surrounded by fabulous people who appreciate you like I do.”

Sasha looked up at her dumbfounded. Shea prepared for the wave of rejection. “I know I impose my friendship too strongly and I’m sorry for not being the best friend I could have been to you. But I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I need you. I…you don’t even know, Sasha…”

The blood rose to Sasha’s cheeks at the declaration. Pulling Shea towards her with the hand that was locked in a vice grip, she slung her free arm over Shea’s shoulder to press against her. The embrace felt electric with emotion. Releasing hands, Shea crumbled under the touch and wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist; their bodies meshing intimately.

“I love you too.” Mumbled Sasha. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I just needed some space. This is pretty intense and I’ve never had a friendship like this before, you’re so…” Sasha swallowed, unsure of her words. “I just want you to be happy. Get out of that marriage, Shea, leave him and let yourself be happy. Be free. Go back to Chicago. Or…you could be with me. We can move to New York and do whatever we want. I care about you deeply – too much to let you carry on like this.”

Shea felt light headed. Dizzy with pure elation, she felt a new awakening inside her. She had never thought she’d live to see the day she’d consider giving up her fortune for anything, let alone for another person. Who could be that important? Whimpering, she heaved a sob into Sasha’s hair, the familiar faint scent of roses comforted her.

“I’m scared.” She confessed while Sasha rubbed circles into her back. “I’ll lose everything.”

“You’ll lose money.” Sasha corrected. “But what you’ll gain…you’ll have everything, Shea.” A gust of midnight wind caused a shiver to tremble between them. “You don’t even love him.” Sasha cried with sudden grievance. “You said so yourself – you don’t even love him.” She took a step back, eyeing Shea with begging eyes. “Please Shea…divorce your husband. Don’t let yourself live in misery.”

“I…” Shea trailed off, a panicked realisation shining in her eyes. “I want you…to be with you…Sasha…” Shea choked on her name, cupping her face in her palms desperately. Sasha held her wrists, her thumbs dancing in circles tenderly as their foreheads touched.

“Then leave him.” Sasha whispered, her eyes darting hungrily from dark eyes to full parted lips. Shea had never seen such a lustful expression from the woman. It made her body ache for contact, the force of her desire like a magnet. “Leave him and we can be together. Now…are you coming in or going back there?”

The invitation held such promise yet Shea could not but feel that her choice would finalise her fate. She bit her lip, uncertain of what implications her choice had. Sasha yawned.

“Either way, we both need to sleep. It’s been a long day.” The dark haired woman nodded, letting her hands fall from Sasha’s face as she was pulled in through the door. Sasha’s hold on her wrist continued as they ascended the staircase. No words passed between them as they entered the bedroom. Uncomfortably self-conscious, they glided under the sheets in darkness. Hands found one another and then, like a chain reaction, arms pushed and pulled greedily to enfold themselves together. Legs hooked around legs, brushing up and down, playing footsie.  

Shea felt Sasha’s breath on her face and inched close until their noses touched. Sasha sighed as they Eskimo kissed, tilting her face in blind search of Shea’s lips. She felt Shea gasp as she chastity pressed her lips to the corner of her mouth. Shea peppered kisses blindly along any skin she could feel, drunk on the euphoric sensation, stamping her lips down passionately. Finally, finally. Sasha shushed her, calming her, to ease her passion. The haste would have to subside, for now, but their exchange of kisses promised more. Finally, the two plummeted into an exhausted slumber, dread and hope for the days to come lingered in the air.

The next morning was cold. A grey drizzle set in. Shea lay with her head on Sasha’s chest enjoying the sensation of fingers caressing her scalp, twirling her hair.

“I’m going to tell him.” She muttered to herself. Sasha hummed, happily.

“I love it when you speak French.” She said, oblivious to the meaning of Shea’s declaration.

“I miss speaking it.” Shea confessed. “I had a rule that him and I, when we were alone, could only speak in French. I didn’t want to lose that part of myself.”

“That’s beautiful.” Sasha smiled. “I used to be perfectly fluent in Russian but I’ve never spoken it since moving away, so I’m terribly rusty.” Shea turned a surprised look up at her.

“You lived in Russia?”

“I am, in fact, Russian.” Sasha smiled widely. “Sasha is a Russian name but I chose Velour when I moved here because no one knew how to spell or speak my real surname.”

“Get out of town.” Shea rolled and sat up on her arms. “What brought you to the States?” Sasha’s eyes dimmed and she shrugged.

“I couldn’t be myself there. Expressing myself for who I am could have ended very…nastily.” Sighing, she gave a half-hearted smile. “I need to get up for work.”

-X-

The morning passed at a glacial pace. Sasha had not brought up the events of last night but before departing, she turned to Shea anxiously.

“Will I see you again tonight?” Shea had nodded vigorously.

“Most definitely.” She had loitered at the small den until one p.m., pacified by her surroundings and the smell of Sasha on every object yet she knew the fateful hour was approaching. Mr Couleé would be home at three. It was a Friday and so his schedule for the weekend never changed. Home by three,  straight to the decanter, back out to the bar by six.

Trudging along, Shea felt the weight of the judgemental stares by the house staff. She kept her head high, manner indifferent, as she stomped around the empty house. She stripped from her lingerie from the night before, choosing a simple rose toned dress and beret as her attire. Shea wondered if she should start packing her bags now so that she could make a swift exit after the conversation.

“So…you’re back, finally.” Shea’s stomach turned at the familiar voice. Spinning to face the direction of her husband, who stood blocking the bedroom door, Shea folded her arms.

“You noticed I was gone?” Mr Couleé glared, taking slow steps into the room.

“Actually I didn’t. But people have been talking.” A chill shot down Shea’s back. “People have been talking a lot about you, Shea. About you…and a woman.” A tense silence suffocated the room. “I cheated once and people talked. Now you’re doing exactly the same thing with a fucking woman and people are spreading gossip tenfold. Have you lost your goddamn mind?” His deep voice rose in a crescendo of fury. Shea stared him down, unblinking.

“Was it really that much of a shock to you?” She challenged.

“What could I have possibly done so offensively to you that you punish me with this?”

“Ha! Where do I even start? You’re rude, arrogant and have no respect for me or anyone around you. You fuck like a pig in the heat. Didn’t you ever feel my revulsion at your touch? I may have loved you once but you were no husband to me. Only a cheque book and you know it.” Eyes locked together, one in rage and the other in defiance. “I’m divorcing you.” The man burst into hard, sarcastic laugher.

“You’re not going to do that. You love my money too much. What will you do with yourself once you’re a penniless slapper dancing on tables again for change? Don’t forget where you came from before you met me, Shea.”

“I was rich on my own long before you.” Shea spat, her fingers clenched into fists and she stormed towards her husband. “You may have had more money but everyone knew I was the one settling for less in this farce of a marriage.”

“Who is it?” Couleé burned, his voice a vicious hiss. “It’s that woman next door, isn’t it? That poor pitiful plain mouse of a woman who lives in a shack. You’re going to leave all this to move into a derelict bungalow? Don’t make me laugh.” Shea gritted her teeth at the disgusted tone in his voice.

“Don’t you dare talk about her. She means more to me than you ever did. More than any of this.” Shea flung her arms to the room. “And I’m tired of living a lie. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Enjoy the rest of your life fucking everything that glances in your general direction.”

Shea made a rush for the door, abandoning any idea of packing. A forceful wrench against her arm prevented any further escape.

“I’m not done talking -”

“Let go of me!” Shea swung herself round, yanking her arm over and over trying to break away. Her arm ached with pain as the vice like hand tightened. They struggled strenuously for a few minutes, panic overwhelming, until Shea frantically struck the man; her ringed fingers cut into his face. This did not however extract herself from his grip. Shea shrieked in anger, wildly snatching at anything within her reach from the vanity at her right to beat Mr Couleé off her.

Time slowed and sped simultaneously until a low, pained grunt paired with a cumbersome thwack sounded swiftly and Shea watched with shock and horror as the man fell to the ground; his eyes rolling up his head like a doll. Frozen in her defensive stance above him, Shea stared blankly down at the lifeless body with a brutal gash to the crown of his head. Oh no. Leaning cautiously, Shea poked his neck, his head rolled and flopped to the side flaccidly. Oh fuck. Dropping what turned out to be her iron paperweight, Shea closed her shaking hands over her gaping mouth.

Thoughts bled into one another. What was she supposed to do now? Shea back away from the body, recoiling at a fly that landed on a bloody cheek. She turned to the door, gradually making her way over and shut it quietly. The lock flipped. Shea eyed the body wearily, nauseous, wondering if the smell emitting from it was real or her imagination. Staggering over to the phone by her bedside,  Shea’s hands trembled pathetically as she dialled the one person she could think of who could help her. Lipstick City.

“Annyeonghaseyo?” The Korean voice warbled.

“Kim,” Shea sighed. “I need your help.”

“Who?”

“Bitch you know me, it’s Shea.”

“Ah, Miss Shea. More man trouble?” Shea’s eyes fell shut and she massaged her temple.

“You could say that. I’m…I’m gonna need the full clean and polish. With removal. Outside New York, do you have any…connections this far out?” There was a muffled shifting on the line and Shea swallowed, her mouth so dry her throat felt like sandpaper.

“Consider it done.”

-X-

Sasha couldn’t concentrate. The day dragged and all she itched to do was run home and see Shea. She wondered what Mr Couleé was like, what the dynamic was between them in that grand house. Sasha had lived in that neighbourhood for almost two years and prior to Shea, she could not recall it ever being occupied.

Stepping off the train, Sasha began the trek home with her canvas and satchel filled with papers and brushes and random sketches she had doodled from boredom. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could see Shea; the thought made her trot along in her heels double time. Eventually turning her street corner, her light eyes focused on a large van outside Maison du Couleé and Sasha frowned as a lone unrecognisable figure struggled into view dragging a large plastic disposable bag. She watched as a woman, wearing a jumpsuit with the words T. Rex Disposals, struggled to fling the opaque sack into the boot of the van.

Lingering at her porch, pretending to look for her keys, Sasha spied at the woman muttering to herself whilst she battled against the weight of the bag. Sasha noted that it vaguely resembled something out of a morgue.

“Need any help there?” She called and the woman jolted, snapping her head at the sound of her voice.

“I’m good, thanks.” She huffed.  “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Suit yourself.” Sasha unfastened her door. “Looks like a body bag.” T. Rex laughed.

“It is.” she winked and Sasha smiled, leaving the strange individual to their work.

The artist had hoped that Shea would be waiting in her living room to greet her again but, alas, no such luck. It was already almost seven o’clock, the light was fading fast into the ether and Sasha wondered when Shea planned to make an appearance like she had promised. 

Glancing at the clock, Sasha hummed as she decided to pass the time painting. Setting up a blank canvas, she lay all of her paints on a small table to her side that was home to a framed photo of Shea and herself  from their impromptu shoot. In the picture the two stood facing each other with their smiling faces to the camera and their arms outstretched as if they were posing for a dance.

When Sasha had the photos developed, she had delighted as Shea fawned over them declaring every one to be her favourite. The model had clutched the few of her and Sasha together to her bosom, the rest scattered in abandonment on Sasha’s bed.

“We look amazing together.” She had cried, overjoyed. Sasha peeled one away from her, looking over it in admiration.

“You look so beautiful.” Shea blushed, flustered, flinging her hair behind her shoulder.

“Of course, I do.” Caressing a finger over Sasha’s face in the picture, she gazed from the paper to the young woman in front of her. “You look so…sexy.”

“Sexy?” Sasha had cried in bemusement. She laughed awkwardly in embarrassment and flipped the photo over. “I wouldn’t ever call myself that.”

“I mean it,” Shea pushed, frowning. “You’re a very sexy person, ma chérie. You should feel it.”

Shea always had a way to make Sasha feel exactly how she told her to. The consistent throwaway comments about how attractive Shea found her, though Sasha presumed most of the time they were said in jest, did make the artist feel more emboldened. She was not too proud to say she appreciated validation, especially from someone as dazzling as Shea. Not only that but the smitten looks she caught thrown her way when Shea thought she wasn’t paying attention made Sasha feel rooted in her affection towards the Parisian. For how couldn’t Sasha love someone that wanted her to love herself?

The phone began to shrill. Pausing her stroke, Sasha tucked the paint brush behind her ear as she ran to the hall outside the studio.

“Hello?”

“Bonsoir ma chérie…you sound so breathless.” Sasha laughed airily, wrapping her fingers around the cord.

“I didn’t want to miss the call in case it was you.” She admitted. There was a moment of silence and Sasha wondered if the call had disconnected.

“Can you come over? Now?” Shea pleaded. “I need to see you.” Sasha’s eyebrows rose.

“You’re not coming over here?” She had yet to be invited into Shea’s house but by the off tone in her friend’s voice, she could not help but feel apprehensive at the request.

“No. I need you here.”

“Shea, what’s wrong?”

“Just come over, please Sasha.” The young woman swallowed, her mind racing. Shea needed her help.

“I’m coming.” Dropping the phone to the cradle, Sasha discarded her overalls and the brush in her ear with cold nervous hands. After locking up and letting herself into the neighbouring building, Shea had once mentioned that the front door was never locked with so many staff constantly on duty, Sasha called out to the vast dark stairwell.

Shea had appeared, the vision of a dark queen clad in a black ostrich feathered dressing gown, descending the staircase halfway before she was met by Sasha. The blonde had run up two by two to reach her. Cupping her angular chin, Shea pecked Sasha’s cheeks in their old style routine but it felt slower and more sensual, her lips hovered over the skin. Sasha stared at her unabashed.

“I told my husband I’m divorcing him.” Sasha gasped, her mouth falling into a pretty “o”; Shea wondered what it’d feel like to have Sasha suck on her fingers.

“Shea…I’m so proud of you. What happened? Are you okay? Where…where is he?” Linking her arm through Sasha’s, Shea walked them back up the stairs and into the shadowed corridor towards her bedroom. She felt rigid, frozen with the events of today and tried to supress the memories of when jopok leader Kim Chi’s so-called connection arrived.

“He’s gone.” She simply said, staring ahead; her eyes were removed from the present and looked haunted into the past. Sasha detected her distant countenance and a pang of worry twisted in her stomach.

“Did he hurt you?” Sasha turned her gaze from her oddly behaving friend to take in her bed chamber for the fist time. The high ceiling with ornate borders and long velvet drapes that hung around an imperial four poster bed left her in awe and intimidated by such grandeur. Shea manoeuvred them so that they perched on the edge of the mattress.

“Non, chérie,” Shea shook her head, eyes glued to the oriental rug. Their arms remained linked and taking a deep breath, Shea’s hand clutched Sasha’s. “I’m going to be leaving soon too. I’m going back to Chicago.”

Shea could not bring herself to face Sasha’s reaction. She felt her heart rupture into pain at the thought of leaving her friend but what choice did she have? She could not risk Sasha being caught up in any of the fallout if her husband’s body were to be discovered. At the very least the missing persons case for the next few months would be hell. No, it was decided. Shea refused to subject Sasha to the agony and speculation of a murder case she had no part in.

“If that’s what you want.” The thick emotion in Sasha’s voice stabbed venomously into Shea. “Like I said, you have everything there. You’ll finally be happy.” The stillness between them was suffocating. “How soon are you leaving?” Shea winced at the dreaded the question.

“Honestly, I’m thinking of leaving either tomorrow or the day after. It depends.”

“On what?” Shea could read through the seemingly calm tone in Sasha’s low voice and felt her resolve disintegrating when Sasha stood suddenly, splitting away from her. She took a few unsure steps forward, her face down and hidden. “What does it depend on, Shea?” Shea reached for her but the blonde shrank away, recoiling.

“Sasha –”

“Don’t do that.” Sasha snapped, turning to face the distressed woman. “Don’t say my name as if I’m the one hurting you.” Shea blinked, her eyes bore into the pale face, cold with rue. “I thought we had…I was clearly mistaken.” Sasha’s curt words were marred with a tremble and Shea stood as if she’d been struck by lightening, too weak to endure more suffering and unable to drag Sasha through the same. She never believed she should deprive herself of what she wanted, especially if it was ripe for the taking before her eyes.

Sasha had startled at the sudden movement, retreating further but Shea powered towards her until Sasha felt her back press into the vanity. She bit her lip as Shea caressed her hand across her hollow cheek, brushing her frizzed curls away from her face.

“It depends on you.” Shea finally murmured. “It isn’t fair to make you leave but I can’t be without you.”

“You knew I was willing to go with you.” Sasha spoke softly, eyes guarded. “We just never had the conversation about the logistics if the day were to come. You’re deciding for me now that it’s better to leave me behind.” Shea curled her fingers around Sasha’s jaw, torn between what she knew she should do and what she most desperately wanted.

“I want to protect you.” She admitted, her voice hoarse with strain. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And you think by leaving I’ll be fine? I don’t know if you know, Shea, but I’ve been looking after myself perfectly long before you.” She glared defiantly at the woman how was rubbing circles into her cheek. “Why are you leaving so fast? What are you running away from?” Shea felt the words form in her mouth but forced them back. Sasha huffed, frustrated at the lack on explanation. “You can’t just force yourself into people’s lives, make them love you and then leave without a care.” She cried, yanking Shea’s hand away. “It’s not right, Shea.” Skirting past the other woman, Sasha freed herself, making a beeline for the door.

Shea knew she couldn’t live with herself if she let Sasha leave like this. She had uprooted her life, made her truly feel reborn and in tune as to what real love was, Sasha had changed her. She had left her husband for her. And it was too significant a shift to survive alone.

“He’s dead.” The words shattered Shea’s control and she dropped to her knees. “Sasha don’t leave…Oh god, what have I done?” Sasha remained a statue, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.

“What?” She asked dumbly. Shea clutched at the jewels decorating her neck, hyperventilating. Reaching, her arms outstretched towards the pale woman, Shea collapsed against her friend as Sasha hastily returned.

“It was an accident. He grabbed me – he was so mad – and he wouldn’t let go. Look at my bruises, I was so scared –” Her words tumbled incoherently and although no tears fell, her distress drilled an ache in Sasha. Kneeling, the blonde woman held her friend to her chest tightly as she attempted to decipher what had happened.

“Where is he?” Her throat constricted when Shea nuzzled into Sasha’s neck, her arms snaking around her waist, pulling her gently against her body.

“I rang an old friend who has connections in Lipstick City. They…disposed of him. I don’t know where.” The reel of questions Sasha suddenly had left her overwhelmed. Her arms dropped like heavy weights to her sides. She thought back to earlier that day. T. Rex Disposals.

“Holy fuck, Shea.” Bringing their faces level, Shea stared into Sasha’s horrified orbs. Cupping her waxen face, she brushed her lips across Sasha’s rose painted pout.

“I didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. I couldn’t call the police. With lots of money comes lots of connections.” She whispered, begging for Sasha to understand. “But…you helped me realise who I am. I don’t need all that money. I was leaving him. For me. For you. I want you in my life, in my world, to look after and love and be free with. I want to have a part in your life, you make me feel so…high. So happy.” 

Sasha’s eyes were wide like a doe. Her head was swimming overpowered by emotion than her own rationality. No one had ever spoken to her with such admiration and wonder. How had someone like Shea fallen into Sasha’s world? An answer she would never receive yet that did not dampen her gratitude that Shea had found her.

“Shea…you killed someone.” The accused woman did not react but her eyes gave away her unease.

“I did.” She swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“It’s probably best you should.” Shea nodded slowly, her dark eyes bore into Sasha’s, unconvinced of her friend’s wishes.

“I understand completely.”  Shea’s hands fell from Sasha’s face to her waist. “Kiss me goodbye?”

The blonde nodded, her blue eyes glued to Shea’s lips. The dark haired model tightened her grip on the slender hips, pulling them against her as she threw herself into a passionate kiss. Sasha was putty beneath her touch, submitting herself to the fervour and fury of Shea’s embrace. She felt awakened, as if she had found release from a surreal mundane existence. There was no nine to five job to barely make ends meat, there was no playground politics with middle aged suburban house wives, there was only Shea. Two souls. Intertwined by their loneliness and love. A shared connection of understanding and acceptance beyond the material world. Come what may, Sasha couldn’t lose this.

“Don’t leave me.” Sasha felt breathless. “Don’t go and run away without me.” Shea’s eyes burned with a raw intensity that left Sasha’s cheeks burning and feeling aroused. “We’ll work it out together. Let me help –” Her words were stolen as soft lips fused against her own. She gave a hopeless whimper, bringing her arms around Shea’s shoulders, pulling the woman closer to her. Shea was forceful, domineering, in her movements as she slid her craving hands over Sasha’s hips and grasped at her behind, squeezing. Gliding the zip of her pencil skirt southward, Shea’s hands invaded beneath the fabric and she tugged Sasha’s shirt out, skimming her fingers underneath and up her back.

Sasha broke the kiss, her eyes hooded with titillation and kicked off her shoes. Shea watched the ruffled up woman with adoration. Rising, she held a hand to pull Sasha up so that she could push the skirt further down until it landed unceremoniously in a heap on the carpet. The two women stood mirroring one another. Shea let her extravagant dressing gown fall down her shoulders and hit the floor, leaving her in black satin lingerie. Sasha’s eyes trailed over the clear, smooth skin of her chest, her slender muscular arms, her toned stomach – art could not come close to what Shea was.

“Take this off.” Shea commanded, unbuttoning the top of Sasha’s shirt. Sasha complied, her fingers worked with urgency at the base of the shirt, meeting Shea’s hands halfway. Shea pealed the shirt away, her eyes raking over Sasha’s pale slender body zealously. “You’re so beautiful.” She marvelled, her hands wandering over the edge of her sheer bra, sliding it away. Sasha blushed at her own nakedness, her lithe fingers ran through Shea’s hair as she tilted her head to kiss. Lips melded and massaged one another until Shea ran her tongue across Sasha’s bottom lip. Sasha’s lips tingled at the sensation, red lipstick smudged, and parted to allow Shea complete admission.

Tongues danced around, flicking and teasing, accompanied only by soft moans. The quiet enthralled Sasha, the only sound to focus upon was her lover’s pleasure and she could not think of anything more erotic than Shea. The taller woman pulled Sasha over the bed, pushing her onto the soft covers and wrapped her long legs either side of the blonde’s smooth white thighs. Shea unclasped her own bra before discarding it without a care, her eyes fixed on Sasha’s. Pressing a deep kiss into her neck, Shea murmured in French. Sasha’s eyes fluttered at the sound despite her stomach knotting with nerves.

“Shea…it’s – it’s been a while since…” She trailed off, flustered but Shea cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at her heated stare.

“Shh, baby, don’t worry. I’m gonna make you feel so good.” She whispered, burying a wet kiss to her parted lips. The two moved with a fervent passion, arms roamed and groped, hips ground together. Sasha’s toes curled at the feel of Shea’s own breasts against her body. Shea hooked Sasha’s thigh over her waist, her hand ripping the thigh high stocking away. Gazing down at her, all Shea saw was beauty and artistry in her pink panting face and her milky white petite breasts; every facet of Sasha’s being was perfection. “How has no one snatched you up, yet?” She sighed. “How am I this lucky? I can’t let you go.” Shea cupped Sasha’s breast, her thumb padding at her nipple and the fruitful response of a gentle cry made her mouth dry.

Skilled fingers were replaced by a warm tongue, confidently flicking and rolling into Sasha as she moaned and arched into the erogenous woman above her. Shea pinned Sasha’s arms to the mattress, their fingers intertwined, possessing full command. Nips and sucks turned into languid kisses that trailed fluidly down Sasha’s ribs and abdomen until Shea reached the cup of her pelvis. Her hands slid down over the rises and falls of Sasha’s body until they came to pause at the curve of her hips, hooking into the elastic of her pants.

“Please, Shea.” Sasha breathed, her eyes closed with her own hands reaching to push off the last article of clothing with urgency. “Please, please.” Shea grinned at the sound of Sasha begging over her name. Discarding the obstructing fabric, Shea sighed in ravenous satisfaction as she gaped between Sasha’s legs. She spread Sasha’s thighs further apart, throwing them over her shoulders like a stoal, then let one hand dive in impatiently whilst the other wrapped around Sasha’s leg, holding her in place.

Shea’s long fingers stroked softly along the curb of her labia repetitively, slipping between the lips to tease and elicit the small out of breath noises that drove her crazy. Sasha’s thighs clenched and jerked sporadically, toes curled and feet arched, her hands twisted in the sheet beneath her. Dragging her fingers up between the wetness, Shea looped her finger under the hood reaching the pearly reward. The blissful noises that erupted from Sasha, quiet and soft but oh so intoxicating to Shea’s ears,  overflowed with ecstasy.

Shea nibbled kisses into Sasha’s taut inner thigh, resisting her gluttonous desire to rush too soon. As she neared closer and closer to where her fingers currently played on the woman underneath her, Shea felt glanced up at her lover and studied her face that was contorted from the overwhelming pleasure. Sasha’s mouth hung open, her dark brows pulled together and her skin glowed with dew from the heated affair.

“Look at me.” Shea felt powerful, in command over the beautiful woman writhing at her every whim. Shea waited until she had Sasha’s full attention; her eyes were dazed with desperation. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” Her fingers sped up their rhythmic motion, rubbing against her clitoris in a forceful manner. Sasha mewled, the red on her cheeks intensifying. “I’ve wanted to feel you around my fingers just like this, squeezing until I make you cum, I want to hear you as I give you everything.” Sasha’s head rolled back as her body convulsed and tremored, reaching the heights of her pleasure.

Dipping back down hastily, Shea lapped her tongue wildly against the velvet skin tasting Sasha’s centre. Spurred on by the endless stream of moaning, Shea bobbed her head enthusiastically, her eyes closed, lost in the moment. She controlled the rocking motion of Sasha’s hips that thrust for release and hummed. The swirling of her tongue was matched with the sound of her name falling like a prayer from Sasha’s lips. Soon the lymphatic tones turned staccato and Shea doubled her efforts to bring Sasha completion.  When the tension flooded from her trembling thighs and all that remained was the resonating sound of  exhausted pants, Sasha reached for the woman between her legs, burying her fingers in her soft hair.

Shea peered up at her, smiling in cocky triumph and pressed a small kiss to her thigh.

“Come here.” Sasha cooed. Her body lay unresponsive and quaking upon the soft mattress, worn to the bone. Shea crawled atop of her and Sasha cupped her cheek as they kissed; the taste of her climax passed between them.

“Ma chérie,” Shea murmured, skimming her nose over Sasha’s cheek as they stared into one another. “Je t’aime.” Tipping her forehead to rest against the pale sweaty skin beneath her, Shea closed her eyes, focusing on the pulsating beating of the body below her. “Je t’aime.”

The exchange of sweet chaste pecks cooled the air around them. Shea curled her arm around Sasha’s head, supporting herself as she stretched above her to brush the rogue strands of blonde hair that had plastered themselves to her temple. Sasha caressed her fingers up and down Shea’s toned arms. No words were needed to express the emotions rife between them.

“I’m so hot for you.” Shea admitted softly, shifting her hips to stir friction between their tangled legs. Sasha giggled, making noises of satisfaction as she joined the movement. Sitting up suddenly, Shea fixed Sasha’s thigh over her hip, slotting herself between her legs. She rubbed vigorously up against Sasha’s pelvis, scissoring. The grind of her hips shot waves of aching stimulation up her spine. Throwing her head back in bliss, Shea felt overwhelmingly alive and in tune with her surroundings. The feeling of Sasha underneath her, the sounds echoing around them, the heat radiating from their skin…she was completely enveloped in the experience. There was nothing else in the world she wanted more than to do this, be this, for the rest of her life. They fit together like the two halves of an oyster-shell. Shea was Narcissus, embracing the pond in which she was about to drown. 

Tipping over into her own orgasmic state, Shea twirled over to lay next to her lover; she encompassed her arms around the smaller pale body, guiding Sasha to lie plush against her.

“What are we going to do?” Sasha sighed, her face turned in to Shea’s shoulder.

“We do nothing.” Shea replied, catching her breath. “Nothing that isn’t expected of us.”

“We’re going to look suspicious, Shea.” Sasha forced. “If we’re to be openly together people will talk.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“But- ”

“When I see you,” Shea interrupted. “it’s like - I don’t know what it’s like. It’s like I’ve never seen anything at all before. I’ve looked at women before you and they are like nothing - they’re like dust. But then you walked in for the first time on my porch – I thought…you were so pretty and your suit was so nice and your voice was so sweet.” Sasha was staring up at her stupefied now but Shea continued. “You make me want to smile and weep, at once. You makes me sore, here.” Shea placed a hand on her chest, upon the breast-bone. “I’ve never met a woman like you before. I never knew that there were women like you…” Her smooth voice became a trembling whisper then, and Shea found that she could say no more. There was another silence. “Come what may, I am not hiding this, I am not going to go without you anymore.”

Sasha’s face filled with emotion. Without a word she lay back down, resuming her hold on Shea as the two drifted off into an uncertain sleep. The next morning the police arrived to break the news to Mrs Couleé that her husband’s body had been found washed up in a lake. The remains of the man had been wrapped in a body bag with a half snapped cord, which had obviously been trying to keep the body from floating away. A most disturbing accident that Mrs Couleé was sure to have no knowledge of. Sasha’s face has drained of blood as she stood next to Shea; the widow had feigned tears, falling to the ground with a wail. The police still needed her to come in for questioning. That demand extended to a waxen faced Sasha.

The two women dressed in silence. A sombre tension loomed. Shea felt an inner peace she had not known for years calm her nerves. She watched the blonde, poor innocent beautiful Sasha, dress in her clothes from the previous day.  There was no time to be spared for any glamour. Sasha caught her eye and gave her a meaningful stare. As they found themselves escorted into the police cars, Shea focused on the day this ordeal would be over. She would be wearing Chanel No. 5, draped in her Cartier Paris Nouvelle Vague necklace. Sasha Velour, the quirky artistic woman who smelled of home grown roses, would be by her side. And all would be right in the world once more.

Fin.

[yeolsmuffin]

Primrose - Jongdae | Part 5

Genre: Angst & fluff | AU!Vampire/Soulmate Chen, AU!Vampire/Soulmate Reader|

Pairing: chenXreader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary:  Never did you think that the sparrow birthmark you had since birth would lead you to be thrown into a world filled with vampires. A world where you found yourself falling in love more than once and a world that you would try your best to run from.

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six |

2 years later

While everything about the dark rainy day appeared to be normal, you knew better. As you walked home from your job at the nearby hospital you were on your guard. Certainly, everyone passing by you thought you were crazy with the way your eyes flitted around the too dark alleyways and the small crevices beside buildings. The way your white sneakers were tapping against the sidewalk was echoing in your ears in an unnatural way and it had your pulse racing.

You had just changed towns and you really weren’t ready to leave again but this strange day was telling you different.

That morning everything seemed as usual and boring even, but as two o’clock rolled around – the hospital grew eerily quiet. You worked in the ER as a nurse and it wasn’t common for you to have a second to yourself, and somehow you managed to not have a single thing to do until you got off at five. That wasn’t all, though. The locker room was also freezing when you entered and you swore you could smell a strong cologne that seemed too familiar no matter how hard you tried to block it out as you trembled and goose bumps grew over your skin.

While you were afraid, you weren’t at the same time. You knew you could protect yourself from the monsters who haunted your life but you also knew that one of those same monsters had a hold on you that you couldn’t shake. A bond. You were reminded of it every day when you felt the invisible strings tying you back to the place you ran away from pulling at your skin. It was only a matter of time before they found you here and you would have to leave another town you had grown to like.

It had been two years since you had run away from your fate at the age of twenty-one. Each day that you were gone, was making you weaker and you could feel the effects on your body. Yixing had told you what would happen to you when you ran away and while at first, you didn’t believe them, within the first month you started to feel it. At the point you were now you had bags under your eyes that were permanent, your faint muscles seemed to be fading, and you were bruised sporadically from head to toe. It was evident that you were, in fact dying. Your body was slowly breaking down but nothing could make you go back. Although, you knew better.

Running away was hard but staying away, was even harder. Falling to his feet would be easy because, well, because he was special even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Your heart started racing as you made your way up the decaying wooden stairs to your apartment. There was a chill in the air so your elderly neighbors that were normally outside were nowhere to be seen and even though there was a logical reasoning for it, it still made you scared. The problem was it was the middle of summer and the storm that was looming in the sky above you was completely abnormal. The clouds were dark and taunting as you looked up to send a curse to the heavens, hating them for letting your life turn out this way.

Once you reached the chipped black painted door of your apartment, your hands started to shake even more.

“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself. As you wrapped your frail hand around the door knob you almost immediately pulled your hand back. It was ice cold. “No, please,” you whispered again as tears filled your eyes. You didn’t want them to find you. Not yet. You needed at least a week to get out of this town. It wasn’t just easy to up and leave once you had barely gotten settled.

You forced yourself to calm down. You could fight them and get away – most of them were afraid to hurt you as it was. You would be fine.

You scoffed at your last thought. Even if they didn’t get you, you wouldn’t be fine. You were growing weaker every day and it was only a matter time. At least this way you could live your life the way you wanted to – free from any bond that you didn’t want. This way you had choices.

You weren’t sure if you were even choosing to be like this anymore though. You ran away not so much of fear of others, but fear of yourself. Fear because of love.

Knowing you had to face whoever could possibly be in your apartment, you pushed your key into the ice cold lock and quickly opened it without any more thinking. You pushed your door open and all the breath in your lungs was taken away as you were met with the chilly atmosphere that was now in your apartment. That wasn’t all that shocked you as there were what seemed like hundreds of bouquets of primrose flowers covering your apartment – and then there was the smell of the one person who you couldn’t seem forget. The same scent you had smelled in the hospital locker room.

Jongdae.

He had finally come for you and this time, he had gotten closer than ever. It made your mind scream for him in so many ways you couldn’t explain.

Quickly, you slammed your door, locking it and sliding down the back of it. As if locking it would do any good now. He had found your apartment and he had been inside it.

His scent surrounded you and cradled you in the best and worst ways. You felt like you were coming back to life again after two years of feeling dead. He was nearby and it was mending all of your frail bits but you tried not to welcome it. You pressed your fingers into your skin as you stared at one of the bright white bundles of primrose. Most women like getting flowers, but this was a bit much, you thought. The flowers were an startling reminder of the sparrow on your hip. 

“Where are you?” you mused as you forced your shaking body up to stand. You wouldn’t heal instantly even if he was close, but you began to feel more rejuvenated, even if you were afraid. Carefully, you tiptoed around the flowers being sure not to touch any of the delicate white flowers. Once you finally made your way to your kitchen, you grabbed the biggest knife you could although you knew it would be very little help. Especially against him. Even if they had taught you how to fight, didn’t mean you could fight them. You sighed to yourself as you held the knife in a fighting stance, being sure to circle around yourself as you inspected your apartment.

The old wooden floors of your apartment that were starting to rot creaked under your feet as you took careful steps. You didn’t know what exactly you were preparing for, or what you would do depending on who had come but you at least knew that the last thing you would do is go back. How could you when there was so much at stake? The last time you were there you remembered saying three fatal words that you had never imagined would slip from your lips. Love was enough to keep you on the run for as long as you could.

But, you never went too far. If you went too far, you knew that not only would you die, but so would he and there was no way you were going to do that to him - no matter how many times you convinced yourself that death was better than this fate you didn’t choose.

But - it seemed it was fate.

How did they find you? You sighed but you knew how. The same way you could find them if you tried. It took a lot of energy and training – neither of which you had so even if you wanted to, you couldn’t sense they were coming in any ways other than the subtle signs you had gotten. They must have gotten good at covering their trail because you normally had at least a week or a few days’ notice before they showed up. They weren’t letting you go easy and you knew it was because as you were growing weak and frail, so was Jongdae. That’s way you always stayed five paces too close for your liking. When you went too far, you could feel death waiting at your door so when that happened, you always moved close enough to them that you still clung to life. 

It was quiet enough that your ears twitched towards every sound so when your floor creaked in the distance, your eyes snapped towards it. The second you saw a figure, you were ready to flee or to fight but you didn’t have time as he bolted over to you with lightning speed and he had his cold hands on you in and instant.

“Yixing,” you gritted out as you stared at the soft but red eyed man. He was handsome as ever but just like you, he was weak and it killed you because you knew that you had done that to him. “I didn’t even smell you.”

He had furrowed brows as you said that and you could see the concern etching on his face. You knew he was here to capture you, but still, he cared about you. “It’s worse than we thought. You’re worse off than he is,” he said grimly.

You shrugged, “Where is he? I was overpowered by his scent when I opened the door.” You didn’t want to fight Yixing, you didn’t want to fight anyone as a matter of a fact, but he was one you definitely wouldn’t hurt. Baekhyun though, he was free game for annoying you so much in the past. You were slightly disappointed they hadn’t sent him.

“Put the knife down,” he said in a flat voice, “you’re not going to fight me in the state you’re in.”

With an eye roll, you scoffed, “I’m just fine.”

He gestured to your body with one hand, keeping the other one curled tightly on your shoulder, “Have you looked in the mirror?”

What he was seeing in you now, you had seen every day. You couldn’t deny that you looked bad. You were skinnier and paler than you had ever been when you were around Jongdae but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to be around him. You were too scared of loving Jongdae as fiercely as you had started to back at their place. Jongdae had turned you into a vampire and while you still hadn’t forgiven him for giving you a life you hadn’t chosen, he was Jongdae and Jongdae was amazing. Jongdae cared so much for you no matter how much you pushed him away.

Jongdae loved you through all of your emotions and even when you were attached to Yixing’s hip.

“For your safety, please come home,” Yixing begged.

You pursed your lips for a moment before sighing and losing some of your resolve, “I know why Jongdae sent you. It’s not a secret that I am a lot easier when it comes to you. But Yixing, you don’t get it. I can’t come back. I can’t. It’s too much at once. I don’t even know if I can be myself anymore and it’s making me crazy. Between you and Jongdae, it’s better off like this.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m begging you once more, please come home.” He opened his eyes and stared into yours, “Maybe I could leave? Maybe that would make it better on you?”

Your eyes grew wide, “If you leave, I’ll still be dealing with Jongdae. Besides, I’m not asking you to do that - because if I did comeback, you would be one of the reasons.”

Yixing softened, “Why did you leave then?”

You laughed bitterly, “You’re one of the reasons for that too. You and Jongdae are my reason for running and my reason for staying all at once.”

“Am I going to be able to convince you to come home?”

You started to shake as you looked into his bright red eyes, “This is for the best Yixing,” but no matter how many times you said it out loud or in your head, you didn’t even believe it. You didn’t believe it because you were withering away, Jongdae was withering away and now it seemed so was Yixing.

Yixing didn’t need to convince you to come home because you were already convinced, you were just too stubborn to cave even if it was killing the three of you.

He sighed and you saw his eyes flick behind you as he released you and backed away.

“I’ll be outside,” he said with a sad voice as he left the apartment.

The moment he was gone, you felt sad. You hadn’t realized how much you missed him and even though you’d like to say you didn’t realize how much you loved him, you did. You hadn’t forgotten how much you loved both him and Jongdae. Not for a second.

You breathed a sigh of frustration, only to breathe in and smell Jongdae’s scent stronger than ever. You gasped as he appeared in front of you looking deathly ill. He didn’t look as bad as you did, but he still looked like he was suffering the same fate as you. He shook from where he stood in front of you and he reached a hand out towards your face, making you tremble even more as you tried to move away from his hand. The state Jongdae was in caused an uncomfortable feeling in your heart.

“You look awful,” he choked out. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

He would be the hardest person to fight because naturally your willpower felt lessened when he was around. He made you feel weaker than you were and made your stomach flutter with what you thought were angry bees as opposed to butterflies. “I didn’t want you to come,” you managed to push the words out of your dry throat. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Why else had you stayed five places close to him? You ran away but always kept him at arms length - for what reason? For what reason other than for him to come for you?

You wanted him here and you couldn’t admit it because you were determined to stay away from them.

His eyes were sad as he looked down at you and he touched your cheek. You lifted the knife shakily towards him as he glanced at it and wrapped his fingers around where yours were, sparks jolted through you. He pressed it closer to his chest. “This can’t hurt me as much as you being away from me is hurting.”

“Is the physical pain that bad for you? I thought you were strong?” you asked softly, not meaning to care the way you did. You would never want to be the reason for his pain. It was so hard to be your own person around Jongdae because you just wanted to give him the world. You wanted his happiness more than you wanted anything.

Maybe not anything.

You wanted Jongdae more than anything.

Jongdae pressed the knife closer to his chest, positioning it where his heart was. “No, I mean emotionally – mentally. I need you. Admit you need me too because I know you do. It’s more than just the physical pain for you too.”

You scoffed, “I don’t need you.” It was a lie. That was the worst part. As much as you wanted nothing to do with him, your life was coated with him. You dreamed about him, thought about him, and the invisible strings were pulling you to him. You could sense his scent more than anyone else’s and it was one that could unintentionally make you smile. You were fighting it. Fighting the bond, you had with him because you knew you were his, and you didn’t want to be. Correction, you tried to not want to be.

“Why don’t you get it? I’ve tried explaining this to you a hundred times. I love you because of you. I want you because of you. Not just because we’re bound but because of who you are. If I could die just so you could live freely, I would. If only I died from being away from you, I would accept it, but the fact of the matter is not only will I die, but so will you. I’m not letting you die. I love you too much.”

“You think you love me because of the bond we have.” Lies and untruths kept spilling from your lips even though your mind knew otherwise. You knew Jongdae loved you for more than just the bond. Obviously, he loved you once you guys were revealed as soulmates but you knew that wasn’t the why behind his love for you.

Jongdae laughed sadly, “I’ve explained this before, love. You know it’s more than that, we were both there when our love blossomed. I’m sorry I turned you – by accident – but I did so because we are fated to be together. It was an accident pushed by fate and even though I regret how it happened, I don’t regret it. You’re my soulmate and I am yours. We will die without each other and,” he gestured to your body, “by the looks of it you’re getting closer every day. But if you stay with me, you won’t die. You’ll heal and live a long, long life. I will make you happy – and if I can’t, I’ll find someone who can. Even if you don’t want to be in a relationship, you don’t want the romantic love I offer, you can have someone else. Hell, even if it’s Yixing.” Those last words hurt not only you, but you knew it hurt Jongdae. Dizziness was taking over your mind as you took in each of his words. He loved you too much and even though you tried to doubt his love for you, you knew it. He truly loved you enough to allow you to be with someone else while he loved you. Even if it was Yixing, your stomach flipped uncomfortably at the thought of being with him over Jongdae. You loved Yixing, but you loved Jongdae and at the end of the day, you had an idea of who the choice would be.

Even though you tried to have your freedom and wanted choices, deep down, you knew your choice was Jongdae – even if you weren’t ready to accept it. It made you feel guilty that he accepted you so willingly but you fought him the whole way. How could he still want that? 

Because he truly loved you.

Looking back three years ago when you had first met Jongdae, you knew you should have known better than to get involved. If you had stayed away, neither of you would be in the shitty situation you were entrapped in now. You met him at a club and something about him seemed other-worldly but at that time, it intrigued you. His skin, his teeth, and his demeanor were too perfect and while normally you warded yourself off that type of guy, you were drawn to him. No matter how much you tried to forget his presence, your eyes kept lingering back to him. It felt as if strings were pulling you two together. You fought it and had no intentions of talking to him until he approached you with a devilish grin and dark eyes.

Even from that moment, your body was Jongdae’s.

You were naïve then. You didn’t realize what that night with Jongdae would entail. Not only was it the best sexual experience you ever had, but it was the night Jongdae had bit you – forever making you his and a vampire. Things were hot, heavy and far too romantic with a stranger that night but yet it felt so right up until his eyes flashed red and you felt his fangs sinking into the skin of your lower neck.

Automatically, your hand reached up and grazed the small scars that were still there as you shivered. Even though he had hurt you, scared you, and ruined your chance at a human life, he had given you so much that night. The scars were special to you now.

“Y/N,” Jongdae gently said.

You looked at him, seeing his dark red eyes looking softly at you and it made you pull the knife away from him. His hand was still over yours as you placed the knife on the counter and you stared at him. He interlaced his fingers with yours, making your heart race and you felt yourself coming alive as the sparks jolted through you again. Jongdae had a healing effect on you as you did him, and both of your faces started to brighten. The damage from two years wasn’t going to be gone right away, but just a little bit of Jongdae was enough to make you feel better.

You forgot how hard it was to be around him. Everything but Jongdae seemed to blur when he was in your sight and it was hard to think straight. It had been nearly impossible to leave the first time; how would you get out of his grasp this time?

You wouldn’t and you weren’t sure you wanted to anymore.

It had been a long two years and you realized how much you had missed his gentle demeanor and the way he made you feel. 

For a long time, you were upset at Jongdae for turning you. ‘It was inevitable’ Junmyeon and Minseok the two eldest vampires of their clan had told you. When a vampire finds their soulmate, they can’t hold themselves back from biting each other – although normally a vampire’s soul mate is another vampire. You wanted to blame Jongdae and you kept trying to blame Jongdae but with the magnetic pull you felt and with the way he made you feel, it was hard to. Even if Jongdae’s fangs had done the job, it was fate that marked you for each other. You had that red sparrow for the entire duration of your life which meant, you were always marked for Jongdae. You weren’t the only one though, because Jongdae was marked for you.

“I need you. Please come home. I promise if you come home that I won’t pressure you into any relationship you aren’t ready for,” he said honestly.

You weren’t worried about Jongdae as much as you were yourself but you knew if anything, that you loved him. Even if you ran away for reason you thought were good, you regretted it and were ready to go home.

It didn’t even matter where you went as long as Jongdae was there because he was your home, afterall.

Three years ago, everything seemed scary. You were forced out of your humanity and had a vampire soulmate pushed on you at the same time. It was terrifying, especially throwing Yixing and his blue sparrow tattoo in the mix. Your feelings were all over the place for the near year you stayed there. Jongdae did so much for you, no matter what your feelings made you do to him so now, you wanted to do the same for him. You cared for him in ways you could never imagine caring for anyone. Love was scary to someone who had experienced so little of it in their entire life.

“I swear to you, love. I’ll be good. We can have separate rooms and even all the way across the house from each other if you wish.”

But you didn’t want to stay in a separate room from him. “Were the flowers from you?” you whispered, gesturing to the flowers strewn over your apartment.

He nodded with a small smile that made you feel weak in your knees, “Who else would they be from?” he bends down and picks up a bouquet by his feet and lifts it out to you, the bright white petals shining at you. “Primrose means eternal love.”

Jongdae’s words shook through you, making your heart thump into your chest roughly as you stared into his dark eyes. He knew he was irresistible to you, just as you were to him. It didn’t help that you had spent two years apart. All you wanted to do was catapult into his arms and feel his warmth. You knew you would feel at home in his arms once again.

Your body was relaxed now as Jongdae squeezed your hand. “Will you go home with me?”

You nodded without second thought, “I’ll go with you.”

Jongdae’s grin grew and he pulled you into his arms. His warmth and scent surrounded you like the most comfortable blanket. Hugging him wasn’t something you thought could handle at the moment - you were too weak so it overwhelmed your senses and stopped you from thinking straight. But you needed his embrace. You needed it more than air. 

And even if you didn’t want to, you needed Jongdae.

But you wanted to need him.

And that was the thing with love.

Now, you just had to deal with Yixing when the two of you got back because even though you and Jongdae were going to get to a resolution, you didn’t know if it would be so easy for you and Yixing.

✧ ☾ six ☽ ✧

masterlist

[imagining-harrypotter]

What Happened That Halloween Night

Sirius Black x Reader

Request: (Anonymous) Hi! I’m here for an imagine request. I was hoping that you could do a piece based on the night James and Lily died but in Sirius’ POV? Thank you so much!!

MASTERLIST

Warnings: the death of James and Lily Potter which I always find quite distressing

Word Count: 4206

A/N: So I haven’t written all of it in Sirius’ POV but I hope you like the finished product :) also i got a lil bit carried away so sorry its really long 

The wind rattled hauntingly against the windows as the sky threatened to rain. It was an unusually dark and miserable Autumn day, the sun hadn’t peeked out from behind the dim clouds since the day before and the air smelt like rain was inevitable. The golden, orange and red leaves that had been shed from their now bare trees were blown around the streets of Godric’s Hollow as the wind picked them up and carried them like multi-coloured paper aeroplanes.

The chilled air slapped James Potter’s face as he opened the front door of his cottage, the doorknob cold to the touch of the pads of his fingertips. The frosty wind swirled through his already messy black hair as he upturned the collar of his jacket before ploughing through the thick, strong wind toward the front picket fence of their property. Somehow, he and his wife had forgotten that today was Hallow’s eve; with the preparations for their best friend Sirius’ birthday party in a couple days time, they had forgotten to buy treats for the children of Godric’s Hollow who would come knocking at their door that evening.

He looked back through the front window of their home, gazing into the living room he could see his son zooming around on a toy broomstick Sirius had got him for his first birthday. His wife, her red hair brushed out of her face, was sitting on their overstuffed couch laughing as her son darted around on the floor, his little legs moving as fast as they could carry him. As James turned right, hearing the click of the white picket fence close behind him, a warm, fuzzy feeling built in his stomach and spread to his chest despite the cold weather.

The general store on Church Lane was the only shop in the village within walking distance from their cottage which sold bags of foil wrapped chocolates. A bell chimed as James pushed open the door to the store to find it crowded with last minute shoppers who had evidently forgotten to buy treats just as he had. Friendly smiles were flashed as he walked over to the wall with bags of sweets lined perfectly in rows. A small radiator hummed at the front of the shop, its efforts barely noticeable with the cold wind that was let inside with every customer who opened the door to either enter or exit.

Grabbing a couple bags of sweets, James went up to the front of the store to pay. As much as Lily had taught him the currency of Muggles, he still had to concentrate to make sure he was paying the store clerk, a man with wrinkled, paper thin skin and grey hair, the correct amount of money. It always baffled James as to why Muggle currency had to be so complex, so many different sized coins as well as paper notes that crumpled easily, he longed for the Wizarding World where three distinctly sized and coloured coins bought you everything you needed.

His keys rattled and the tumblers clicked as he entered his cottage, the warmth from the fireplace filling him from the outside in. The house was much quieter than when he had left, instead of Harry rocketing around the living room making whooshing noises as he held the broom between his chubby legs, he was in his cot napping silently. Lily was waiting for him in the kitchen, the whistling of the kettle as it boiled the only sound filling the room besides the wind that rattled the windows.

Her green eyes, the colour he likened to a crisp green apple, darted toward him as he entered the room, a soft look falling over them as she realised it was only her husband. It was something that he would never get sick of, her beautiful, loving eyes, the ones that their son had inherited, gazing deep into his soul. He placed the bag of treats he had bought on the kitchen bench without taking his eyes of his wife; they had been cooped up here for so long now that he instinctively knew the dimensions of every room in the two-storey cottage.

James could see Harry’s stroller through the open door he had walked through moments before, sitting near the bottom of the stairs. The balloons and streamers Peter had picked out for Sirius’ birthday party sat at the edge of the bench in paper bags, the food for the party taking up space in the fridge. A pile of dirty dishes sat in the sink waiting, almost eagerly, to be cleaned. The rattling on the windows subsided slightly as Lily poured the boiling water from the kettle into two cups, flicking back her hair that dangled in front of her face.

The cuckoo clock that had once belonged to his grandparents struck four o’clock as Lily passed him his cup of tea. Lily let out an exasperated sigh before taking a sip from her cup, earl grey as usual. James hated that Lily, who never liked to be told what to do, had been instructed to lock herself up in her own home, like a bird that was never allowed out of its cage. Lily and Harry spent most of their time indoors, except for the occasional visits to the local park where Harry liked to be pushed on the swing. It was usually James who was granted the freedom of roaming the streets of Godric’s Hollow when they needed food or other supplies.

Granted, Dumbledore was only confining them to their home to protect them, but recently, James thought, that it felt more like solitary confinement than protection. Lily put on a brave face, she tried to act that being separated from the outside world wasn’t a big deal, that she didn’t long to be with her friends or at the Ministry in the Aurors office, but James could see right through her facade. She hated it, not being in contact with any of their friends bar Peter, fearing for the fate of her son who had only recently learnt to walk, but James knew Lily better than anyone, and he knew, without a doubt, that she would go to the ends of the Earth for her son, that she would die before she let anything harm him.

                                                      * * *

Sirius woke up on the morning of Hallow’s Eve happy for the first time in a week. It was the last day of October, which meant that his birthday was in three days. Not that he was excited for his birthday, his parents had never celebrated on the day that he had been born, they thought that taking your first breaths in this world wasn’t an accomplishment worth celebrating, but he was excited because on that day he would finally be able to see his best friend again.

He straightened a frame which held a picture of the Marauders the day after graduating from Hogwarts, when he had walked into his living room that morning. James had slung his arm casually around Lily’s shoulders, pulling her body closer to his as she rested her head on his shoulder. As the picture moved, it showed them first smiling at the camera before simultaneously turning to look adoringly into each other’s eyes, the type of look that old couples share who had been together for sixty years. Moony was slumped at the edge of the picture, his face as white as a ghosts, yet still smiling; Sirius remembered that the day the picture was taken had only been a couple days after a full moon. Peter stood in between Remus and James, shorter than anyone else in the picture. His mousey nose twitched as he smiled, his eyes darting from the camera to Remus and then to the rest of his friends on his left, he looked proud more than happy to have his friends by his side. He had stood beside to Lily, throwing both their graduation caps in the air.

Heavy rain pelted on the windows of his London home as the lightbulb in the living room wall lamp flickered. The rain was so heavy that it no longer sounded like a soft pitter-patter on the roof, but more like a stampede. Flashes of lighting, like the flash of a camera, lit up the curtains on the windows, followed by a rumbling of thunder which sounded a lot like baby Harry using wooden spoons to bang pots like a drummer.

Despite the weather, Sirius was still adamant that he was going through with his plans to see Moony and Wormtail. It was such a rare occurrence, him seeing his friends, now that everyone had gone into hiding in the attempt to protect Harry, James and Lily, that a little bad weather wasn’t going to get in his way.

Once he had reached Remus’ hideout the storm had passed, but the heavy looking, dark clouds still hung overhead. His hideout was a cabin hidden out in the woods far away from London, it was quaint, quiet and secluded. Sirius couldn’t imagine living such a lonely life, but Remus, who had always thought that being further away from people would protect them, found that being this far out from civilisation was comforting; he would never be able to hurt anyone because there was no one around to hurt.

It was good to see his old friend again, even though he knew he would see him in three days time. He had always felt protective over Remus, the poor boy who couldn’t control what he became and always felt he was worth less than anyone else because of his ‘condition’. Leaving Moony’s, Sirius mounted his motorbike, waving to his friend as the engine revved and soared into the bleak night sky towards Peter’s hideout.

He knocked on the door, but after waiting a moment, no one answered. That was odd, he thought, but the door was unlocked so he let himself in. The place looked cleaner than the last time he had been here. From his seven years experience of sharing a dorm with Peter, Sirius knew that he never cleaned up, unless it was a special occasion. A slight smile spread on his face at the thought of this, him coming over was considered a special occasion to Peter, but his smile was quickly wiped when he noticed the two half drunk cups of tea getting cold on the small table in the middle of the room, with a piece of paper between them. The crumpled bit of paper had an address scrawled upon it, somewhere in Godric’s Hollow. That’s funny, he thought, Remus said that he hadn’t seen Peter in over a week, and Potter and Evans wouldn’t have left their hideout. Peter had instructions to never leave his hideout except to get food and in emergencies, but he had never forgotten a reunion with Sirius, not once.

And then a thought hit him and he stumbled back as if he had been physically slapped. When he had convinced James that Peter would be a better choice for Secret-Keeper Peter had argued, showing concern that it was too large a task for him to take on, too big of a weight on his shoulders. Sirius had pushed him, not asked but demanded him, for the safety of his best friends, but now he was terrified he had made a fatal mistake. He rushed through the strong, howling wind to his motorbike, fumbling the keys to start the engine. He wanted to trust Peter, know that he would never betray his best friends, but a knot tightened in the pit of his stomach as he knew, deep down, something was terribly wrong.

                                                      * * *

Light flashed from the tip of James’ wand, every colour of the rainbow. Harry was mesmerised by the changing colours and the slight sparks that flew from it, he grabbed at the end of the wand, his little hands grasping around the stick, his wailing voice filling the air in his own attempt to say he wanted to hold it without James supporting it. James let go and immediately the colourful tip turned black and sparks stop spilling out from the end. In annoyance, Harry shook the wand wanting it to become colourful again, and for a split second, so short a time that if James wasn’t looking directly at it, he would have missed it, the tip of the wand flashed green again.

“Did you see that Lils?” James asked excitedly as Lily looked up, over the book she was reading. Her eyebrows raised was the symbol of a question mark as she wondered what he was talking about. “He made the end of the wand spark green!” James delighted face burst with pride. It was the first sign Harry had ever shown of being magical. Producing sparks from a wand, James thought, was not an easy feat and Harry had managed to do it when he was a fifteen month old.

The night was cold, the crackling fire in the living room the only source of warmth provided for its three inhabitants. James let Harry sit on the ground beside the couch and play with his wand as he got up to see how Lily was doing: as usual, in her spare time she was reading. Then the front door burst open and the room smelt like smoke. Voldemort, in a black, full-length robe that flapped at his feet stood dauntingly in the doorway, his red eyes stood out against the black of the night.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him!” James yelled, stepping forward so that he barricaded the way between Voldemort and his wife and child. “Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!” Lily’s book fell to the floor with a thump as she grabbed Harry, Voldemort’s laugh cutting through the wind that was streaming into the house now that the front door was open.

The path to the front door was blocked by Voldemort, so Lily, with Harry squeezed tightly in her arms, ran up the staircase. James’ wand lay beside the couch where he had given it to Harry to play with. He needed it, James thought, if he had any chance of defeating him, but Voldemort turned towards the staircase and he knew, that he didn’t have to defeat him, he just needed to hold him off long enough for Lily and Harry to get to safety. Voldemort’s cloak covered his feet which didn’t seem to move, he glided, floating toward the staircase Lily had just run up. James jumped in front of him, onto the lowest of the stairs, his eyes meeting with the slits of Voldemort.

He knew that he was about to die, but that didn’t matter, he stood on the step with his head high and a look of determination on his face. The last word that ran through his conscious mind was ‘Lily’, as green light filled the hallway and stairwell, and then the sound of his body slumping on the bottom step was the last impression James Potter left on the world. Voldemort turned to head upstairs. As he glided effortlessly up the steps he remembered the plea Severus had asked of him, spare the girl. He didn’t care much what his Death Eaters wanted of him, and he certainly didn’t care if a women who had thrice defied him died in the process.

The door he had seen them run into was locked, but with a flick of his wand, it burst open, much like the front door. His laughter was high pitched, how easy this was going to be, he thought. Harry, his true intended target stood in the cot, his mother barricading him as her husband had done just before.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry.” Her voice was desperate, tears ran down her rosy cheeks, her arms in front of her as if they were going to be able to stop him without a wand.

“Stand aside you silly girl… stand aside now.” He would give her one chance to get out of the way, for Severus, but otherwise, she would die, along with her husband, and along with her son.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead. Not Harry! Please, have mercy, have mercy!” His cruel laugh filled the air as Lily screamed. The same green light filled the room as he cast the curse, and she fell to the floor, arms crumbling underneath her, and her hair falling around her face, thinking that her son was about to die.

                                                      * * *

The swirling wind made it almost impossible to steer the motorbike, and if it wasn’t for the one headlight that was working, he wouldn’t have been able to see through the thick blackness that spread through the night. He now regretted taking the bike, not the Floo Network.

He stumbled off his bike as it noisily crashed onto its side, at this moment he didn’t care what became of the bike, he just needed to see his friends, hoping that when he barged through the door their puzzled faces would glare at him, tell him off for waking a sleeping Harry, anything to indicate that they were unharmed. But that never happened, because his worst fears were realised before he could step foot in the house. Hagrid was at the front door, his silhouette recognisable as the biggest man Sirius had ever seen, holding what looked like a small package in his hands.

“Sirius?” Hagrid’s booming voice said in a mixture of surprise and sympathy. From the outside the house looked normal enough, maybe Hagrid had just stopped by to say hello or happy Halloween, but something must be wrong, he thought, it would take a major event to get Hagrid away from the Hogwarts Halloween Feast. He gulped loudly before he spoke.

“Hagrid, what’s going on? Why are you here?” His voice mixed with the wind, but he could tell by the expression on the half giant’s face that he could understand what he had said.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Hagrid retorted, in a tone that told Sirius he was trying to avoid the question more than acting resentful at his sudden appearance. Sirius tried to look past Hagrid to the front door, but his size made that impossible. It was pitch black, Sirius couldn’t see what was in Hagrid’s arms but he distinctly heard it let out a cry. It was Harry, why was Harry being taken away from his home? For what reason was Hagrid here to take Harry away from his parents?

“Why have you got Harry?” He asked in a tentative, shaky voice, but with more force behind it than his last question. Hagrid looked down at the boy cradled in his arms, then turned his body so that Harry was the furthest he could be from Sirius. He opened his mouth to speak but a rush of adrenaline came first for Sirius. He bound past Hagrid, whose long, heavy limbs weren’t quick enough to stop him.

The door came away with ease, he didn’t even think that he had pushed it that hard, but right off its hinges it came. His first look into the house terrified him, the lights were on and at the end of the corridor, past Harry’s stroller, he could see the staircase and something lying, sprawled at the bottom of them. Behind him Harry started crying but Sirius didn’t have enough energy to turn around and comfort him. Every single muscle in his body tensed, he could now see the reason why Hagrid was taking Harry away: James lay dead at the bottom of the stairs.

Sirius wanted to look away but he couldn’t. His best friend lying on the bottom step of the stairs like a rag doll, his limbs fallen unnaturally by his side, his eyes glossy, unmoved as Sirius moved closer to him. He waited for him to spring up and tell him this was all a joke, one sick, unfunny joke. But it didn’t happen, and Sirius knew, as much as he wanted it to happen, as long as he waited for it, it never would. He would never see his smile again. He would never hear his laugh again. No new experiences with him.

Sirius didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted the salty tears enter his mouth. Hagrid stood rigid at the front door, he had propped it back onto its hinges with the use of his pink umbrella and was now trying to distract Harry, stop him from wailing. And then a thought flashed through his mind: if Hagrid was taking Harry away, that meant that Lily was somewhere in proximity, lying dead on the ground too. He stepped beside James and went up the stairs, he was sure that if Voldemort had been after Harry, Lily would have been upstairs protecting him.

Upstairs was colder than it was downstairs, he figured that a window must be open. The door to Harry’s bedroom lay ajar, an ‘H’ pinned to the front of the door. Sirius tentatively pushed the door open wider, and there she laid, red hair flailing on the ground around her head like a lion’s mane, her arms crumpled beneath her. She laid in front of the crib, Sirius could imagine baby Harry crying in his cot as Voldemort killed his mother who was standing protecting him. There was no blood, no cuts or bruises, if it wasn’t for her glassy, unblinking eyes she could have been sleeping.

He walked back down the stairs, hand gliding on the rail to support him, so he didn’t collapse down the steps. He tried to not look at James as he stepped beside him, Hagrid at the front door coming into view. The night outside seemed a world away, inside it was still and silent, outside was blustery and turbulent. He sniffled and wiped the falling tears with the backs of his hands. He didn’t need to ask Hagrid what happened, he knew; Peter, the lying, betraying bastard had given James and Lily’s secret to Voldemort, who had come to kill Harry, and being the brave, loving people they were, they had protected Harry, dying for him.

“Hagrid, I’m Harry’s godfather, give him to me.” Sirius said with more force than he was intending. Hagrid turned his body again so that Sirius’s view of Harry was obstructed by Hagrid’s large body.

“Sirius, I’m sorry but I have strict instructions from Dumbledore to take him to his aunt and uncle’s house.” Hagrid’s voice cracked, something Sirius had never heard it do, as if this was causing him pain. He shouldn’t feel pain, Sirius thought, I’m the one who just lost my best friends and now he won’t even let me take care of my godson, he is feeling nothing compared to my pain.

“But I’m his godfather.” His voice was strong but there was more desperation filled in it than anger. “I have to protect him now.” He could taste his tears again, but as much as he willed them not to fall, they continued to trickle down his cheeks.

“Voldemort is gone Sirius, the protection he needs now is of a different kind. I’m sorry, but for his best chance Dumbledore needs to send him to his aunt’s.” The rational part of Sirius’ brain was telling him this was the right thing to do, when had Dumbledore been wrong about anything, ever? But his heart was full of emotion now, strong, painful grief, and he wasn’t being logical.

He took a deep breath and it felt like his lungs had never breathed oxygen before. He tried to not think about the fact that his friend’s lifeless bodies lay not far from where he currently stood. He sighed before speaking again.

“Take my bike Hagrid, take it and get Harry where he needs to go.” He said without looking at Hagrid, because he knew that if he looked at Harry’s chubby face, he would not be able to let him go without a fight. He threw him the keys, received a baffled but grateful ‘thanks’ in return. He stood stiff as he heard the engine roar outside and the sound gradually get fainter as Hagrid rode off into the night, taking his godson with him.

The room, Sirius only just noticed, smelt of smoke even though the fire looked like it had burnt out hours ago. He felt a sudden urge to move James and Lily’s bodies so that they were next to each other, so that they could be together even in death, but Dumbledore wouldn’t want him to move them, he’d want to examine the house just as it was, if he hadn’t done it already.

He stepped into the fireplace, he could see James from where he was standing and even though he knew he shouldn’t look, he did. This will be the last time I’ll see you, Sirius thought while holding back tears, you were the best brother anyone could ever have asked for. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the cup on the mantelpiece once he was ready to truly say goodbye, and threw it down at his feet, ready to seek revenge on Peter Pettigrew.