#our emergency coffee supply is drying up quickly

[pushing500]

Our first anomalous entity has appeared while Mechi is deconstructing ruins! Fortunately, he's pretty handy with that biocoded autopistol he carries, but that sightstealer scream will probably haunt his dreams for a long time yet.

We can do cool anomaly research now! Huzzah!

Poor Atom needed some patching up after the battle with the sightstealer, but Mechi was quick on the scene to administer some first aid and probably coo affectionately over his robot baby.

We also captured the sightstealer, but we don't have a proper room for it yet, so it hangs out in the dining room to "relax socially" with Mechi. To each their own, I guess.

Mechi's tall, slim build doesn't seem suited for mining, but if he wants steel for band nodes and mechanoids, he'll have to put up with it anyway. I think he should tie his hair back, wear eye protection, and maybe put on some shoes, too, but I suppose there's no such thing as an OSHA violation on the Rim.

Mechi handles impending social interactions about as well as I do...

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[secretpajamas]

a different kind of rush;

an ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 5.6k

part 2 of 2 (read part one HERE)

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

--

When you emerged from the shower, you changed into your long sleep shirt (the thing was far too old and ratty at this point to be considered a “nightgown”). Even though it wasn’t dark out yet, you figured you might as well go to bed at the rate this day was going.

As you slowly crept through the tent partition, you noticed that Ezra was gone—and so was his gear.

You found a note in Ezra’s barely-legible scrawl placed at the foot of your bed.

“Starstone quality check,” you mumbled, reading the note aloud.

Starstone was so finicky that it was necessary to check up on it in storage to make sure it maintained its stability. But you knew in your gut he was avoiding you. While he was out, you cleaned the filters and checked the tanks like you always did—minus the filter and tank that Ezra was currently using—the methodical work helping soothe your nerves a little.

When Ezra came back in, you were sitting up in bed, reading the book Ezra’s kid Cee had hand-written (“She didn’t come up with the story, but she basically rewrote the whole damn thing herself. Smarter than she knows, that kid.”). It wasn’t your usual kind of story, and not even your usual medium of consumption (you preferred late-night radio dramas, but they broadcast from the Ephrate—the signal was spotty at best in the Fringes and nonexistent here in the Reach), but it was captivating nonetheless.

You didn’t look up from the book as Ezra walked in. Neither of you said a word.

Part of you was relieved that you didn’t talk about it.

The other part of you was desperate to talk about it.

--

The next morning, you woke to Ezra sitting at his makeshift desk—a chair set in front of an old wooden shipping crate—swirling together the starstone enzyme bath. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt, his hair already matted with perspiration from the heat.

You grumbled and slowly sat up.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Ezra said, not lifting his eyes from his work.

“Mmph,” was your sleepy response.

“Oats are ready if you have a hankering,” he continued, gesturing with his head towards the “kitchen”—another wooden shipping crate, this one with a battery-operated stove placed on top.

You were suddenly very awake at the promise of food. “Please tell me there’s coffee, too.”

“Haven’t made it yet,” he replied. “Go easy on the stuff, you’ve drunk near all my supply.”

“I believe food and board is included in my contract.” You yawned before shuffling your way over to the stove.

“Food and board, sweetheart, not drink.” Ezra held the canister of freshly mixed enzyme solution between his knees as he twisted on the cap with his hand.

Your stomach rumbled and you eagerly grabbed your bowl of oatmeal. After wolfing down your breakfast, you filled Ezra’s rickety kettle with water and set it on the stove, turning the power up to high. You pawed around the mismatched collection of canteens piled next to the stove until you found two clean ones and set them out, along with four packets of powdered coffee (three for you, one for Ezra). It was the instant stuff anyone could grab for cheap at a shuttle station, and it tasted wretched, but it did its job.

As you waited for the water to boil—not long when the water in storage was already warm thanks to this planet’s heat—You heard Ezra stand up and approach you. When you felt his hand brush the small of your back, you shivered.

Ezra huffed. “Are you cold? For cryin’ out loud, woman, it’s hotter’n two channel-rats fuckin’ in a wool sock.”

“Must be caffeine withdrawal,” you lied, knowing full well it was Ezra’s touch.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth and you nearly shivered again. “I suppose it’s high time I replenish our supplies,” he said, “lest you pillage the remainder of my coffee.”

When the kettle began to whistle, you switched off the stove and poured equal amounts of hot water into the cups—and unequal amounts of coffee packets. All the while, Ezra’s hand stayed on your back.

“Speaking of supplies, we could use another full O2 tank,” you said, trying your best to ignore how your stomach did somersaults every time Ezra absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the material of your sleep shirt, “and coolant for the air circulators.”

“I’m well aware,” Ezra said, “but thank you kindly for the reminder.”

You offered Ezra his canteen of coffee. You mourned the loss of his hand on your back, but feeling the brush of his fingers against yours as you handed him his cup was nearly as electrifying.

“S’posin’ we pull a good haul of starstone today, I can ready the pod for the shuttle station tomorrow,” he said between sips. “Be back within a couple days’ time.”

You swallowed down a lump in your throat along with your coffee. You did need supplies, but it was hardly urgent—was he really that keen on avoiding you? But the way he just touched your back—he’d never been more intimate than friendly pats on the shoulder before—

“The shuttle station gets a clearer radio signal to the Ephrate,” Ezra continued, “I can have a good an’ proper talk with Cee.”

Oh. He wants to talk to his kid, you moron. Why did you make this about yourself and your ill-timed masturbatory ventures?

“I’ll hold down the fort, then,” you said between gulps of your coffee.

“I’m countin’ on it,” Ezra said. “Now let’s score some stone afore this bitch of a planet bakes us alive.”

–

Ezra was gone before you woke, but you had expected it. He told you as much last night. But you still couldn’t shake the notion that he was avoiding you. You sighed deeply before untangling yourself from the bedsheets and crawling over to make your morning coffee.

On the table, the kettle was already set out on the stovetop, along with three coffee packets, a clean canteen, and a note from Ezra.

“Radio at 21:00,” you mumbled. That was tonight—so he was planning to call you as soon as he got in. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your coffee.

You didn’t have to mine today or tomorrow, thanks to working double-time yesterday (and your aching muscles certainly reminded you of that), but there was still plenty to do around the tent. After gulping down your coffee, you started with the pile of laundry in the corner. It was the most urgent order of business, based on how it was beginning to climb up the wall—and how much it stunk. You filled a basin with water and soap and got to work.

While hanging the garments to dry, you noticed a pair of Ezra’s compression pants had a tear in the thigh—thankfully, it was on a side seam, so you could easily sew it shut. You noted to fix it as soon as it was finished drying. You wondered if you could mend anything else, noting Ezra’s ratty assortment of boxers and briefs. If he made any cash in the aurelac rush, he certainly didn’t spend any of it on underwear. You could mend holes, but you couldn’t work miracles.

As you waited for the clothes to dry, you snacked on a ration bar and read more of Cee’s book. You were invested in the characters now, despite your initial skepticism of the subject matter. You had to admit, it was a bit of a page-turner. After a while, you didn’t want to put it down. You moved from sitting at Ezra’s desk to leaning against one of the tent supports to laying on your bed mat, your eyes glued to the page.

When you finally came to a satisfying enough chapter to pause your reading, you looked around for a piece of scrap paper to mark your place. You picked up Ezra’s note and tucked it inside the pages before shutting the book. You noticed the laundry hanging up was dry—had you really been reading that long? Oh well. Time to get mending.

–

You had mended Ezra’s pants, a pair of his socks, and were about to sew a button back on the pocket of your suit when you heard your name crackle from the radio headset in the corner. Startled, you dropped your work, the button skittering across the floor.

“Gimme a minute!” You shouted, hoping your headset would pick it up from across the tent. You quickly found the runaway button and placed it on Ezra’s desk before scrambling to your side of the tent to put on your headset.

“Sorry about that,” you said, “I’m here. You get in okay?”

“All in one piece,” came Ezra’s voice in your ear, “give or take an arm.”

You rolled your eyes at Ezra’s wisecrack. “Talk to Cee yet?”

“Not yet,” Ezra said, “with the time difference between here and the Ephrate, she’s still in class. I shan’t interrupt her studies.”

You looked at the book where it lay on Ezra’s desk and smiled. “Well, when you call her, tell her I said hello.”

“Will do.”

“So, what station did you end up at?” You asked.

“Trinity,” Ezra replied.

“Trinity,” you said, “don’t think I’ve been on Trinity since the rush.”

“Ain’t any different,” Ezra said, “still got egregious docking fees and an abundance of unpleasant company.”

“Already shooed away a pick-pocket busker, haven’t you?”

“Several,” Ezra grumbled, “Damn this stump, they think I’m an easy target.”

“Were any of them good players, at least?” You asked.

“Truthfully, the boy on the panpipes was a talented little devil,” he said, “both in playing his instrument and his victims. I let him pilfer a coin from my pocket—I fancy myself a patron of the arts.”

You snorted. “You keep coin in your pocket? On Trinity?”

“Sweetheart, it’s the decoy cash,” Ezra explained. “You keep a couple low-credit coin in your pocket for the vandals so that they don’t go scroungin’ for the heavy-hittin’ gems in your suit lining.”

“Speaking of your suit lining,” you said, “I’ve been doing some mending.”

You heard Ezra’s raspy laugh through your headset. “Don’t suppose you’ve been sewin’ up my underthings.”

“Those are hopeless,” you remarked, “I meant your spare compression pants.”

“Ah!” Ezra said. “I do recall those had a rip in ’em. I was fixin’ to fix those.”

“Well, I figured I’d do it as long as I had the time,” you said. “Also darned a pair of your socks.”

“Are you anglin’ for a raise?” You could hear the smile in Ezra’s voice.

“Your listing did say ‘compensation negotiable,’” you replied.

“Hmm. That it did,” Ezra said. “Perhaps we shall negotiate upon my return.”

The radio line lay silent for a moment, and you felt a nervous pang in your stomach. Enough small talk. You needed to say something about what happened the other day—even if it was just to apologize.

“Ezra?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He replied.

“Is everything... Okay? With us?” You asked, trying to suppress the anxiety in your voice.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ezra replied, before quickly adding in lowered tone, “Did somethin’... rub you the wrong way?”

“Kevva help me,” you grumbled, feeling the wave embarrassment crawl up your spine. “I’m so sorry, Ezra. It won’t happen again.”

“Stop apologizin’. There ain’t a thing wrong indulgin’ in a little well-earned self-pleasure.”

The way he said pleasure made your breath hitch. You hoped like hell it didn’t pick up on the radio.

“If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize in my years,” he said, “is that there’s no use feelin’ shame in feelin’ good.”

His voice was smooth and deliberate now. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you. “So don’t you stop yourself because of me—truthfully, I don’t mind. Not one bit.”

Hesitantly, you reached down to press the heel of your hand against your clit, choking back a moan threatening to escape your throat—but not entirely succeeding.

You heard Ezra’s breath coming loud and heavy through the radio. “Are you touchin’ yourself right now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped out, your previous inhibitions completely shattered.

“Fuck,” Ezra replied. “Thank Kevva this radio headset is hands-free.”

You heard what might have been Ezra undoing his zipper—and your suspicions were confirmed when you heard a low moan through the radio.

“Ezra—”

“Do you have the faintest idea what you do to me, woman?” The line swelled with static and the throaty rasp of Ezra’s voice. “Told myself not to—made myself not think of you like that. It ain’t proper. But when you—you let me watch—”

You whined and slid your hand beneath your underwear. “I was thinking of you,” you confessed, “always thinking of you—”

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Ezra said, “all I’ve got is spit-slick and a weak hand wishin’ like hell it was you.”

You sped up the pace of your fingers as he continued.

“If you were here,” he said, “I’d bury myself inside you so deep—ah, fuck—’til you were the only thing I could feel.”

At his words, you slid two fingers inside yourself up to the knuckle, arching your hips, trying to get them as deep as they could go, thumb tirelessly working at your clit.

“I want that,” you panted, “I want you.”

“—Make you come on my cock again and again ’til you’re dizzy with it,” he said, “fuck you so hard you feel it the next day.”

Ezra’s words were pushing you close to the edge. “Ezra, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he groaned, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You came to the overwhelming sound of Ezra’s broken moans and your own desperate cries and the static of the radio and the beating of your heart—

a discordant symphony of absolute ecstasy.

–

Ezra returned the following night with a full pod of supplies. You worked together like a well-oiled machine, moving various goods from the pod to the tent in an orderly fashion. You both made small talk—Cee was doing well at the Academy, the shuttle station shop was stocked enough with what they needed, no, they didn’t have real coffee, just the shit stuff in packets.

Despite the friendly conversation, the air was thick with unspoken words.

It was hot out—as it always was on this planet—so you breathed a huge sigh of relief when you had both moved all the supplies to the tent and you could leave the sweaty pod. You both discarded your helmets and stood in front of the air circulator on Ezra’s side of the tent, sifting through the supplies and placing them where they belonged throughout the tent.

When you reached at the same time as Ezra for a can of coolant, your hands collided, sending a shockwave up your arm and stopping your breath.

You both froze, staring at your hands where they met.

Slowly, carefully, Ezra intertwined your fingers with his.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered, those beautiful brown eyes of his gazing at you tenderly.

You couldn’t take it anymore—you climbed over the pile of supplies between you and pressed your lips to his.

He let out a surprised little noise against your mouth before returning the kiss with fervor, wrapping his arm tightly around you and pressing you close to his chest.

“Couldn’t—stop—thinkin’ of you,” he said between kisses.

“Do you want to—can we—” You gasped against his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed, scrambling to work at the zips and fasteners on his suit. He didn’t object when you reached out to help remove the suit—and honestly, you weren’t thinking of it as helping him, more like getting all your clothes off as fast as possible because holy shit this was happening. Ezra had already removed his boots when he took his helmet off earlier, and you were only dressed in your undershirt and shorts, so this blasted contraption of a suit was the main obstacle.

You both managed to get the damn thing off and Ezra kicked it aside. He reached back, grabbing his sweaty t-shirt behind the collar to tug it over his head. You grasped the hem of your top and pulled it up and off, throwing it to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

You were about to strip off your shorts when Ezra reached for you again, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your neck, down to the tops of your breasts along the edge of your bra. You scrambled to unclasp it, letting it fall to the floor. Ezra wasted no time, cupping a breast in his hand and lavishing kisses on the other. When you felt the wet heat of his tongue against your nipple, you cried out, grabbing his hair and giving it a tug. He moaned against your breast before pulling away to look at you.

“Let’s take this to a bed,” you urged.

Ezra nodded vigorously in agreement and you both stumbled over to his bed mat, falling atop the sheets in a tangle of limbs.

Ezra sat up and you situated yourself on his lap, wrapping your legs around him. You could kiss him like this for hours, his tongue in your mouth, your fingers in his hair, his hand steady and warm on your back.

When you both took a moment to catch your breath, Ezra cleared his throat and looked you in the eye, his expression almost timid.

“I must confess, I have not had the chance to... partake, since I lost my arm,” he said. “I may not be as formidable a sparrin’ partner as I once was.”

“Ezra, I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. He stopped you with a press of a finger to your lips.

“Allow me to enlighten you.” He shrugged with his stump. “Nothin’s as it once was. I can’t even take a piss the same way. Ever try to hold a dick with a hand that ain’t there?”

“Can’t say I have,” you said.

“Oh, hush, birdie, you can understand the sentiment,” Ezra grumbled. “Everything is at the behest of my damned weak hand. I can’t read my own handwriting anymore. Can’t shoot like I used to—my grip’s shit on the left. Even gettin’ dressed is harder than minin’ aurelac.”

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “And as long as we’re on the subject of minin’, I can no longer mine most things on my lonesome. Each harvest is hardly half of my previous yields, and I got the kid to support on top of everything. Now, Cee deserves every bit of that support, do not misunderstand my words—I would move Kevva and earth for that girl. But such meager wages do tend to make one feel... inadequate. A man’s work is no petty thing.”

You listened to Ezra attentively, not knowing how you could get it across to him that he was no less of a man in your eyes than if he had two arms. You wanted to reassure him, but he pressed on.

“So please, allow me to posit this caveat,”  he said, “that I intend to make love to you, and to do so to the fullest of my capabilities—but even my best efforts may prove... unsatisfactory.”

Make love. Ezra wanted to make love to you. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You were so stunned by Ezra’s choice of vocabulary that it took you a moment to process what he said.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t think you can make me come.”

Ezra ducked his head; you could have sworn he was blushing. “You always cut right to the quick.”

You cupped his cheek, running your thumb along the little white scar there.

“Ezra, I don’t care. I just want this. With you.” You glanced down to where you straddled his lap, rolling your hips a little against his growing arousal. “And forgive me if I’m assuming things, but it seems like you want it, too.”

Ezra moaned quietly at your movements. “My desire was never in question, I assure you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

You leaned in and kissed him softly. He returned the kiss before gently moving you off his lap.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you eagerly obliged, reclining on the mattress. He settled on top of you, propping himself up on his elbow, kissing you passionately. Eager to get your hands on him, you hooked a finger under his waistband and gave a tug.

“Whoa there,” Ezra said, “slow down, spitfire.”

You moved your hand away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, believe me. But those clever hands of yours will have to wait, because I’ve been starvin’ for you,” he said with a sly grin, kissing a path down your breasts to your stomach, “and I can no longer deny myself a taste.”

It took a moment for your Ezra Translator to kick in. “Oh.” You scrambled to shimmy your shorts and underwear down. Ezra took over, pulling them all the way off and tossing them over his shoulder before leaning down to continue his trail of kisses.

He nudged at your thigh with his head and you eagerly opened your legs for him. Rough stubble tickled your thighs as he kissed his way to your cunt. At the first feeling of his hot breath against your clit, your hips jumped up out of their own volition, knocking Ezra off his left elbow and face-planting him onto the bed beneath you.

“Sorry!” You squeaked. You reached out to steady him but stopped yourself—you knew he hated being helped.

“Hell’s bells,” Ezra grunted. He gripped at the sheets with his hand as he slowly pushed himself to sit upright.

“Left arm ain’t worth shit,” he grumbled under his breath, “can’t even hold me up.”

“It’s alright, Ezra,” you said, “we can try again.”

“Indeed we can,” Ezra said. He lay down on his back next to you and motioned to his chin. “Take a seat, sweetheart.”

“Um,” you started. You’d done this before, but not like that. “I don’t want to—hurt you.”

“Kevva’s sake, woman, I ain’t gonna break,” Ezra said, then added with a grin, “if I suffocate on account of your cunt, I will embrace death with open arms. Well, one of ’em, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said with a groan.

“Here lies Ezra, drowned in pussy,” he continued teasing, eyeing you with a wicked grin.

You hesitantly shuffled toward him. Drumming up some courage, you knelt above him, one knee on either side of his head. You were so nervous that you could hear your pulse roaring in your ears.

Whether impatient or just eager, Ezra grabbed you by the hip, then, and urged you down onto his mouth.

You gasped, bracing yourself as you felt the white-hot warmth of his tongue against your cunt. You choked back a moan, your hips stuttering forward, trying not to grind down too hard on his face. Ezra was having none of that. He urged you to move, his hand gripping your hip and firmly pulling you forward. With a little more certainty, you rocked your hips forward and back, making his tongue slide against your clit in long strokes. You moaned again, louder this time, and Ezra hummed his desperate response, burying his face in your pussy like a man starving.

You rutted against him urgently, your thighs beginning to burn from holding yourself up over him. Your movements became less graceful, more desperate—you slid forward too far, causing your slit to grind against the bridge of his nose, and you’d be embarrassed if didn’t feel so damn good. You were right on the precipice, moments away from shaking apart, when Ezra stilled your hips with his hand and brought you back to his tongue. He latched his mouth over your clit and sucked on it, wet and sloppy and fucking perfect.

“Fuck, Ezra,” you gasped, the heat coiling inside you tighter and tighter, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

Ezra growled, his teeth grazing your clit for a moment, and the jolt of sensation just on the right edge of pain had you coming so hard you thought you might black out. You stumbled forward, reaching out to break your fall, your cunt pulling away from his mouth. Somehow, Ezra knew you needed more, reaching behind his head for you and guiding you back in place with his hand. He began to lap at you again, working you through another shaking shockwave of pleasure.

You had to pull away before it was too much. You collapsed next to Ezra on the too-small mattress, trying to catch your breath, feeling your thighs burn and your cunt twitch and your heart sing.

“Give me a minute,” you gasped.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Ezra said, equally breathless.

You turned to look at Ezra. His face was flushed red, beads of sweat dripping down to mix with your slick that had ended up all over his mouth and chin—and his nose. He looked absolutely filthy and you’d be mortified if he didn’t look so damn pleased with himself.

You reached for your discarded t-shirt and gently wiped at his face, cleaning up the most offensive wet patches before tossing it aside again. “Sorry,” you said.

Ezra chuckled. “I do not accept your apology, ma’am,” he teased. “That was sexier than hittin’ a motherlode of aurelac.”

“Now that’s high praise,” you teased back.

“C’mere and kiss me,” he all but whispered, reaching out to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. You closed the distance and pressed your lips against his. It was almost chaste—if not for the knowledge of where that mouth had just been.

He pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed deeply, absentmindedly playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

You looked down at the straining bulge in his pants, snaking your hand down to stroke at him through the fabric. A little choked moan tumbled from his throat at your touch.

“Let’s take this off,” you said, thumbing the waistband. He nodded in agreement, laying on his back and lifting his hips so you could pull his pants down and off in short order. His cock sprang free, hard and aching.

You licked your lips. “No underwear?”

“Too fuckin’ hot for underwear,” he said, gasping when you gently rested your hand on the crease where his thigh met his hip.

You moved your hand up and down his thigh, making him squirm and thrust up against nothing but air. He practically whined, his hand clawing at the sheets.

“Touch me,” he begged, voice cracking.

“I am touching you,” you said with a wolfish grin.

“Damn it, woman,” he groaned, “if the heat don’t kill me, you sure as shit will have the pleasure yourself.”

“Patience,” you chided, not sure how long you could keep this up—you wanted him inside you, and you wanted him now—but you loved seeing him spread out and desperate for you.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around him and gave a long, firm stroke. He threw his head back and moaned, arching into your touch. You licked your lips as you studied his cock, the thick length of it twitching ever so slightly in your hand. You rubbed at the underside of the head with your thumb and your mouth watered when a bead of precome welled up at the tip. On instinct, you moved down to lick it off.

Ezra cursed, bucking up to meet your mouth. You held him down by the hip before taking him into your mouth as far as you could.

“Fuck, sweetheart—I—fuck!” Ezra cried out, clawing at the sheets with his hand, writhing against your hand where it held him down. When you tentatively reached down to gently squeeze his balls, he nearly sobbed.

“I’m gonna—” Ezra gasped.

You pulled your mouth off of him, then, replacing it with your hand, not moving, just holding him at the base.

“Hold on, I didn’t say stop,” he said with a breathless chuckle. “Everything alright?”

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, barely audible.

Ezra reached out to still your movements. “I don’t have protection, sweetheart,” he said, voice strained.

You bit your bottom lip, averting Ezra’s gaze for a moment. “I have the implant,” you said, looking him in the eye again.

Ezra’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, shit, woman,” he said. “Thought they only had those fancy contraptions in the Ephrate.”

“They do,” you said. “I did have some decent money, once. In the rush. Before my crew took it all and left.”

“You and I have trod similar paths, so it would seem,” Ezra said.

“The rush left a lot of us in the dust,” you said.

Ezra nodded. “The deadliest dust there is.”

After a long moment, he sat up to kiss you, just a gentle press of lips. You put your arms around him and closed your eyes, breathing with him for a moment.

“How do you want to—which way should we—” you stumbled over your words.

“You may have me whichever way you desire,” Ezra said, voice low in your ear, “and I will do my darnedest to provide.”

“Can—can you be on top?” You started, “I mean—I will if it’s easier, but my thighs are kind of killing me.”

Ezra chuckled, and you thrilled at the vibration of it against your chest. “Lay back,” he said.

You complied, laying down on the bed mat. He reached behind you to grab the pillow.

“Lift up that pretty ass of yours for me,” he said, and you did. Kneeling before you, he placed the pillow under your hips.

“Reckon my knees will hold me up longer than my arm,” he said, gripping your hip to tug you towards him.

“Guess both our thighs will be burning tonight,” you said with a sly smile.

“Worth every ache,” he replied, taking himself in hand.

He slowly rubbed at your slit with the head of his cock. You moaned, your cunt clenching against thin air as you felt wetness dribble down. Ezra dragged his cockhead through the slick, gathering it before rubbing at your clit directly. You gasped at the jolt of pleasure lighting up your body—it felt so good you could cry. You could hardly stand the teasing anymore, wanting him inside you now more than ever.

“Ezra, please,” you begged.

At your urging, he lined himself up and slid inside you with one deliberate movement. The sensation of his thick cock filling you up, the almost-aching stretch of it—it was better than you ever imagined. He grabbed you by the hip again to pull you even closer as he began to thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Look at you,” Ezra said, his voice gravelly and low, “takin’ my cock like it was made for you. Shoulda known you’d feel this good, sweetheart.”

“Ezra,” you panted, “Ezra.”

You looked up at Ezra as he filled you completely—from his pupils blown wide and his lips slightly parted, to the broad expanse of his shoulders, to the torso adorned with freckles and scars, to—fuck, where his cock was seated deep in your cunt—he was more beautiful than any gemstone.

You could tell Ezra was trying to control the pace of his thrusts, biting his lip in concentration. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Harder,” you breathed.

“I ain’t gonna last,” Ezra said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t care!” You cried out, clenching down on him.

“Fuck!” Ezra leaned forward and braced himself against the bed, arm trembling with the effort as he set a brutal pace, fucking into you hard and deep and unrelenting. You nearly screamed.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Ezra’s voice was frantic and loud, “come for me, please, please, fuck!”

You rubbed your clit for hardly a moment before you shook apart, your cunt spasming around his cock, your body consumed in flames of pleasure so intense you could hardly breathe.

Ezra managed a few more thrusts before he came with a shout, his cock inside you as deep as it could go.

–

In the aftermath, Ezra collapsed beside you, absolutely exhausted. You turned your head to kiss him, lazy and slow.

“If it’s alright with you,” he said, his breath warm and close, “I’m inclined to take the day off tomorrow.”

“We’re sure going to be sore,” you sighed.

“Well, yes,” he agreed, “but I’m keen on more...sparrin’ practice.”

“You can say sex, you know,” you laughed, “not everything has to be a metaphor.”

Ezra smiled. “I do have an inclination to run my mouth, don’t I.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Ezra just rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his, your fingers twining together.

“I just realized,” you said, looking over at Ezra’s desk, “I could’ve sat on that chair instead of your face. Would’ve made things easier.”

Ezra’s eyes widened a fraction, looking over at the chair, then back to you.

“Why didn’t I think of that? I am dumber than a box of rocks,” he said with a chuckle. “But I do believe my method is superior.”

“We’ll have to test your theory,” you said. “Do some serious research.”

Ezra nodded eagerly before setting a steely expression with a furrowed brow. “Of course.”

--

content: phone sex (well, radio sex if you wanna get technical), cunnilingus, face-sitting, blowjob, vaginal sex

a/n: listen. all the scifi sex I write will conveniently make use of “the implant” purely so they can raw-dog it. also like where tf is ezra gonna go buy space condoms. this is set in the fringes of the galaxy. it’s not like he can pop over to space cvs and get some cosmic cock wrappers for his magnum dong. they don’t carry them at the shuttle station, okay?

and yes I DO go back and forth in my fics deciding whether “come” or “cum” is hotter/more grammatically correct/etc and this is a come fic, apologies to the cum crowd

special thanks to taylor (@damerondjarin​) for the exchange of messages that inspired this fic, and for all the moral support thereafter. believe it or not this entire fic was supposed to be JUST the face-sitting sex scene and uh it expanded from there. Oops.

[n7inky-fanfics]

Leviathan

"Well, if that's what we have to do let's get started." Shepard says, standing and moving over towards the shuttle with Cortez.

Kaidan hits another husk, killing it, and turns to face Shepard. "Wait a minute here. Are we seriously considering-"

"First, we'll need to restore power to get that cargo door open." Steve says.

"How?" She asks, furrowing her brow.

"I guess we are." Garrus says.

"These old Ballard-class ships are equipped with exterior power sockets. They use 'em for emergency repairs. We can strip the cells from the shuttle and use those for juice. Hang on, and I'll get you started." Steve pulls out a power cell and hands it to Shepard as more Reaper forces drop from the sky.

"Go, we'll fend them off!" Kaidan shouts, opening fire. Together, he and Garrus keep the husks, marauders, and brutes off Shepard long enough for her to get the cargo bay open and hop into the mech.

"Artillery incoming!" She shouts over the comms as she unleashes rockets on the hoard. Within minutes, the monstrosities lay dead on the ground.

She guides the mech over to Cortez so he can inspect it. "All right, Commander. Let's get you out of there and I'll do a systems check."

As Steve moves around the mech with his omnitool, running scans, Kaidan heads towards Shepard. The part of him that is usually so keen to follow regulations and be a good, obedient soldier is thrown out the window by the fear growing in him. This is a crazy risk. "Shepard, I've got to say... I'm not too crazy about this plan."

The hatch opens and she's there, staring back at him. Her gray eyes are fixed on him, filled with determination. Somewhere behind them, he detects a hint of understanding. She knows what he left unsaid, the worry that he feels right now. "We've come too far to stop now. The way home is through Leviathan." she replies in her classic Commander Shepard tone.

"Okay, seals check out. Oxygen pressure is normal. Systems are a go." Cortez says, walking back towards the front of the mech. "It's as ready as I can make it."

"Let's go." she says, setting her jaw and gripping the controller tightly.

Every fiber of his being screams. This is a bad idea. We have no idea what's down there. The mech could fail, she could drown or be crushed under the pressure. If she finds Leviathan, who knows how many ways it could kill or harm her. And if, by some miracle she manages to disable the pulse and get away safely, she'll still need the mech to hold up long enough to return her safely to the surface. Damn it, he's not going to back down so easily this time. He's not going to let her charge off into danger and leave him behind like she did over Alchera. He opens his mouth, prepared to let everything flood out, to say anything to convince her to stay, but all that comes out is "But Shepard..."

"I'll be fine." she interrupts. She looks him directly in the eye. All at once she's his Commander and the love of his life. She's ordering him to stand down, to let her go, while simultaneously reassuring him that she will come back to him safely. He feels his duty to her as a soldier and his love for her as her partner. The battle inside him ends and he reluctantly nods, stepping aside.

"Closing hatch." she announces. She checks the systems and guides the mech to the water. "Commencing dive in 3, 2, 1." The mech hits the water hard, splashing and then sinking into the murky depths.

He listens as Cortez checks the comms. For a moment, everything seems fine and he finds himself relax slightly. Then, he hears Steve's voice rise in pitch. "Commander? Commander, can you hear me? Commander Shepard?"

"What's going on down there?" Garrus asks. Kaidan tries to swallow the lump rising in his throat.

"The comms are out. We can't reach her anymore." Steve replies.

Kaidan doesn't have much time to worry because more Reaper forces drop to the ship. All of his fears are pushed away as he slides into command. "Incoming! Cortez, get the power cores back in the shuttle. Garrus, take up a position near the shuttle and we'll cover him."

Fending off the Reaper forces proves to be a neverending task. Short moments of relief are interrupted by more forces landing. Steve gets the shuttle fixed and mans a pistol from just outside it. In one lull, Kaidan checks the time. She's been down there for over an hour. Kaidan swallows his fear and tells his friends "She'll be here. And when she gets back, we'll be ready to go." They nod in affirmation and load their supplies.

Defending the shuttle from the Reapers is beginning to truly be exhausting when suddenly the mech breaches the surface. His heart soars. The mech stumbles forward and the hatch opens. All hope plummets as soon as he sees her. She's ghostly pale, maybe even gray, and bleeding from her nose and eyes. She falls forward out of the shuttle and hits the ground, right by a pack of brutes. She tries to stand, but hits the ground hard again. Shit, she's defenseless! In that moment, one of the brutes stops, staring blankly for a moment before turning and attacking it's companion. Now's his chance! Kaidan runs over to Hazel and helps her to her feet. Although she's now supporting some of her weight, he's practically dragging her along to the shuttle. "Shepard's back! Cortez, talk to me!"

Steve is already in the pilot's seat, pulling the shuttle back around. "We're good to go! I don't know what the Commander did, but the pulse is offline!" Garrus covers them as Kaidan loads her onto the shuttle. As they take off, he vaguely notes that the brute is still attacking other Reaper forces.

Kaidan helps guide Hazel onto her back on the shuttle floor. Steve shouts about a Reaper incoming. Shit! It's right in their path! He tries to maneuver underneath it, but it opens it's terrible arms and charges it's beam. Before it can fire, it suddenly disables and crashes into the ocean. What the hell did she find down there?

He turns his attention back to Shepard. She's not moving or responding. Damn it, Hazel! "Shepard! Can you hear me?" She doesn't respond. He reads the data from her suit on his omnitool. It's not looking good. "She's freezing!"

She coughs suddenly and violently, jolting upwards. The coughing fit continues to wrack her body as she tries to sit up and brace herself against the seat. He watches her vitals recover some. "You okay?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Hell of a headache." Her voice is raspy and weak. Her pulse is still somewhat erratic, but it looks like she'll be okay.

Fear and concern quickly evolves into anger at the risk she took. "Never do that again." he says firmly, rising to his feet.

She looks up at him, her eyes rimmed with red. She's exhausted and in pain, but she's here and she'll be okay. She came back to him. He relaxes, letting go of his anger and instead bathing in relief for just a moment before he asks "So, what happened down there?"

"We found it. It's real and a lot more than we ever imagined." She rises to her feet.

Cortez turns back in his seat to face her. "So, was it worth almost dying for?"

"I don't know, but we proved it can't hide anymore... that it's a part of this war, just like us. And it's going to help fight."

As they ride back, Shepard calls Dr. Ann Bryson to tell her about what she found. Kaidan knows no one will get the full story out of her until later, but even the broad explanation is amazing. When the dock back on the Normandy, she immediately locks herself in her cabin to write her full and detailed report, brushing off any requests to check in at the med-bay.

Kaidan finds himself waiting outside her door with a cup of coffee. Dr. Chakwas stands next to him, leaning against the wall with her med bag on the floor. Eventually, the door unlocks and they both go in. Hazel sits in her desk chair, still in her armour. The submission confirmation for her report is still displayed on the terminal.

"Hey, guys." She smiles weakly at them. Kaidan sets the mug on her desk and offers her an arm. She takes it and pulls herself up, then slowly peels off her armor. Chakwas guides her to sit on the couch and begins checking her over.

Eventually, she rises and closes her bag. "You're looking alright, Commander. Take this for the pain. Get yourself fed, hydrated, and warm. I'll be taking my leave now. Have a nice night." She smiles and walks to the door, stopping just next to Kaidan. "Keep an eye on her, Major Alenko." She smiles and exits the room.

Kaidan brings the mug with him and sits down next to Shepard. He hands her the coffee, which she sips as she leans against him.

"Nice to have everyone back on dry land, so to speak."

"Mm-hm." She responds.

"You scare the hell out of me with those risky stunts, Shepard, but I guess it's also part of what I love about you." He whispers.

"I'm sorry I scared you. To be honest, I scare myself sometimes, too. I've already pushed so hard, given so much of myself for the mission, for the galaxy. I lost it all once, and sometimes I wonder if some part of me wishes I had just stayed..."

Kaidan pulls back and looks down at her. She looks so small and timid sitting here, curled into herself. It's a rare moment where he might even call her vulnerable. "Stayed dead..?" He asks quietly. She nods meekly. "Hazel, having you back has been a lifeline. I missed you, more than I could ever express."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just... I came back only to throw it all on the line again and again. And in the end, nothing I did even mattered. The Reapers still arrived, and now we're fighting an impossible war."

"And we'll win. We'll win because of everything you've done to make that possible. I believe in us, Shepard. I believe in you."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." He smiles gently and pulls her into his arms. She curls up against him and slowly relaxes. He can feel her falling asleep, so he takes the mug from her and sets it on the table. Carefully, he scoops her up into his arms. She mumbles sleepily about more work, but doesn't protest as he tucks her into bed. He kisses her forehead and turns to leave, but she grips his shirt tightly. She wants him to stay. He takes off his boots and crawls into bed next to her. She shuffles closer to him, resting her head on his chest, and quickly falls asleep.

[a-yellow-book]

If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.

In which Wen Kexing shamelessly courts Zhou Zishu with cheesy pick-up lines instead of beautiful ancient Chinese poetry, and Zishu falls for him anyway. (Alternatively, if Word of Honor was a modern romantic comedy.)

[read on ao3 instead]

Zhou Zishu was not looking forward to his closing shift at the cafe tonight. Thinking about the pile of case studies he still had to read through sent him down a spiral of sadness. It was a Saturday night, for goodness’ sake. He wasn’t gunning for a rowdy night-out at bars. All he wanted was to finish his readings and then to curl up on his cozy couch and snuggle in with his cat to watch a wuxia drama. But alas, Zishu couldn’t say no when his boss called, asking if he could cover A-Ying at the last minute because he’d gone skating and knocked his head on the metal railings, no doubt concussed.

It’s ok! It might be a slow night and I can get some readings done there, Zishu reassured himself. That, and also he needed extra money anyway. Jiuxiou’s surgery was coming up soon and they needed whatever extra funds they could get.

Pushing the cafe’s door open, Zishu greeted Heilan, who barely looked over at him. “Urg, you’re finally here. Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, I missed the bus,” Zishu said, shrugging off Heilan’s rudeness. The kid treated everyone whose parents weren’t millionaires with disdain. He was forced to get a job so his dad would let him keep his (unlimited) credit card. Something about teaching him a lesson. Zishu didn’t think it was working.

Before Zishu even managed to set his bag down in the back room and clock in, Heilan had already gathered his stuff and left. “Tsk, tsk, youths these days,” Zishu shook his head mockingly.

It was already close to five o’clock. There might be a bit of a rush as the office workers and students stop by for a quick pick-me-up after a long day. Zishu put on a new apron around his waist, washed his hands, and headed out to the front counter to take stock of the status of the store. Heilan was notorious for not caring to refill any supplies at the end of his shifts.

The cup racks were almost empty. There were random mixing utensils, cups, and blenders left unwashed, littering around the equipment. Sighing, Zishu rolled up his sleeves to get to work cleaning the mess Heilan left behind.

Just as Zishu put the last bit of clean dishes away, the door’s bell rang, signaling the entrance of the first customers since he clocked in. Turning around, drying his hands on his apron, Zishu greeted, “Welcome to Four Seasons Cafe!” And promptly stopped dead in his tracks when he finally processed what he was looking at.

The person standing in front of Zishu had to be the most stunning man he’d ever seen. His eyes sparkled with mirth, his lips quirked up in a perpetual smirk, and his jawline was as sharp as knives. And his hair! It was a beautiful silver starlight waves cascading down his shoulders. And his beautiful pastel green suit! Ahh! Realizing he was staring, Zishu awkwardly cleared his throat and asked, “What can I get for ya?”

The beautiful man kept looking at Zishu. He definitely noticed the blush that was blooming on Zishu’s cheeks. “I assume you know what’s on the menu?” Zishu was taken a bit off guard by the strange question, but before he could answer, the man continued, “Me ‘n’ u.”

For all the years he’d worked at various restaurants and coffee shops, Zishu had yet to encounter someone so... alluring (?) and shameless (!). “I’m afraid that’s not on our blackboard,” he replied after a short moment spent recovering his wits, and pointed at the said blackboard nailed on the wall behind him.

Undeterred, the stranger smiled and continued, “Oh? Well, that’s a shame - because if I were the alphabet, I would put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together when I write your menu.”

Zishu had to give him points for those cheesy lines only made funnier and cheesier with his dead-ass serious delivery. “If we ever decide to rewrite our boards, I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Zishu said, biting his lips to keep himself from smiling at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“Hmm, hmm, good, that is reassuring to hear,” the stranger nodded thoughtfully.

“So! Is there anything on our board that I could get for ya?” Zishu asked, clapping his hands together and putting on a chirpy tone. If this guy was flirting with him, he might leave a hefty tip!

“Uhmm,” he paused, pursuing the menu with great care. “I would love to try the ‘you mocha me crazy’ with an extra espresso shot, please.”

Grabbing a cup and marker, Zishu fought against the urge to dig a hole to hide in before asking, “Alrighty! What’s your name?” Internally, he was cursing A-Ying for coming up with the outrageous and horrific punny names for their specials.

“Kexing, Wen Kexing.”

“Great! It’ll be right out!” Zishu said, scribbling the name down on the side of the cup and promptly turned around, about to get started making the drink.

“Uhm, excuse me?” Kexing, the beautiful stranger said, sounding full of suppressed laughter. “Should I pay now?”

“OH!” Zishu immediately turned back around, “Yes, right. Sorry about that!” He quickly ran up the total, accepted the money from the smiling stranger, and repeated, “Great! It’ll be right out!”

There had to be a hole large enough for him to hide in. He could not endure this embarrassment any longer.

“There’s no need to rush!” Kexing, the infuriating stranger said.

“I don’t want to...uhm... delay you...” Zishu said lamely.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Zishu could feel his cheeks flaming up. He turned all his attention and focused on making the mocha, which he could do in his sleep, to avoid looking at the (shameless!) man. With a flick of his wrist, he drizzled the raspberry syrup around the cup, letting it drip down to make a fancy pattern before pouring in the chocolate syrup, milk, and topping it off with the espresso shots.

Giving the cup a slight shake, Zishu grabbed a bamboo straw and handed both to the (shameless!) man, who hadn’t moved an inch from his spot by the front counter. “Here you go!”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out with both hands to grab the cup and incidentally caught Zishu’s hand as well. (Zishu was sure it was a deliberate move, considering how shameless the man was.) “I’ve told you my name, but I still don’t know yours,” he said, continuing to hold onto the cup (and Zishu’s hand).

“Oh, uhm,” Zishu wiggled his hand, successfully dislodging it. Before he could think of a fake name to give out, the cafe’s door swung open and A-Ying stepped in.

“A-Xu!” A-Ying greeted, seemingly not noticing the tension between his best friend and the customer. “I’m here!!!!!!!”

Seeing A-Ying all bandaged up standing in the cafe was enough to jerk Zishu out of the staring contest he had unwittingly been engaged in with the stranger. “What are you doing here?!”

“Hi!” A-Ying greeted the stranger, thinking he was just a normal customer. “Sorry - I wanted to come in to help you close! It’s too much work for one person.”

“But you have a concussion! You need to go rest!” Zishu grabbed A-Ying by the shoulders, turned him around and about to march him right the fuck back home.

“No, I’m fine! Just a tiny headache and a scratched forehead,” A-Ying protested.

“But---!”

“Besides, I’ve been taking so many days off recently. I need to make up for that.”

“A-Ying, you’re going to clock in and you’re going to sit in the back, resting,” Zishu declared. “Or else I’d knock you out for real.”

A-Ying raised his hands placatingly, “Ok, ok, ok!”

With A-Ying retreating to the back, Zishu let out a sigh. This kid, always trying to be helpful to others but didn’t know how to take care of himself.

“A-Xu?” It was the stranger who called out to Zishu, “Xu is a beautiful name.”

“I--uhm, thanks. It’s a nickname,” Zishu corrected.

“Oh? Then would it be ok if I call you by A-Xu?” Wen Kexing asked.

“Sure,” Zishu shrugged. He figured the man might not come back anyway.

“It was really nice to meet you, A-Xu!” He said cheerfully before leaving (finally!).

“Who was that?” A-Ying emerged from the back, tying an apron on and looking at the retreating Wen Kexing curiously.

“No one, just a customer,” Zishu might have said that a tad too quickly. Also, he was sure his cheeks were still dusting pink from all the flirting.

“Ooooohhhhh, I’m sensing something else is going on!!!” A-Ying teased. He could read his best friend as easily as an open book. “That guy is so cute! Good for you, A-Xu!”

“If you aren’t already hurt, I will kick you so hard right now,” Zishu threatened without much bite.

“Yea, yea, sureeee.”

The glare Zishu directed at A-Ying was sharp enough to cut steel. “Why did you come out here? Huh? What did I tell you?”

“A-Xu, A-Xu!! I’m just going to sit here and do nothing! Ok!” A-Ying said, waving his hands wildly at the chair propped against the back counter.

Just as Zishu was about to scold A-Ying, the door swung open, and a group of students piled in, talking loudly among themselves. Turning around to A-Ying, Zishu pointed a stern finger and said, “You will not move an inch from that chair. Got it?”

“Got it, boss!” A-Ying said, smiling widely, already thinking of how he was going to stealthily make the drinks anyway.

[theladyofdeath]

The Office {2}

A Court of Thorns and Roses mini-series, part 2/8.

A year in the life of office workers, an 8 part mini-series.

Based on a prompt sent in by @the-regal-warrior​

Feyre 

A month had passed.

A horrible, dreadful, incredibly uncomfortable month.

Rhysand had taken a few weeks off, using his built up vacation hours, claiming he was going to visit his parents, but I know full well that his mother lives half an hour away, on the other side of town, and his father is dead to him. So, that left me with one conclusion - he was ignoring me.

Which, I didn’t blame him.

Since his confession, and our kiss, I broke things off with Tamlin. It was long overdue, even I knew that much. Rhysand was right in a lot of what he had said that night. Tamlin not treating me right, being a main point. 

It was the right move.

Even if it created so many more issues, so much more tension. I had to move out, of course, because the house we lived in was under Tamlin’s name. It was a shame, really, because I loved that house, had worked for two years to make it my own. It was in a great part of town, half a mile from my favorite spot along the Sidra. But, in the end, even though half of the shit in that house was mine, all I left with were my paintings, my supplies, my clothes, and everything that was in the bathroom.

I hope he had fun showering having to dry himself with paper towels.

Asshole.

Anyway. Tamlin had been ignoring me at all costs since, which was fine, it’s not like he had to come up from the warehouse all that often. 

What hurt so much worse was that Rhysand sat six feet away from me, his desk nearly facing mine straight on, and he wouldn’t even look at me. I just wanted to run over to him, shake him by the shoulders, and tell him to say something.

Anything.

I didn’t even care what, at that point.

The day went on, the hours passing slow. Every five minutes, I would look up from my desk at reception, but Rhysand was into his work. And as soon as the clock his five, he was out.

I wanted to call after him.

But I didn’t.

I simply shut down my computer, collected my belongings, and pulled on my jacket before heading to the parking lot. There was a tall figure leaning against the side of my car.

But it wasn’t who I wanted to be waiting there.

“Tamlin,” I breathed, half statement of annoyance, half question. 

He pushed off my little car as he said, “Hey.”

“Move, please,” I mumbled. “I have to get home.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked, with an annoyance in his eyes that faded a second later. “Look, I just...can we go get a coffee? I think we should talk.”

“Whatever you have to say there can be said here,” I replied, simply, crossing my arms.

“I think you should come back home,” he replied, simply, directly. “I think you should come home and we should work this out. This is ridiculous, Feyre. We’ve been together for five years and you suddenly just break it off. Obviously, I was doing something wrong, but I want to correct it.”

The sigh that came out of me was full of annoyance. “Tamlin, there was a reason we were engaged for two years and never set a date. We’re not meant to be. Okay? So, please, move.”

“This is about him, isn’t it?”

I stilled and hated that I met his gaze once more. He must’ve seen my hesitation, though, because his eyes were clouded with anger, his lips pursed.

“I knew it,” Tamlin scowled. “I fucking knew it. You cheated on me, didn’t you?”

“What, no, I-”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that,” Tamlin ordered.

Shaking my head, I met his gaze, once more. “He kissed me.”

“And did you fight him?”

I stood motionless, silent.

Scoffing, Tamlin stepped aside.

I got into my car and quickly drove away with an unsettled feeling that I had just made everything so much worse.

~~~~

The next morning was eventful, but not in the exciting way.

I arrived at the office just before eight and made myself comfortable behind the welcome desk. After pulling up Helion’s schedule to inform him upon his arrival what to expect for his morning, the door opened and Rhysand came in. For a brief moment, our eyes connected. I gave him a small smile.

To my surprise, and utter delight, he returned it. 

I watched as he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He grabbed his lunch and took it to the break room to put it into the fridge.

Then, the door flew open with such a force that those of us who had already arrived looked its way.

Tamlin came hurrying in and the look that was in his eyes was one I had seen many times - one that I loathed.

I stilled. “Tam?”

But he wasn’t looking at me. He was storming to the other side of the room, where Rhysand had just re-entered through the break room door.

“Tamlin!” I shouted, rising from my desk chair.

But he was on a mission, it seemed, one he couldn’t be talked out of.

He didn’t get far, though, because Cassian stepped in Tamlin’s path with a little tube of pepper spray and was firing it, right into Tamlin’s eyes.

Everyone began panicking, as everyone within spitting distance was instantly covering their eyes.

Rhysand and Cassian included.

Then the chaos began. Helion arrived shortly thereafter, and called for security to come take Tamlin away, letting him know that he wouldn’t be welcomed back on the premises. I nearly felt bad. Yes, Tamlin was an idiot, but to lose his job?

At least I wouldn’t have to keep seeing him everyday.

Everyone who had been affected rinsed their eyes out, and Cassian was giving a talking to about using pepper spray in the office under emergency circumstances only, even if Cassian protested that it had been, in fact, an emergency.

Meanwhile, I sat in shock at my desk, trying to process what the hell had actually happened.

Tamlin had come to kick Rhysand’s ass.

Rhysand saw Tamlin coming, but didn’t have to react, because Cassian tossed out some pepper spray.

Tamlin got dragged out by security.

And fired.

And me? Well, I had some apologizing to do, it seemed.

Lunch time came and I saw Rhysand get his lunch and carry it outside. It seemed like it was now or never.

I figured now was better, because the idea of never made me want to vomit. I grabbed my lunchbox from the fridge and followed Rhysand.

I found him sitting on a bench out front, eating his sandwich.

He looked up at me, surprised, as I sat down next to him.

“Hi,” I said, refusing to open my lunchbox.

“Hey,” he said, after swallowing a bite of my sandwich.

“Crazy day, huh?” I asked, in hopes of making decent small talk before getting into the heavier stuff.

But Rhysand just arched a brow, humored. “Are you referring to your fiance storming into the office to kick my ass?”

I sucked my bottom lip into my teeth.

He chuckled. “I assume you told him about the kiss, then.”

I nodded.

“Does that mean you broke up?” he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich. Apparently, unlike myself, this conversation didn’t have any effect on his appetite. 

I blinked. “We broke up a month ago.”

That did make Rhysand halt. “What? Why?”

I rolled my eyes. “You very well know why. And I was going to tell you weeks ago, but then you went MIA.” I looked away from him, away from those piercing violet eyes as I went on, “Look, what I said that night...I was just surprised. I was thrown off...it wasn’t what I had been expecting, but I realized that I felt the same way about you. So I broke it off with Tamlin. Then, last night, we got into it, and the reason for why I left him came out. Hence, his alpha-male presence in the office this morning.” 

He said nothing, but he slowly lowered his last bite of sandwich onto his lap.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “About all of it. Really, I am. I’ve made a mess of it, and I know that. And you don’t deserve that. And I’m sorry.”

“Wow, Archeron,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other still clutching what was left of his sandwich. “That was, uh, a lot to take in.” 

I knew that tone.

As I shook my head, a slow grin swept across his mouth.

“It’s fine,” he said, a minute later. “I’m not mad. And I wasn’t ignoring you. Well, that’s a lie, I was...but, not because of anything you did. I was embarrassed.”

At my look of surprise, he started laughing, quietly. 

“The thought of coming in every day to see you, thinking I messed everything up between us, our friendship….well, let’s just say seeing you at work was my favorite reason to come to work.” He was looking at the cars driving past as he finished off his sandwich and crumbled up the paper bag it had come in. 

When I said nothing, he gave me one last smile and rose. 

“Well, back to work, I guess,” he said, sighing, then headed for the door.

I was left on the bench, blinking rapidly.

“Oh,” he said, turning around to meet my open-mouthed gaze. “You busy tonight?”

“I- no.”

“Wanna get some dinner?” he asked.

“I…” I could hardly get the word out of my mouth. “Yeah.”

“Seven okay?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting another word that came out of my mouth.

“Great,” he grinned. “It’s a date.”

Then he was gone, through the doors and out of my sight. My heart was thudding against the inside of my chest as I looked down at my unopened lunchbox, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be eating my lunch, and my break was almost over.

I didn’t even care.

I had a date with Rhys.

[lurking-umbra]

Bad things happen bingo fill #11: Caught in an Explosion, requested by @fawncyfeline​ and Reddo on discord 

cw: vomit mention

None of the members of the Aurinko crime family expected the explosion, likely because it hadn't been one of the charges they had set up and so it happened when they didn't expect it. Vespa and Peter had been leaving the building following a successful breaking and entering job, of which one small explosive charge had been placed on a nearly impossible to crack safe when Vespa had gotten impatient and Rita had warned them over their comms that security was fast approaching and she was unable to redirect them. Vespa and Peter had been nearly silent as they snuck into the building, past security, and to the safe that held the old-school paper and pen records that they needed. On the way out, however, they had only been as silent as they needed to, arguing over whether or not they should have used the charge whenever they were slipping through an area clear enough for them to hiss at one another. Jet had been standing watch outside as their getaway driver, listening over the earpieces Buddy had insisted on since the Zolotovna job as Peter and Vespa argued.

Upon seeing the pair, Jet disembarked from the car in order to open the back door for Peter and Vespa, as if they were one of the many rich socialites who worked or visited the building. Peter held the door open for Vespa to walk through when the building rumbled ominously before part of one of the upper floors exploded outward. This then set off a chain reaction as the entire building wobbled before listing to the side and collapsing, sending debris everywhere. Peter only just managed to knock Vespa out of the way of some falling debris, only for some to collide with him instead.

When the noise stopped and the building had collapsed entirely, there was rubble everywhere and a thick cloud of dust in the air. Jet was the first of their trio to rise, having been the farthest from the collapse. He easily shook off the few smaller pieces of rubble that had made it out to where he had been in the street and moved towards the area where he had last seen Vespa and Peter.

Vespa waited until the ground stopped shaking and the sound of falling rubble stopped before she allowed herself to relax her protective position. It took her a moment to get shakily to her feet, somehow mostly unharmed even while among the rubble. She was pretty sure that her shoulder had dislocated with the force of her body hitting the ground, but that was a minor inconvenience at best. She looked among the rubble among her, searching for a sign of Ransom. He had knocked her out of the way of some falling detritus, but he couldn't have landed too far away. She began to clear out the rubble around where she thought he might be, though it was slow going with only one arm until Jet moved over to join her.

It took them a while to find Peter, buried under the rubble as he was. He was out cold, which worried Vespa, especially when added to the fact that he had been underneath some sizable pieces of rubble. He didn't respond at first when Jet managed to get enough room to lift him out from among the detritus and towards a clearer part of the street. A few passers-by attempted to approach them to offer help, but Vespa's scowl made them stay clear.

"It appears as though the local police force and emergency services are approaching," Jet pointed out, looking further down the road where sirens could be heard and flashing lights were just barely in sight.

Vespa quickly surveyed the area around them before stalking off in the direction of their rendezvous spot with the Carte Blanche, away from the approaching officers. They had only just barely moved out of the area when Peter twitched in Jet's arms.

"Jet?" He slurred, his eyebrows pulling into a confused frown as he spoke. Jet paused and peered down at Peter.

"Have you regained use of your faculties?" Jet asked him calmly.

Peter blinked up at him, his eyes blank and somehow dull. "Gonna be sick," he slurred and both Vespa and Jet leaped into action, Jet placing Peter on the ground and Vespa helping to move him into an upright position. It wasn't long before he was only dry heaving and the only thing that stopped him from collapsing into the puddle in front of him was two sets of hands pulling him gently backwards instead.

"This doesn't look good," Vespa rasped. She looked over at Jet. "It's possible he has some type of head wound or internal bleeding somewhere."

"Is he stable enough to last the trip to the Carte Blanche without treatment?" Jet asked.

Vespa grimaced. "I'm not sure. The head injury I can only do so much about anyway, but I am concerned about the internal bleeding. Depending on where it is, he might be worse off than he looks."

She moved to crouch down next to Ransom, away from the vomit. "Ransom," she said softly, "I need to look at your abdomen." Without waiting for permission, she managed to push Peter's shirt aside, wincing at the dark purple bruise that covered about half of his stomach. She glanced over at the puddle of vomit and was relieved to see no sign that he had thrown up any blood. Not yet, at least. She looked up to see Peter looking down at his bruise as well. She frowned as she placed a hand on each side of his face, using one hand to cover and uncover his eyes to check his pupillary reflex. They reacted to the change in light unevenly, causing Vespa's frown to deepen. She rose from her crouch and looked over at Jet. "He likely has a concussion, and probably some internal bleeding as well." Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "He can survive that for a bit, but it won't be comfortable and we should hurry if we don't want him getting worse."

Jet nodded at her and as one they turned to look at Peter, staring dazedly up at them. Peter didn't seem to make any move to be sick again, and so Jet picked him back up in a bridal carry. The trio moved at a slightly faster pace than before, though now that Peter was more conscious, they had to stop for him to be sick twice more, the last time bringing up what looked like coffee grounds. Vespa had seen it and paled, telling Jet to get moving again as soon as it seemed like Peter was through with this round of vomiting.

Thankfully it wasn't long after that when the Carte Blanche finally came into their view. The main entry door opened long before they reached it, Buddy, Juno, and Rita waiting at the entrance.

"Miss Vespa, Mistah Jet, Mistah Ransom!" Rita exclaimed with delight from where she stood, practically bouncing in place. In Jet's arms, Peter flinched lightly at the sound, curling farther into his hold.

"Perhaps we should save the celebrations for another time," Jet said softly as they drew up at the doorway.

"What happened to Mistah Ransom?" Rita asked in a slightly quieter tone, though it wasn't far below her regular volume.

"He's got internal bleeding and probably a concussion from that blast," Vespa explained, stepping closer to Jet and Peter. "We need to get him to the medbay."

"Vespa, what in the world even happened down there?" Buddy demanded as she followed Jet and Vespa down the hall. "Things seemed to be going well enough, and then suddenly the earpieces cut out and it was only Rita's quick thinking that allowed us to learn of the building's collapse, but it's been hours without contact since then."

"Someone else planted that explosive," Vespa explained as they reached the medbay and Jet placed Peter down gently on one of the cots as Vespa busied herself with grabbing supplies.

"Vespa and the thief were nearly out of the building when it came down. Our earpieces must have been ruined in the blast or subsequent collapse," Jet explained.

Buddy looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but Vespa already had the body scanner out, and was more focused on determining where Peter was bleeding from. He must have passed out at some point in between arriving at the Carte Blanche and Jet placing him down in the medbay.

"Is he--" Juno started, in a much softer voice than usual from where he was hovering at the back of the group, still in the doorway. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He will be," Vespa replied, looking up from her scans to lock eyes with him. "As long as you lot let me do my job."

With a look from Vespa, Juno and Rita cleared out of the room, Rita placing a comforting arm around his waist as they exited. Jet met Vespa's eyes and nodded once before leaving the room as well. That left Vespa and Buddy alone in the medbay with the unconscious Peter.

Buddy stayed silent for a long moment as she watched Vespa complete her diagnostics, locating the spot where Peter's internal bleeding was coming from before setting up the anesthesia machine for the small surgery. She was done prepping and had started in on fixing the bleed when Buddy finally spoke up.

"I thought I had lost you," she said, her voice softer and more hesitant than usual. Her mouth twisted into a bitter expression as she added, "Again. I thought I had lost you again, and I just..." Buddy broke off when her voice started to crack with emotion.

Vespa only managed not to look up at her from her very delicate task because of years of practice. Distractions during a surgery could mean that someone died. And though she may not have fully trusted Ransom, she trusted Juno well enough, and beyond that, she trusted Buddy to make the right decisions. She wasn't going to let Ransom bleed out when there was something she could do to stop it, no matter how much she wanted to look at Buddy's face in that moment.

"I came back to you. I'll always come back to you " Vespa rasped, and she hoped that Buddy could hear the utter conviction in her voice. "Not even death itself could stop me." With the bleeding finally stopped, Vespa was free to look up at Buddy and see the love on her face that was hopefully echoed in her own expression.

A smile stretched its way across Buddy's face as she stepped closer to Vespa. "Of course you would," she said, pressing a gentle and chaste kiss to Vespa's lips. Vespa's hands came up slightly as if to grip at Buddy, before realizing that she still wore a pair of bloody gloves. With a wince, she tossed them to the floor and moved to pull Buddy in closer for another kiss. They pulled back from the kiss gasping for air as if coming up from underwater. Vespa looked at Buddy and then away, feeling a little like looking at her expression was like looking at the sun. As she looked away, her eyes caught on the anesthesia machine. Before getting distracted by Buddy, she had managed to turn off the anesthesia itself on autopilot, keeping Peter on the oxygen as he would wake up slowly and in mild pain. She shook her head slightly and stepped away from Buddy, moving to grab a syringe of pain medication she had prepped beforehand and administering it to Peter. She and Buddy were quiet as Peter slowly woke up from the procedure, finding it enough to simply lean on one another, their hands intertwined.

The quiet lasted until Juno and Rita both poked their heads into the medbay, their sharp and discordant exclamations of excitement breaking the silence that had stretched to cover Jet's presence as well, hovering in a corner of the medbay, watching the monitors Vespa had set up on Peter intently. Juno wasted little time in rushing over to Peter's bedside, their hands clasping together like the opposite poles of two magnets despite Peter's obvious weakness. Vespa watched the two of them, joined quickly by Rita, for a long moment before sighing heavily and heading for the door, Buddy pulled along in her wake by their joined hands.

Juno caught Vespa's eyes as she reached the door and nodded once, which Vespa took to be his gratitude. She had just been doing her job, but she supposed the acknowledgement was nice.

"Hey Steel," Vespa called out right before she crossed the threshold, Buddy stopping on the other side. "When Ransom is more awake, tell him not to get caught in any more explosions."

Juno's surprised expression pulled into a smirk as he visibly rolled his eye. "Yeah, sure Vespa."

With that said, Vespa turned and followed Buddy out of the room, letting the door close behind her.

Buddy was grinning mischievously at her, and Vespa couldn't help the swell of love that rose up in her chest. "If I didn't know you better darling, I'd say you actually seemed to care for our Pete."

Vespa's face twisted into a grimace. "It's a good thing you do know me better then."

Buddy hummed ambiguously and Vespa narrowed her eyes at her. She growled and lunged toward Buddy, scooping her up into a bridal carry easily. Buddy giggled in delight as Vespa carried her to the bedroom they shared before dropping her lightly onto the bed.

"You... you might be right about the thing you said earlier," Vespa said as she stood over Buddy, leaning down to fix a hair that had fallen out of place. Buddy grinned up at her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. "But if you tell any of the others I said that, I'll deny it."

Buddy giggled once more before leaning up to press a kiss to Vespa's lips. "I know, dearheart. I certainly know better than to do that."

"Good. Now I'm tired of thinking about Ransom. I've been doing that all day."

"I'm sure I can think of something else to occupy your mind," Buddy said wickedly, pulling Vespa down for another kiss. 

[magicsmutshop]

When You See My Base Line - Pt 1

part 1 of 4

Pairing: Jung Hoseok/Reader Genre: Multi-chapter smut Rating: Explicit Word count: ~2500 Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, drooling over Hoseok’s perfect face and body Summary: You need a hobby, so you take a figure drawing class. Hoseok is the nude model. Note: this is my first fic so please take good care of me! Navigation: part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Who is that man talking to Namjoon by the desk? You’ve never seen him before, but as you look him up and down, you definitely like what you see. Dark, wavy hair with blond streaks flops over his finely-drawn eyebrows. The man’s eyes appealingly crinkle as he beamed at your art teacher, showing off a wide, heart-shaped grin.  He looks a bit short standing next to Namjoon--but who doesn’t, next to that tree of a man? More importantly, his loose hoodie and baggy yellow shorts reveal swathes of honey skin and lean muscle. He has the look of a dancer, slender but powerful. Your eyes catch on his exposed thighs (those shorts were really rather short, weren’t they?). Damn, those are truly something to behold. You’d never considered yourself a leg woman before, but those yellow shorts are changing your outlook. 

As you drag your appreciative gaze back up his body and face (was that a freckle on his top lip?), you realize Yellow Shorts is looking right back at you. You get lost in his dark brown eyes for a moment until it dawns on you that you’ve just been busted checking this gorgeous man out. His smile grows impossibly wider as your cheeks grow hot. Damn your easy blushes.

You quickly break eye contact, busying yourself with digging through your leather satchel, pretending to look for your pencils. Your hands are actually trembling a bit, and you can feel your heart pounding. How can a 5-second eye lock have such an effect on you? Yellow Shorts is still talking to Namjoon, but every time you accidentally look in their direction (who are you kidding? Your stare is drawn to him like you're magnetized), you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.  

Suddenly, Namjoon breaks the tension by clapping his hands together, drawing the attention of everyone sitting at their easels. You turn your attention towards your teacher, but out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Yellow Shorts slipping away towards the screen in the corner of the studio. Is he the model for tonight? You could only be so lucky.

“Hey guys, welcome to week three! Glad you could all make it out on this rainy evening.” Namjoon addresses the class, a dimple appearing in his right cheek as he smiles. “By now, you’re all pretty familiar with the drill, right? We’ll start off with 5 minutes of quick warm-up sketches, and then move into some 10-minute poses. 15 minute coffee break at the hour mark, and then we’ll do a 45-minute pose. Sound good?” He nudges his black-rimmed glasses up his nose as your classmates murmur their agreement. 

As you pull your sketchbook out of your bag, you think back to how you’d ended up in this studio in the first place. 

---

You’d just ended an 18-month long relationship a few months prior. It was a reasonably amicable breakup--no cheating or dramatics. You had just… fallen out of love. In fact, you weren’t sure if you were ever actually in love. Your relationship had quickly fizzled out of the honeymoon stage, so towards the end, you were in a rut of watching bad tv together on the couch nightly, your ex playing Overwatch on his laptop while you browsed Twitter on your phone. Your sex life wasn’t any more interesting--you hadn’t even “Overwatch and chilled” in quite a while. One night, you looked over at him and realized you had no desire to do this for the next 40 years, and told him it was over. He shrugged, barely looking up from his game.

However, no matter how boring it had been towards the end, it had been comfortable companionship, so your apartment now seemed empty at night. Even the stereotypical post-breakup gym routine couldn’t fill the hours, although you had never looked better. You thought about getting back into the dating game, but the selection of men on the apps was, to put it lightly, terrible. 

One night, you were out at a bar with your best friend getting wine-drunk and complaining about your boredom. Ashley took a long sip of her drink before looking at you over her glass. “You know what you need? You need a hobby. And no, Twitter and Tinder don’t count.”

“Twitter is a perfectly valid hobby. I’m keeping up on the latest political news and memes! Plus did you see the latest posts from Mark Ruffalo? That guy is a genius.” You drained the last of your glass and looked around for the server. You needed another drink.

Ashley scoffed. “You’re not even keeping up with politics. You’re getting into flamewars with people over the latest episode of the Bachelorette.” Damn. Your best friend knew you too well. She turned her head and effortlessly flagged the server over while checking her watch. Twenty minutes left for happy hour specials. “Hi, can we get two more glasses of the rosé please?” 

You resisted the urge to check your Twitter account and incur more of Ashley’s scorn. “What do you suggest, then?”

“My coworker, you know the one that had the breakdown after she walked in on her husband fucking the babysitter?” Ashley paused as the server dropped off the fresh drinks.  You nodded--that was a juicy story you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. “Anyway, she started taking art classes at the rec center. She does everything from pottery to watercolors. Apparently, her psychologist recommended it, but she loves it. She never stops talking about how healing it’s been.”

You wrinkled your nose. “The rec center? I thought those classes were for kids and senior citizens.”

“She did mention there are a lot of old people in her classes. But get this--the drawing teacher was this really hot Korean guy. With dimples.” Ashley gave you a meaningful look. She really did know you too well.

“Ehh… art class? I don’t know if that’s really my thing. I haven’t touched a sketchbook in years.” You had actually been a decent artist in high school, but had dropped it in college as you got wrapped up in your classes and parties. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you’d done anything artistic, outside of mandatory bridesmaid crafting duties for bridal showers and bachelorette parties.

“Hot. Korean. Guy. With. Dimples.” Wine splashed out of Ashley’s glass as she jabbed your finger at you for emphasis. “Plus, getting some culture could be healing for you. It worked for Jessica. You really need to get out of the apartment more.”

You gently grabbed Ashley’s glass, rescuing the wine from her flailing and promptly. pouring it down your throat. “I’ll think about it.” You weren’t going to think about it. There was no way you were going to take an art class with a bunch of senior citizens, even with the lure of a hot instructor.

Two drinks later for each of you, Ashley was squinting at your credit card, trying to type the numbers into the rec center’s shitty website on her phone. “Boom, you’re signed up. Class starts Monday so you’d better get your supplies this weekend.”

In your rosé-induced haze, what you hadn’t realized is that Ashley had signed you up for a figure drawing class. You were in for a double shock when you walked into the rec center 10 minutes late that first Monday night. The first shock, that the teacher, Namjoon, really was that hot (with fantastic dimples)--and the second shock, that there was a nude middle-aged man posing on a couch on a small stage.

Much to your surprise (and Ashley’s smugness), the figure drawing class really was enjoyable. Namjoon was a great teacher--patient and encouraging--and you’d forgotten how good it felt to create something rather than just passively consuming media. You’d even gotten used to the nudity as you focused on capturing the model in efficient pencil strokes in your sketchbook. Your first few figure sketches were horribly amateur, but you soon got caught up in the art, and the first two classes had flown by. The second week’s model had been a young college-aged woman with the most amazing tiger tattoo covering her back, which had been a lot of fun to draw. You had been looking forward to what week three would bring, but you had no idea what was really in store for you.

---

As you finish setting out your pencils and erasers, you notice motion from the corner of the room again. The hot guy from earlier emerges from behind the screen… and he's no longer wearing the shorts, but is wrapped in a knee-length gray robe. Oh holy shit, he really is the model for the night. One of your pencils goes flying out of your suddenly-clammy grip and clatters across the floor, rolling to a stop in front of Yellow Shorts. Your face bursts into flames again.

His face scrunches up into a warm smile. “Oops! You might need this.” He bends over (don’t look at his ass, don’t look at his ass), scoops the pencil up, and saunters over to your desk.  The pencil appears in your line of vision where you're staring fixedly down at your sketchbook. Slowly, you look up and meet his twinkling eyes. His smile doesn’t dim as you stare blankly up at him and the little dimples in his cheeks, but he waves the pencil in front of you again. Your attention caught by his hands, you suddenly notice how long and elegant his fingers are. He wears a silver ring on his middle finger, and a delicate chain on his wrist. 

As if in a dream, you finally take the pencil from him. Your hand brushes his. His fingers are warm and dry, but you feel your breath catch at the light touch. He drags a fingertip across your palm as he lets go of the pencil. Your eyes snap up to his, which look decidedly darker. But his light tone of voice doesn’t match his eyes as he simply says, “Here you go! Please use it to draw me well!” He turns away to join Namjoon in front of the stage.

Namjoon chuckles quietly. “Everyone, this is Hoseok, our model for tonight. Some of you might know him already. He’s the dance teacher here at the rec center, but moonlights as an art model in his free time.” A dancer, of course. That explains the muscle. Your blush still hasn’t gone down and your palm is still tingling as you try not to stare at his toned legs. Namjoon turns to Hoseok and claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll start with the 5-minute warmup first, so just change your pose every time you hear the timer beep.”

Yellow Shorts--Hoseok--nods cheerfully. “Aye aye, boss!” He steps up on the stage and unceremoniously shrugs out of his robe, laying it to one side and sitting down on the chaise lounge. All of the blood that had previously been in your cheeks is now rushing down to lower parts as you’re treated to an uninterrupted view of his sinuous body. He’s perfect. His collarbones catch the light as he turns his face to the side, revealing a sharp profile. His biceps flex lightly as he lowers himself down on one elbow, accentuating the line from his elegant shoulders to his narrow waist. A very defined v-line draws your eyes from his lean abs to his relaxed cock resting on one of his gorgeous thighs. You subtly squeeze your legs together under your desk at the sight. Shit, even his dick is perfect. You genuinely think your heart might stop--but what a way to go.

Suddenly, your lustful reverie is broken by the sound of the timer going off, indicating that a minute in the quick sketch period had gone by and it’s time for Hoseok to switch poses.  You haven’t drawn a single line in your sketchbook yet. You’re fucked.

read part 2

[banashee]

 Love comes on two and four legs

 Bucky curses up a blue storm as he realizes he’s forgotten his umbrella at the therapist’s office - again. He knows he’s had the last appointment of the day though, so they’re likely closed by now, and besides, he is already halfway home. There is no use in going back now when he’ll be back again on Friday.

 In a vain attempt to stay somewhat dry, he pulls the collar of his leather jacket as high as he possibly can, hurrying through the streets of New York in pouring rain. No one looks at him twice, which is a relief. He’s still kinda new to this civilian kind of lifestyle and when he’d first started therapy, he’d been an anxious wreck. Always feeling watched, uncomfortable in his own skin to the point where he’d refused to leave the flat on his own.

 It’s been two years since then, and while there still is a lifetime of trauma to work through and he’s having his fair share of bad days, there is no denying that Bucky is generally happy these days.

 Deep thunder rumbles in the sky, and the raindrops only get thicker - Bucky is almost running, but he is long since soaking wet.

 “Seriously Thor, now? You couldn’t have waited for like 30 minutes or so?” he complains under his breath as another thunder rumbles. Then he takes a sharp corner and hurries past an alleyway.

 Or at least, he wants to hurry, but then he picks up a small noise and stops in his tracks.

 There it is again. A small, high pitched whine, coming from a dumpster.

 Bucky frowns, stepping closer. When he opens the lid and the stench of New York garbage creeps up into his nostrils, but the meowing gets louder.

 A second later, Bucky is ripping open the plastic bag where the noise is coming from and then, a tiny, dirty ball of fur looks up at him with large blue eyes. It just about breaks his heart. Carefully, Bucky reaches out and picks the kitten up into his arms.

 “Oh, sweetheart. Who did this to you?”

 Another, pitiful meow is the answer. When Bucky runs one finger of his flesh hand softly over the kittens head, it starts purring immediately.

 “You’re coming home with me.” he decides, and wraps his new little friend into his leather jacket - suddenly, getting soaked through doesn’t look as bad anymore.

 The rest of the way is wet and cold, but there is a purring ball of fur snuggled up against his chest and Bucky knows the kitten already stole his heart. Huh. So this is what it must be like to be Clint - he’ll give him so much shit for this, after years of Bucky accepting his tendency to pick up any animal that is abandoned or lost that crosses his way. Which is a lot.

 But Clint is unable to leave anything to suffer without at least trying to help, and as much as Bucky teases him for turning their apartment into a foster home for strays on a regular basis, he loves him for it. He loves him for it because it shows how much he cares.

 And now he’s picked up a stray of his own.

 When Bucky opens the door to their apartment he does so with one hand and calls,

 “Darling, I’m home!”

 A blond head peaks up from behind a huge coffee pot.

 “Hey Baby!”

 Clint gets up from his spot on the breakfast bar and crosses the room to greet his boyfriend. He stops right before he goes for a hug and just pecks him on the lips before asking,

 “What’cha got there?” while gesturing to the bundled up leather jacket in his arms.

 As if on cue, the white kitten wiggles it’s head out and meows again.

 “Found her - him? - I’ll go with ‘her’ for now - in a dumpster. Poor thing was screaming her head off in a plastic bag.” Bucky explains, and Clint carefully  reaches out, letting the kitten sniff his hand before gently petting it.

 “Poor baby. Who’s the bastard who did this to you, huh? I just want to talk.” he asks the kitten and once again, it’s purring under the touch. Clint smiles fondly. He’s always had a knack for picking up strays, and it sure looks like he’s finally rubbed off on Bucky.

 It’s not like Bucky would be anything but wonderful and supportive. He helps to take care of the little and not-so-little critters, stays up all night if needed and he will make runs to the vet and to get supplies without getting told or a single word of complaint. He’ll happily do all that and much more, but until now, it’s always been Clint who turned up home with a creature in need. Dogs, cats, birds. One one occasion, even a ferret, which was quickly picked up by his very grateful owner.

 Besides seething anger towards the people who are cruel enough to abuse and abandon animals and rapidly building up love for the kitten, this whole situation leaves Clint quietly gleeful. Oh, how the tables have turned.

 “We still have kitten formula in the kitchen, do we?” Bucky asks, scratching the fluffy chin and smiles when kitty leans into his touch.

 “Always.”

 They’re well stocked up on animal supplies, prepared for unexpected fluffy or feathery visitors any time of the day.

 “Wanna go change while the water heats up?”

 Bucky has no idea how long the cat was left in that alleyway, but he’s sure she must be starving. So he shakes his head.

 “I’m good for now.”

 The milk is prepared in no time, and Bucky feeds it to her with a small syringe and special nips just for this purpose.

 He’s always been fond of animals, and living with Clint and Lucky certainly has gotten him used to being surrounded by them. But right at this moment, something fierce and protective is burning in his chest. As the white, fluffy ball of fur is hungrily drinking the offered milk, mewling a little every now and then, and Bucky just knows he’s done for.

 He’s had this cat for not even an hour, and he already knows he’d willingly kill and die for her - Clint looks at him, with a small smile and so much love, he clearly knows what Bucky is thinking right at this moment.

 After all, Clint himself had beat up a bunch of assholes and then paid a fortune at the vet when he rescued Lucky from the very same asses he’d kicked that day.

 No words are needed, but when the kitten is no longer hungry and Bucky is stroking her fur with so much care and a happy little smile, he takes a good look at him and another one at the cat.

 Bucky looks soaked and cold, and he should have gotten out of his clothes much sooner. The cat, although dry, has dark spots caked in her fur. It’s a very sorry sight, the two of them.

 Clint runs one gentle hand through his boyfriends long dark hair and his fingertips over the kittens head. He decides to break up this cozy round before all of them fall asleep right on the spot.

 “Okay, I think Kitty here needs a bath and so do you.”

 Bathing is not exactly the kittens favourite activity. She voices her disapproval with constant tiny meows while Bucky keeps apologizing over and over, reassuring the cat that it’s all for the best.

 They seem to have come to a mutual understanding once she’s clean and wrapped into a fluffy towel. It’s been warmed up on the heater, and the sound of content purring keeps Bucky company while he steps into the shower himself.

 When washing his hair with a conditioner, he can make out the sound of the doorbell going off, quickly followed by excited barking, a female voice and laughter. All of this can only mean one thing - Kate is here and she brought Lucky back.

 Both of these things are great news, and by the time both Bucky and the cat leave the bathroom, she’s already sprawled on the armchair with her legs hanging over one side. She’s gesturing with her hand holding a mug of coffee while Clint nods along to her story, attention half on her and half on Lucky who demands belly scratches from him.

 “Katie!” With a wide grin, Bucky reaches down to ruffle her hair. She hates this particular move. Most people would lose a finger for attempting this, but Kate loves Bucky and always lets him get away with it. So naturally, he does it whenever he gets the chance.

 “Robocop!” Kate exclaims happily, catches his arm and pulls him down for a hug. Bucky needs to angle his body so the bundled up cat cradled in his other arm doesn’t get crowded.

 “Good to see you. And careful there, we’ve got a visitor.”

 The cat chirps at that, like she’s trying to say, “Hi, yes, I’m here!” and Kate scoots closer to take a look.

 “Hello tiny one. Who are you?” Kate coos at the kitten, gently reaching out. Cautiously at yet another new human, the cat sniffs at her hand, then accepting Kate petting her.

 About a minute later, three grown adults and one large dog are sprawled across the living room floor as they watch the kitten slowly emerge from the towels and start exploring her new environment.

 Lucky seems to be interested, but remains calm. He is long used to meeting other animals, and so far, he has been gentle and well behaved with all of them. As time goes on, the kitten gets a little braver and walks straight up to the dog.

 Lucky is crouched down to the floor with his front paws, back legs propped up and tail wagging. As the cat walks up to him, the message “come on, let’s play!” is written all over his face and he boops her with his nose.

 The size difference is enormous. Lucky is a large dog, and although he is of gentle nature, there is a lot of strength packed into him. He might get overexcited and waltz into people, clear the living room table with his tail or tackle Clint to the floor whenever he comes home dead on his feet, but he knows to be careful when interacting with kids or smaller animals.

 This kitten is literally the size of his snout. Despite this, she lumbers over and cautiously raises one tiny paw and quickly taps Lucky’s nose. He sniffs her, then gives her another boop with his nose. After a while of back and forth, he simply flops down onto the floor without a care in the world and the kitten curls up on Bucky’s lap again to take a long nap.

 It’s been a long, long day.

 When Bucky is curled around Clint that night, with Lucky by their feet and a little nest of blankets and a heating pad for kitty to cocoon into right next to the bed, he’s happy and content. Part of him is wondering, wishing… With a sigh, he falls asleep and the last thing he notices is the feeling of fur under his fingertips from where his hand is dangling off of the bed. Then a soft kiss to the sensitive skin on his neck, and he is out like a light.

 The next day, first thing after breakfast, they make a field trip to their usual vet. While the kitten didn’t seem to be particularly unwell, they want to make sure she is all well as she can be - especially to think of the way Bucky has found her in the first place.

 He’s done this countless times before, and yet this is different. Bucky finds himself even more concerned, even more protective than usual, but as it turns out, the kitten is as well as she can be. A little girl, mostly healthy although undernourished. With love, care, time and regular check ups, she will have a happy start in life, the vet says with a smile and sends them back on their way.

 Both Bucky and Clint are relieved to hear this - as adorable as the first evening has been, both of them have been concerned.

 “So…” Clint starts, pulling Bucky out of his kitty-watching-trance as they sit in the subway with the carrier in between them, “Do you know what you wanna call her?”

 It only takes him one long look into the blue eyes and the fluffy white fur to decide.

 “Alpine. I think she looks like Alpine.”

 As if to agree, Alpine chirps and Bucky all but melts into a puddle. This cat has totally wrapped him around her paw and she knows it.

 “I just-” he stops himself, but Clint looks at him questioningly. “I just hope whoever ends up adopting her likes that name, too.”

 Bucky is pathetically proud that he sounds as calm as he does. He has fallen heads over heels in love with this little creature, and as much as he’d love to keep her, he knows they can’t keep every stray they find. Letting go means more space for more little lives they can save.

 “Oh I’m sure he does.” Clint answers instantly.

 “Wait, you already know…?”

 “Of course. He’s kinda tall, dark hair, a bit grumpy looking. Metal arm,” Clint continues, and Bucky is left sitting there dumbfounded as he alternates between staring into his boyfriend’s eyes and into the cat carrier.

 “...Real handsome fella, great abs by the way, and don’t get me started on-” Okay, so he’s definitely blushing now. Goddamnit.

 “Oh my God, Clint, stop flirting, you’ve already got me. Can we maybe go back to the part where Alpine is somehow… Mine?”

 The little old lady sitting across from them chuckles, shoots them a fond look and then pretends to look out the window instead of eavesdropping on their conversation. She is not nearly as sneaky as she might think - or maybe she just doesn’t care.

 Clint blinks, then smiles. “Of course. You’ve found her, and I don’t think anyone would be able to separate the two of you even if they tried. Not that I’d want to. I love watching you interact with her.”

 “Aww, how sweet.” the old lady coos, and Bucky can feel his cheeks heat up even more, but there are butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t think he could fall any more in love with this wonderful man next to him. He is well aware that he is probably grinning like a fool, but he’s too happy to care.

 He is in love, life is good, and he’s a Cat Dad now. Taking the hand Clint is offering in his own, fingers intertwined, he remains mostly in silence for the rest of the ride home.

 Really, what else could he possibly wish for?

 If anyone would have told him a few years ago that this would be his life one day, he’d have thought it to be a cruel joke. But it’s very much real, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

 “Lucky, we’re home!”

 The announcement is entirely unnecessary, since the dog in question is already waiting behind the door, ready to greet his humans in the proper fashion he approves of - running face first into their legs and getting up on his hind legs to be able to reach their faces to lick.

 “Hey, boy. Yes, I know, we’ve been gone forever.” Clint is rubbing Lucky’s ears just the way he knows he loves, and is rewarded with a sweet, absolutely content, open mouthed doggy smile and a wagging tail.

 Bucky snorts - it’s not even lunch time, but try explaining that logic to the dog. It doesn’t stop him from petting Lucky just as much as always, because coming home here still feels like the best thing ever.

 “Look, your little sister is back home again.” Bucky tells the dog while gently ruffling his fur.

 With perfect timing as always, Alpine is strolling out of the now open carrier like she owns the world, then she patiently allows Lucky to lick her head a few times. She leans into the touch and flops down to the floor, completely happy where she is as long as Lucky remains close to provide a heat source.

 Later in the day, Bucky naps on the couch with Alpine curled up on his chest. Her purring vibrates through him like a little motor, and while dozing off, he can feel something settle deep in his chest.

 Bucky is on the way out of his therapists office once again when his phone vibrates with a new text message from Clint. He steps to the side in the hallway, because of course it’s pouring from the skies outside once again.

 When he opens up their ongoing conversation, there are two new messages - a video, and a row of purple hearts and crying emojis. Nothing else.

 He uses the wifi of the building to download the video, and when he lets it play, Bucky is about to melt into a puddle right there and then.

 The video shows the cozy corner by the heater in their bedroom, and Lucky is in his usual spot in his fluffy dog bed. From the side of the frame, Alpine climbs into it and snuggles up right into the dog's face.

 Alpine is as tiny and fuzzy as always, which never fails to steal anyone's heart.

 But especially next to Lucky’s giant head and the way he grooms her until she’s got enough and simply wants to snuggle more has Bucky clutching his phone in a deathgrip, smiling all over and getting impatient to be home.

 Before he heads off, he replies with just about the same emojis that Clint sent with his message, then Bucky forwards the video to Steve, Nat and Sam.

 Another night, not long after, Clint walks into the apartment to find music playing loudly.

 He doesn’t need to go far in to check what’s going on, because he can already see Bucky waltzing through the room with Alpine in his arms, looking like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

 Clint falls in love with him all over again, and he spends quite a bit of time just standing in the doorway, watching the scene in front of him with a besotted smile. He loves coming home to this - so much.

 When Bucky sees him, he waltzes over, still holding Alpine in one arm, he pulls Clint close to dance with him - and who is he to deny a beautiful man his wish when he looks at him with so much sparkling happiness in his eyes?

 It doesn’t matter that Bucky is in sweatpants and fluffy socks while Clint still wears his combat boots, carefully avoiding stepping on any toes. They’re simply living in the moment, as best as they can.

 Lucky, sprawled all over the couch, just blinks his one remaining eye open to watch what the funny humans are up to now - then he dozes back off, content just where he is.

*+~

Prompt No. 27 - Little Sister

                             Notes:  

This is the most adorable video. And it was my inspiration for writing this ♥

https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/626543621873795072/everythingfox-illegally-small-via

[pekkatroop-blog]

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[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 23

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Song after song skipped by as Rhonda kept hitting “next” on her phone. Her legs draped over the arm of the chair, feet bouncing and swaying. She picked another playlist to scroll through, but nothing sounded good there either. Piotr leaned against the table beside her, one arm casually braced on the table while the other rested on his leg.

Rhonda had told him how she’d sort of had a fight with Ellie, and then had a worse sort-of-fight with Xavier himself. She was agitated, couldn’t sit still, and even in the chair she fidgeted and sloppily tapped through her playlists. 

“I understand you care about Ellie - all of us - and you worry about us,” Piotr nodded, “but Xavier is right. You can’t try to get Ellie pulled out.” He made a little chuffing sound and shook his head, “She’s so much like you. Can you imagine if someone had tried to pull you out when you were her age?”

Rhonda slumped and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “But if someone I loved came up to me with a bunch of scars and said to think twice, you don’t think I would have listened?” She set her phone down.

Piotr took a breath and sat on the corner of the bed. His long arms could still reach to touch her shoulder gently and brush her green hair away from her neck. “I think you would have believed,” he said slowly, “that person had run into terrible luck, and that it was rare, and the chances of it happening to you were slim to none.”

She leaned back in her chair and brought one foot up onto the table. In the soft lamp light, her eyes were almost black. “Is that what you think?” she asked flatly. “That it couldn’t happen to you?”

“What I think,” he kept his tone neutral, “and what could happen doesn’t change my decision to be a part of X-Men. I promised to serve, despite the risks, so that we can make the world safer for mutants.” He withdrew his hand, but still leaned toward her from his seat on the bed.

“And when will it be enough, Piotr?” she threw her hands up. “When will you have risked enough that it’s okay to quit?”

He leveled a serious, earnest gaze on her. “When what happened to you cannot happen to anyone else.”

Rhonda sighed, her eyes drooped. “That won’t be in our fucking lifetime and you know it.”

“Sladkaya,” he said softly as he stood and rested his hands on her shoulders, “It will take that much longer if people who can help choose not to. And you know it.” Piotr rubbed his thumbs over his wife’s neck, massaging the knots. He kissed her head. “I am sorry. I don’t like seeing you upset, but I see no other way right now. Eventually, I will have to go back out there. Can you live with that?”

Rhonda melted under his touch, tired and drained, “If the DMC get you…”

His thumbs slid in circles, "I know you would stop at nothing to bring me home again." He chuckled, "I pity anyone stupid enough to get in your way. But," Piotr rhythmically patted her shoulders, "That's all for another day. Not tonight."

"Not tonight," Rhonda agreed with a sigh. 

Rhonda slept miserably that night. She had vivid, confusing dreams and couldn't seem to stay asleep. She couldn't lay still, and tried huddling closer to Piotr. A few scant hours of sleep finally came to her when she threw the covers off and let herself get cold.

--

"Sladkayaaa…" The smell of coffee slowly filled her senses, along with his voice, every bit as warm and comforting as a cup of coffee. 

Rhonda groaned, “Mm...Piotr?” Forcing her eyes open, she squinted against the glare. 

“No, it’s Scott,” he tried to imitate an American accent, then gave it up with a little laugh. “I wanted to let you sleep, but it’s after ten now. How are you feeling, my love?”

Rubbing her eyes, she slowly sat up, “Like I should’ve taken a sedative last night. I forgot.” As he armored down and she took in his bright smile and the way it was framed by his dark, thick beard, she couldn’t resist smiling herself. “What?”

He handed her the cup of coffee in his hands, and she sipped, relishing the hazelnut cream he’d added for her. “A package got delivered,” he explained, “and I meant to wait until anniversary, but I’m too excited.” His bright blue eyes sparked the closest thing he had to mischief.

“Babe, I think you’ve said that for almost every single present you’ve ever gotten me,” Rhonda snickered into her cup.

“That’s not my fault,” he shrugged, “You have the best face when you are surprised, and I want to see it as often as possible!” Piotr held out a white box, tiny in his massive palm. 

Rhonda glanced from the box to his face, where the late morning sun coming in from the window caught the little smattering of silver-grey hairs in his beard. She loved seeing him smile like this, eager, happy. Cross-legged, she nestled the coffee cup in her lap and took the little white box. She looked at her husband again, smiled, and bit her lip. The box was light, and when she lifted the lid she gasped. 

One wide and hefty band and a narrower, more delicate band shone against the white interior. “New rings?” tears sprang to Rhonda’s eyes, quickly obscuring her vision as she laughed with pure joy. 

Piotr chuckled and thumbed away her tears, “See? I love surprising you.” He gently took the box from her and slipped the smaller band onto her finger. It didn’t go on smoothly like any precious metal, instead slightly gripping her skin.

“What is this?” Rhonda sniffled and wiped away more tears so she could look at it. The ring looked like burnished bronze - dark golden brown with a little bit of a green shimmer. 

“They’re silicone,” Piotr squeezed the band meant for him and showed how flexible it was. “They’re for people who work with their hands all the time, and they stretch.” He let her slip the ring onto his finger, and he armored up. Rhonda instinctively held up a hand to guard her eyes, but the band stayed in place. 

Her mouth fell open. “No way! How many replacement bands did we go through for you because you’d armor up and they’d pop right off?” She made a sound like a small explosion, splaying her fingers wide.

Working his fingers over his new ring and admiring the feel of it, Piotr rolled his eyes, “It was only two, Sladkaya.”

She grumbled sheepishly, “When the metal pieces are flying at your face, it feels like more than two.” 

Piotr leaned closer to his wife until their lips were only inches apart. “It won’t happen with these,” he could still feel her grinning as he kissed her. She had just barely slipped her tongue into his mouth when she pulled back suddenly.

“Sorry,” she covered her mouth, “My breath must be rank.”

“Drink more coffee,” he winked.

Rhonda picked up her cup again to resume drinking and stared at her new ring. “[I love you so much, Piotr. Thank you.]” 

He touched a knuckle to her chin and returned, “[Anything for you, my love.]” Piotr pulled back and collected the packaging to put in the recycling. “I will still get you a proper ring, with a gemstone,” he added, “These are supposed to be for when we’re working, gardening, things like that.” He patted her thigh so firmly it was almost a slap. “Now. Are you going get ready for the day, or keep snoozing?”

--

Rhonda was squeezing her hair dry with a towel when she emerged from the bathroom, and saw her husband sitting on the floor with his sketchbook. “What’s that?” she came to look over his shoulder. 

He glanced up, then back at his work, and said, “Hello, naked wife.” His pencil scritched away, his fingers moving delicately over the fine-toothed page. “That room where you dance - I thought we could finish repairing it. You spend enough time in there.” Rhonda knelt next to him to see what he was drawing. “How would you feel about offering a class for the children? You used to love tutoring, maybe teaching would be good for you.”

Rhonda hesitated, honestly considering it. “I dunno...I could try. I dunno who’d actually want to learn from me but...are these floor plans?”

“Yes!” he cheerfully showed her the three variations he was sketching. He illustrated full mirrors on either this wall or that wall, opaque shutters over the windows that could be retracted to let in natural light, rigs for this type of lighting or that type of lighting, shelving over here for supplies and sound equipment. “If you go in there today, we could get a feel for what you would like in a proper dance studio.”

“We could!” she slipped her arms around his neck from the side and kissed his cheek.

They shared a laugh as he circled her waist with one arm, nuzzling into her neck and damp hair. “Do you think you would want to perform again?” he asked. “You have always been a thrill to watch.”

“Maybe,” she scoffed, then added with a growing smile, “Yeah, probably. Ask me again in a few months.” Her dark eyes were soft. She looked at her right hand against his massive steel arm. Fortunately, she was past hating how her hand looked with a missing finger; she was used to it. Fresh out of the shower and still naked, her inked Xs were stark against her husband’s body. If Rhonda looked at the marks that filled her arm and spread over her back and side too long, her thoughts filled with desperate wishes that she could peel that skin off and get different skin. 

She camouflaged her sigh to sound hopeful rather than depressed. “Hey...do you think...Do you think you could paint my arm again? Like that zhostovo you did a while back?”

Piotr gave a long look over her arm, tracing the length of it with one warm hand. “It did look good on you, didn’t it?” Taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, then her palm, he said, “Of course. Get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen. The lighting is better in there.” He gave her ass a firm, playful pat and she got up with an equally playful yelp.

--

The brush was every bit as cold and wet as she remembered as Piotr made petal after petal with each stroke, careful but decisive. Rhonda’s arm was ticklish, and had to try harder than last time to keep still. Piotr’s phone rang, but when he saw it was Deadpool, he let it go to voicemail. 

“You know he’s gonna keep calling you,” Rhonda warned.

Piotr frowned with disregard. “He can call. I don’t have to answer every time. The last ten times he called, it was to complain about arguments he gets into with Cable.” He glanced up to wink at his wife, “I’ve told him to try cracking fewer nasty jokes.”

“Ha! I bet he took that one to heart.” She rolled her eyes and watched the brush flick and swirl and flick. It was hypnotic, soothing, even if it was also ticklish. The flowers were even softer than last time, their contrast against the solid black background he painted was even more stark. “This is so beautiful, honey. Thank you.”

He smiled without looking up, focused on the fine details he was adding now. “[As if I would ever refuse the chance to make you smile.]”

Sure enough, Wade called again. And again. Piotr declined the calls and set his phone on do-not-disturb mode. Rhonda asked, “Are you sure you don’t need to get that?”

Piotr’s cheeks puffed as he blew a long breath. “It’s fine. When I talk to him again, he will give me some grief about it, but he will have figured it out. Whatever it is.”

“If you’re sure,” Rhonda shrugged. Holding out her arm to admire the finished painting covering it, her face was radiant. “You know I’ve never been that into tattoos, but I could rock this, huh?”

As he packed up his acrylics and set about washing his brushes in the sink, he replied, “I have to say, I have not seen many tattoos based on Russian folk art. But if anyone could pull it off, it’s you, Sladkaya.”

She got that telltale mischievous glint in her eye, and gave a cursory look down the hall from the kitchen. No one was coming. Rhonda got up from the kitchen table and crossed over to where her husband stood at the sink. “You know what else I can pull off…” she leaned close and whispered something to him in Russian that made him snap straight and look around as if anyone else was around to hear and understand it.

“Sladkaya, you know better than to--”

“I’ll race you to the bedroom.”

“Nyet,” he hustled to get his paint kit in order and carried it with one arm, while he quickly rounded the kitchen island to heft Rhonda almost to his shoulder with the other. In a brisk walk back to their room upstairs, Piotr grumbled in Russian all manner of things he would like to do.

In the privacy of their room, they leaned closer, sharing their breath. Rhonda’s deft fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and unzipped his pants--

The window shattered as a chunk of concrete flew through it. A shout came from outside, “Colossus! You shiny fuck! Stop ghosting me!” 

Piotr and Rhonda shared a withering look and said in unison, “Wade.” Piotr gently squeezed her arm as he stood, zipping his pants back up, “Whatever it is, I will tell him not today.”

Avoiding the broken glass as best he could, some of the pieces crunched under his boots anyway. “Wade,” he called from the balcony, “I didn’t answer for a reason--”

“The Juggernaut’s been spotted near a truck stop!” Wade yelled. “Maybe he’s looking for a cheap hooker or some heroin, but I bet he’s after something bigger.”

Piotr clenched his jaw for a moment, then said, “Make your point, Wade.” Rhonda crept closer to her husband, avoiding the broken glass.

“My point,” Wade shouted with exasperation, “Is that we intercepted some messages between the Brotherhood that they’ve got some mutagenic juice they wanna pass out. You’d know if you answered any of my calls instead of blowing me off for your Misses! Anyhoo! A whole truckload of flu shots is passing through where my JuggCam shows your buddy hiding out. Wanna bet they’re gonna add the mutagen to the flu shots? It’s just the thing all the anti-vax mommy blogs have been waiting for. They’re gonna be all smug about it, well NOT ON MY WATCH!”

Piotr thought a moment, then answered, “Juggernaut isn’t smart enough for a plan like that.”

“Mystique is,” Cable’s voice rose. “We think she’ll have a team take over the truck while Juggernaut causes a diversion.”

“I can handle Mystique and whatever other dumb saps she has with her, but not if Juggernaut rips me in half again.” Wade made an exaggerated groan, “You haven’t been out with me in months! Don’t make me say it…”

Piotr and Rhonda could just barely hear Cable grumble, “Jesus…”

“Say what, Wade?” Piotr shook his head.

“I need you! Come on, please? Let Nine-Volt play with her other silver bullet and come give Jugg-Jugg payback for putting a dent in your head!”

Rhonda hissed, “He what?”

Piotr ground his teeth. Duty called, but with awful timing. He just couldn’t take chances with the Juggernaut out on the loose. He heard his wife sigh. He looked back at her, dreading having to tell her he was going out for this one, and was astounded to find she was putting on her shoes.

“Rhonda, what are you--”

Her brows were soft, slightly raised, but her mouth was set in a hard line. “You can’t sit this one out, and I can’t stay at home worrying about you. I’m coming with you.”

“Sladkaya, no,” he tried to stride to the door and beat her to it, but she had her hand on the door knob before he was in arm’s reach. “Wade is right. He hit me hard enough to knock out a tooth, and also tore Wade in half. You know how dangerous the Juggernaut is. What do you think he will do to you?”

“I’m staying out of the fighting,” she said firmly. “But I’m going with you.”

Piotr knew that tone and how it brooked no argument all too well. He sighed. “And what if Juggernaut finds you?”

With grim confidence, Rhonda said, “I’ll talk to him.” Her husband was frozen, rooted to the spot, so she added, "You don't have time to argue. Let's go."

[lilliannaroberts34-blog]

Saving Lillianna Chapter 2

Lillianna POV I wake up the next morning still at Eddie's apartment. He's leaning against the bar eating a piece of pizza while looking at his phone. He turns around as I sit up and gives me a smile. "Good morning, Lillianna." He says. I smile back and look around. "Where's Olivia?" "She had a family emergency and had to go to Wisconsin for a while."He says offering me a cup of coffee. "Now, um, she asked if you could stay her while she was gone, and I said yes. I hope you don't mind, you were slightly unconscious when she came over last night." I take the cup he offers and smile at him. "Thanks... I hope I'm not burdening you." I say taking a sip of the coffee. "Not at all. I do have to be off for work, there's food in the fridge if you get hungry, so Make yourself at home, You can take a shower if you want, and um I think there are clean towels in the bathroom. Just make yourself at home, I made up that extra bedroom for you so you'd have your own little space." He says. I smile and nod. "I'll be back at 4." "Thank you so much." I say. He nods and grabs his jacket. "I'll stop and grab some drinks for you on the way home okay?" I nod and he smiles. "See you soon." He says before walking out of the apartment. I look around and notice that the place is a mess so I figure out the perfect way to occupy my time. After a nice long hot shower, I quickly change into a pair of black shorts and a grey tank top before pulling my long blonde hair into a messy bun at the back of my head. I look in the mirror at my bruised face and sigh. I quickly walk out of the bathroom gathering the dirty towels and clothes off of the floor to pile them into the corner of the living room. After starting the washing machine I turn my attention to the piles of dishes in the sink and set to work. After having to wait for the hot water heater to catch up with demand three times I finally finish the dishes then set to cleaning out the refrigerator. There are old take out boxes, empty beer cans, molding food, the three boxes of pizza, dried tater tots, stale chocolate, and a drawer full of stickiness enough to make me gag. With the fridge cleaned out, I turn my attention to the floors. I sweep four times before looking for a mop bucket. I finally find it full of old beer cans and shake my head. The mop looks like it's never seen a day of use in it existence so I fill the bucket full of nice smelling floor cleaner before going over the floor once. The dryer goes off, so while I wait for the floor to dry I carefully fold the towels up along with Eddie's clothes. I leave the clothes on the armchair but take the towels to put on the shelf in the bathroom. I go over the floors again before carefully cleaning the bathroom and Eddie's room. I put all of his clothes away before making the bed, throwing the unGodly amount of beer bottles away, and gathering the rest of the dirty clothes.

After a day of cleaning, I finally flop down on the couch with a reheated piece of pizza and flip the T.V. on. I don't even notice dozing off.

Eddie POV "Something is different." Venom says as I carry the bags towards the apartment. I look around, but I don't notice anything odd. "It smells funny." "I have no idea what you are talking about, V." I say. When I push the door open the smell of cleaning supplies dances around my nose. I kick the door closed and take in the completely cleaned apartment. Lillianna bolts up on the couch looking over at us. "Oh, hi, sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." She says stretching. I look around at the place and can't help but marvel at how clean it is. "Whoa." I mumble setting the groceries on the bar. "Sorry, I hope I didn't overstep.... I'm not used sitting t around all day, so I um.. I clean up a little, not that it was messy or anything I just thought-" "Lilly, calm down, calm down." I say holding my hands up. "You didn't overstep thank you for all this... I've been meaning to clean but... well, I'm not home that often. "It smells nice in here. And it looks a lot better." "It looks great." I say trying to reassure her.  I start unpacking the groceries and she slowly walks over to peer into the bags. "I can put the stuff up." She offers quietly. "I got it, it's not that much. I didn't know what to get you to drink not sure what you like to eat either... So um, if you want I'll leave you my debit card and you can go get some stuff tomorrow. I'm pretty sure you don't want to live off pizza while you are here." I offer. She peers over into the bags as I pull out a couple of packs of drinks, tater tots, chocolate, pizza rolls, bread, peanut butter and stuff for tacos and steaks. "I will warn you I'm not the best cook so forgive me." I chuckle as I throw the bags away. She smiles before looking over at me. "I could cook, I mean if you want." She offers. "Lillianna, you don't have to do that, you didn't have to clean either, but thank you." She looks kind of hurt and Venom growls at me. "I mean I don't want you to feel like you have to but if you want to like I said make yourself at home." She looks up at me smiling. "I was thinking tonight maybe tacos? Or we could do steak, I got some stuff for breakfast, um, if you want we could go out. There's a great diner I know they have excellent burgers." I offer. She looks slightly overwhelmed at the mention of going out and her hand flies to her face as if to hide the bruise. "I, um..." She trails off. "How about we stay in? Sorry, I wasn't really thinking." She looks like she feels guilty after I change my mind. Shit I suck. Got that right. Venom growls. "I'm not very good around new people...it's amazing I can even talk to you. And I've never been able to really make decisions so why don't you pick?" She offers. "I want to see how her food tastes."Venom says to me. I almost roll my eyes but I remember that she's looking at me expectantly. "How about tacos?" She looks very relieved, so I smile at her. "That sounds good." She smiles. "I'm gonna grab a beer and get out of your way. Need any help?" I offer. She shakes her head.

After a little while, an amazing smell is wafting through the apartment. "My God that smells amazing." I mumble. "I bet she does too." "Dude, not cool." I grumble low enough so Lilly won't hear. "You are attracted to her." "Cool  it, V." I demand. "Eddie?" She calls softly. I look over to see her staring at me in confusion. "Sorry, thinking out loud." I lie through my teeth. She smiles before turning back to stirring the ground beef stirring up the amazing smell. My stomach involuntarily growls making her turn to look. "Sorry." I mumble again. "It's ready, if you are." "More than ready." "More than ready." I say getting up. She set out plates cheese and the can of refried beans I had in the cabinet with cheese caramelized on top. "Um, dig in. I guess." She chuckles nervously. I make my taco she stands awkwardly to the side and looks around the apartment. "Come eat, Lilly." I say. She looks over at me confused. "Oh, okay." She says look walking over to the counter. We make our plates and walk into the living room. I sit down with her on the couch and turn on the T.V. This is the best thing I've ever eaten. Venom says. I nod in agreement as I continue to stuff my face. "Lilly, this is great." I mumble around a mouthful of taco. She blushes and looks down at her plate. "Thanks." She says smiling.

I walk into my bedroom ready to crash for the night when a phone starts going off. I turn over to grab my phone, but quickly realize its not mine. I get up out of bed and walk to Lillianna's doorway, she's sitting on the bed holding her phone up with a hand covering her mouth. "She is upset." "No shit." I grumble to myself.

“Talk to her.”

 Lillianna looks up at me and quickly puts the phone down. "Are you okay?" I ask walking in. She nods slowly laying her phone to the side. "Yeah, just now turned my phone back on..." "Nick throwing a fit?" I say sitting on the edge of the bed. She nods again with a sigh. "We should have eaten him, he is upsetting the Small One." "Don't worry, you're safe here." I say trying to calm Venom and Lillianna. She looks up with a soft smile before I let out a yawn. "I'm gonna go to bed. If you need anything to let  me know, yeah?" I say. "Thanks." "Yeah. Oh, and thanks for washing my clothes and cleaning the apartment and dinner... then doing the dishes after dinner. "You're welcome." She smiles. "Kiss her." “What the hell?” I mumble. She looks at me confused and I clear my throat. “Night.” I say quickly before she can ask any questions. “Night, Eddie.” I quickly close her door.

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (17 of ?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Also on FFN and AO3 (still need to update there!) (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @cocohook38, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY COCOHOOK38 HERE!!!!!******

****ALSO!!!!!!!!!!!!Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!*************

Present (Thursday)...

Many years ago, before swearing off alcohol for good, Jones had once gotten so drunk that he’d slipped on a steep trail to the beach and slid the rest of the way down, tumbling and bouncing nearly 12 meters before landing among the rocks below. Waking from that little mishap probably had the edge over how he was feeling this morning… but not by much.

“Papa?”

Jones gritted his teeth, knowing that shifting positions on the couch would drive a stake straight through his chest and out the other side, as it had done all night long.

“Sorry to wake you,” murmured Alice from somewhere nearby. “We’re off, though, and I wanted…”

She broke off, and Jones dragged one bleary eye open to see the anxiety on her face as she glanced at Robin. “Do you think I should stay?”

“No,” grunted her father. He considered trying to sit up but knew he’d probably only manage to compound Alice’s worry. “Cap’n Smee needs you as rascal wrangler.”

Even clearing his gravelly throat felt like someone stabbing him with an electric screwdriver. Squinting in the direction of the coffee table, Jones was met with the sight of his water glass moving toward his face. Alice held the straw as she offered it to him.

“Postpone, then. We could call everyone. Tell them we need another day to prepare.”

“Please, love,” he wheezed. “Don’t endanger them on my account.”

Jones was mostly successful at hiding a wince as he took the water glass from his daughter. She bit her lip but seemed to concede the point. From the table behind her, Alice produced a pill organizer, saying,

“I saw how hard it is for you to open your medicine bottles, so we thought this would be helpful.” She shook it and the resulting rattle made her grin. “All set up for you, see? It’s even got a divider for morning and night.”

She held it out for him, and after securing the water at his side, Jones gingerly accepted.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Alice beamed at him, glanced at the clock, then said,

“Suppose it’s about time for your next dose; want to see if you can get it open?”

Jones humored her and pressed the tab that popped the Thursday, AM lid, but said,

“I should probably wait until I’ve had some breakfast.”

“Oh yes! Well, there’s porridge, or maybe you’d like some toast…”

“Later,” he said. “I promise you I can still operate a toaster.”

Robin moved closer then, clutching an ice pack. “Aunt Regina said to tell you that if you need anything, to just call and she’ll be right over.”

“Thank you.” He rested the pill box on his abdomen, slowly reached up, and took the ice from his daughter-in-law. Very carefully, he held it against his swollen cheek, which had nearly obstructed the vision in that eye and was currently throbbing at jig tempo. “I wouldn’t want to pull her from the search, though.”

Robin and Alice exchanged a glance.

“Oh,” said Robin. “I guess no one told you. They found Emma’s car last night.”

“Car?” repeated Jones, thoroughly confused. “Found it where?”

“At the edge of town,” Alice sighed. “Near the monster's territory; no surprise there.”

Quietly, Robin added,

“It seems Killian took Emma’s keys when he left the hospital.”

“Then what the bloody hell were we doing scouring the streets of Storybrooke all afternoon?” Jones glanced around in search of his phone, then realized he had left it plugged in on the kitchen counter. If he’d gotten any messages about the situation, he may not have heard them.

“Apparently, she didn’t notice,” said Robin.

“She is a bit preoccupied,” Alice added, her eyes sad.

“Anyway, this all went down after my aunt dragged your sorry butt back here, but once the car was found, Emma basically just called off the search. No point now; he’s back out of reach again.”

Jones just stared at Robin for a moment, bewildered by this turn of events. True, Emma had been emotional and likely not thinking clearly when she’d leapt through the hospital window in pursuit of her husband. She may have even been dealing with the aftereffects of being knocked unconscious--though she wouldn’t admit it--so it was understandable for her to have overlooked her missing keys. For a little while, anyway. But after hours and hours on foot… wouldn’t the idea of driving as an easier alternative have crossed her mind at least once? She didn’t realize then that the keys were gone?

And then, upon finding the car, to give up immediately? It all seemed very strange to Detective Jones. He’d come to know Emma rather well in the past three years, and she wasn’t the sort to be so easily beaten. Was it possible that the loss of her daughter, and then her husband, had changed her so much?

Or could the monster's influence be tainting her actions somehow?

A chime sounded from Robin’s phone. She checked the screen with a grimace. “We’d better go. We’re already late.”

Alice made a small whine of distress and threw herself down on her knees beside her father. “You’ll be okay, won't you? You won’t get taken over by the mind control too?” She reached for his hand. “Maybe you could come with us on the cruise! We packed some extra supplies, and I have experience going hungry if it comes to that…”

Painfully, Jones gripped her hand and brought it to his cheek in as much of a hug as he could manage. “Don’t worry about me, Starfish. I’m in no danger lying here on this bloody couch.” He placed a kiss on her knuckles, released her hand, then reached up to caress her face. “I’m sure we’ll have a breakthrough soon. Someone will find a solution and then everyone can come home, safe and sound.”

Alice sniffled and then smiled bravely. “We all have our roles to play, yes? Mine and Robin’s is to help with the kids, and yours… is to stay right here on this couch for the next month until you’re all healed up.”

She patted the cushion for emphasis, and Jones nodded ruefully.

“You are absolutely correct.”

Uncertainty crossed Alice’s face as a gathering cloud. “And where does the worry fit in?”

“Worry has its role too,” he admitted. “It’s an unavoidable part of love.”

Alice gently rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, Papa.”

“Likewise. Be careful out there.”

“We will. Maybe our phones will work this time. Or in an emergency, we have that radio gadget on board.”

“Good. Speaking of phones, would you mind fetching mine here?”

Alice jumped to her feet, but Robin was already on it. She lay the device on the coffee table, reached down for a farewell squeeze of Jones’ hand, then headed for the door.

“I’m gonna go start the car. Feel better soon, Pops.”

After taking one reluctant step in that direction, Alice returned to her father’s side for one more gentle hug goodbye.

“I love you, Starfish.”

“I love you, Papa.”

Eventually, Alice gathered enough courage to scamper out the door, leaving Jones alone with his thoughts and his pain.

Holding the ice pack in place, he growled and snatched the phone off the table. Regina had texted him the developments, including a photo of the yellow Bug on the side of the road. The car’s passenger side bore minor scratches from the tree against which it had come to rest. From its reported position, Jones calculated the distance to the boundary at which guard slaves would start to appear: approximately a four-hour walk for someone in perfect health. If Emma had not inexplicably called off the search, they may have had enough time to catch up to a slowly moving Killian before he reached it, depending on when the car had been discovered.

But now? Twelve hours later? Jones had a fairly good idea of Killian’s whereabouts.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

*****

Master rarely ventured forth from its compound. There was little need, as it had everything required for survival: its slaves, its Voices, eyes and ears to the surrounding kingdoms. Every requirement, every desire easily fulfilled by a simple directive to one of its limitless supply of minions eager to comply.

It wasn't that Master would be in any danger. It knew all. It could sense approaches. Any remote threat would quickly be extinguished by some of its more expendable slaves long before coming anywhere near Master’s location. So its reclusive nature had more to do with conserving energy.

But this day, Master had a craving. Easily satisfied, and soon, yet the object of that craving seemed hesitant to appear. Despite the sense of lethargy pinpointing his location, Master was in no mood to be merciful. Patience was a virtue not commonly practiced by the monster. It saw no reason to begin now.

Six crustacean legs picked their way through rotting leaves and bone dry pine needles, sometimes sinking deep into the spongy earth, yet never causing a stumble or slowing of pace. In fact, the dozen barefoot slaves accompanying their Master had much more trouble in that regard. Their frequent tumbles to the forest floor mingled with early morning birdsong to provide a jarring marching cadence for the trek. Fixated on the presence hidden somewhere nearby, Master ignored the ruckus. Soon. Soon it would be sated.

An unremarkable brush pile called out to Master, a mess of pine boughs and withered leaves gathered at the base of a tree a hundred paces ahead. Any other being may have overlooked it as a natural occurrence. But outward appearances could not deceive Master’s focused mind. He was under there, the prize, his flavor sharpening with increasing proximity. Master’s spindly legs quickened as its whole being pulsed with need. Its contingent of followers were hard-pressed to keep up. One by one, they dropped back until their Master had a sizeable lead.

The crab-like creature could build up to an impressive velocity with proper motivation. Top speeds required a 90-degree rotation for sideways travel, which Master normally found to be quite undignified. But this close to its quarry, dignity took lowest priority. Master's leading set of legs plowed into the brush pile like a tsunami, sending sticks, leaves, and soil exploding in all directions. The tree trunk was the only thing halting the creature's forward momentum; without its presence, Master would likely have skidded several yards beyond its target and been required to backtrack. As soon as it centered its balance over the pile, its hands, claws, and tentacles were tearing violently at the brush.

The pile stirred. Not only from Master’s frantic digging, but underneath. A flash of skin, the slightest hint of faded gray and blue. Then there came a faint groan. Hearing that Voice again, even on the very edges of perception, sent a quiver of ecstasy to the center of Master’s being. It was not enough; not loud enough, not strong enough. Not soon enough. Master’s indiscriminate pincer dove to the very depths of the pile and clamped with the force of a crocodile’s snapping jaws. Chitin grated against bone, warm, sticky blood drizzled onto leaf litter. Debris shifted, feeble grunts tickled Master’s core with delight, but did not satisfy.

In frustration, Master shifted its claw, altering the angle until a second deep laceration intersected the first.

“Come awake, my Tripod,” hissed the creature as it continued brushing all cover from the battered body beneath. Hopelessly squirming against the vice mauling his left ankle, Tripod finally emerged from the makeshift nest, trying and failing to roll onto his back. The iron grip on his lower leg kept him firmly on his side. He sounded dazed as he breathed a tearful,

“Master…”

“My faithful one,” cooed a charmed Master, its pride over Tripod’s fortitude momentarily overcoming the yearning. “I watched them take you and despaired of your return.” Master yanked on the captive limb and reveled in the catch in Tripod’s breath. “None emerge from that place except as a corpse.”

A tentacle brushed stray soil from the patterned fabric riding high on one discolored hip.

“Did my Tripod miss me as thoroughly as I have missed him?”

It did not fail to notice Tripod’s efforts to pull away from the serpentine tentacle. And that was okay; even the most faithful avoided its touch while simultaneously surrendering their bodies and Voices to their Master’s benefit. The tentacle inched higher, the pincer ground against bone, and Tripod struggled for breath.

“Master,” he whispered, “please…”

Sharp armor slipped on blood, rending more flesh from bone. The slave voiced a feeble yelp and curled toward the mangled limb, but other, older injuries restricted his movement.

“You know what it is I require.”

Another tear slipped from Tripod’s eye as he nodded. Shuddering, the slave shifted his weight, trying to relieve the pressure on his joints.

“Not... Not here. Please,” he begged. The pincer tightened in displeasure; any harder and it might sever the foot entirely. Master’s tentacle slithered onward as it contemplated. Had the days of freedom somehow dulled this slave’s loyalty? Tripod whimpered, his hand balled into a tight fist.

“I may not make it back,” winced Tripod, and Master’s grip relaxed fractionally. Thinking practically, that was all. Good boy.

“No need to concern yourself.” Master stroked him. He groaned. “Your Master will carry you.”

Need swelled within. A delicate claw slipped beneath a silken thread placed into skin much more precisely than any Z could have mustered. In a concerning show of resistance, Tripod wriggled his arm out from underneath himself and reached up as if to shove away his Master’s hand. The attempt was easily overcome by a savage pinch to the wrist, drawing blood and a helpless whine. A mere appetizer. Not nearly enough. Master tore the first suture free, growling,

“Give yourself, Tripod. I must feed.”

Overall, Master had no cause for worry. Tripod had returned on his own, and even if his time among friends had temporarily weakened his loyalty, it would not take long to retrain him. The pincer shifted again, adding additional stripes to the flayed skin of Tripod’s ankle, and the monster shivered a satisfied smile at its slave’s reaction.

The favorite was back. And Master knew exactly how to make him scream.

[sunyoonandstars]

✨Linked✨ || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 17

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series || Soulmate & College AU

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Credit goes to the incredible @789cream for creating this beautiful moodboard for my series. Thanks again!

Despite your efforts to keep him at a distance, following his instincts, Yoongi eventually approaches you from behind to carefully hold back your hair, just in case, and rub your back in soothing circles. Soon, he can feel your breathing slow down and your tense muscles relax.

“I’m — I’m sorry. This —”, you stutter, your voice shaky, heavy with tears.

“It’s okay, y/n. Just inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Don’t think. Just breathe.”

Being this close to you, actually feeling your body press against his, feeling your warmth under his palm, is almost more than Yoongi can take. The tattoo on his wrist keeps burning relentlessly. Your relief, however, makes his pain seem insignificant. For you, he’d go through hell and still smile, he realizes as you let your head fall back and onto his shoulder. For you, he’d do anything and expect nothing in return.

Pairing You x !Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

Word count 4.040

‘siblings’, according to age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home as implied in earlier parts of this series)

fluff, angst, hints at/of smut

!Warning/s! mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts 

Previously, on ‘Linked’…

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop.

Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And, haunted by the ghosts of your past, the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate.

After texting back and forth for days with the man only known to you as your ‘Soulmate’, you are forced to break contact since he is starting to get too close and your boyfriend Jimin is anything but pleased with that. When your paths, however, cross, the ominous ‘Suga’, as he calls himself, refrains from revealing his true identity to you - which would mean an instant link of souls and the end of his torture -  and, instead, is set on making his way into your life the right way.

A fateful accident at your workplace is followed by a visit to the emergency room and a falling out with your boyfriend, Jimin, leading you to turn to a virtual stranger for comfort …

CHAPTER 17

Shaking your head, you step back from Suga’s fridge.

“What’s this? Did you win a lifetime supply of Red Bull or something?”, you laugh, grabbing two cans before you make your way back to him. 

“I wish”, he chuckles, his eyes following your every move as you, leaning against his desk, open both your drinks and hand him his. “I just hate wasting time on sleep, that’s all.” 

“Wow, that attitude can’t be healthy”, you note before you throw back your head to take a first sip of the ice-cold, almost sickeningly sweet liquid, pretending not to notice that Suga’s gaze still rests on you, the expression on his face absent. 

Somehow, knowing that he is watching you and his mere presence, the warmth emanating from his skin, Suga’s hot breath brushing past you, excite you in ways that your boyfriend doesn’t and hasn’t in a long time. It’s like every movement of his, howsoever small and casual, educes an immediate reaction from your body. It’s not even something you provoke consciously. You can’t control it. And you're not sure you like it. Because you know for a fact that Suga will never be yours to have, his soul having linked with that of another. And then there’s still Jimin. The man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with but from whom you’ve been, slowly but surely, growing further and further apart.

“What’s with that sigh?”, you hear Suga ask, the sound of his warm voice leading you to jolt out of your wandering thoughts. 

“Sigh? What sigh?”

“So you don’t even notice anymore, huh?”, he raises a brow at you, a fond grin playing on his lips. “You kept sighing like the weight of the freaking world rested on your shoulders.” 

“No, I didn’t”, you pout, hiding your embarrassment by emptying half of your Red Bull can in one go. Which was probably not your best idea. 

“You know what? I think it’s about time we get out of here. I think we need a break.” 

Surprised at Suga’s newly found enthusiasm, you watch him get up, a bright smile stretching across his handsome face.

“What the hell?”, you wonder out loud, eying him suspiciously. “Just a few minutes ago you could’ve been mistaken for a zombie. And now you’re … What? Willy Wonka? Where’s that energy coming from? You’re scaring me.”

“Who the fuck is Willy Wonka?”

“You didn’t just ask that”, you gasp, dramatically clutching your chest while Suga grabs his jacket and ushers you towards his studio’s door. 

“Afraid I did”, he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh, come on. You’re just pulling my leg. Right? Everyone knows —”

“Charlie and The Chocolate Factory? Yeah. I was kidding. I’m not as creepy as Willy Wonka, though, I swear.” 

“He’s not creepy!?”

“Oh, come on. The crazy eyes? The weird voice?”

“Well. Maybe a little bit. Just a tiny little bit creepy. God. Now that I think about it — Damn you.” You playfully punch him, your voice echoing throughout the dark corridor leading to the building’s lobby. “You just ruined one of my favorite childhood movies.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” 

“No. You’re right. I’m not.” 

“At least you’re honest.”

“Always.” 

“Tsk”, you scoff, not even for a second doubting his words to be true, though. With Suga, there are no lies, no half-truths. With him, it’s all honesty. Something you had been craving for a while now. A reason not to pretend. And it felt like you could finally breathe fresh air again after having been locked in a suffocating dungeon for months or even years. 

“Where are we going anyway?”, you ask as the two of you step outside into the brisk night. You had no idea it was already this late. The hours with Suga, locked away in his studio, hiding from the cruel world outside of its four walls had passed far too quickly. 

“We’re going for a drive.” 

Sliding into the passenger seat of Suga’s old Kia feel surprisingly natural to you. Within no more than two days, this is the third time you ride his car, entrusting your safety and life to a man you barely know. Yet, there is no place you would rather be right now. And no person you’d rather be with. 

“Where are you taking me?”, you ask as the car picks up speed now that you left the campus’ parking lot to turn right and onto the main road. Street lights, dark house facades, and glinting neon signs keep rushing past you like a gloomy dreamscape. You encounter barely any other drivers at this time of night. The streets are almost abandoned, the peace and quiet giving the scenery a post-apocalyptic atmosphere. 

“I’m taking you to one of my favorite places. To clear our heads.” 

“Sounds vague.”

“Tsk.” 

“That’s it? That’s really all the info I’m gonna get?”

You watch him as Suga steers the broken up vehicle into a tunnel, the flickering lights tinting his smiling side profile a warm gold. 

“You could just as well be kidnapping me for all I know, driving me to a secluded spot where it should be easy to dispose of my cold dead body”, you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest in the hopes that he will take a look and take note of your demonstratively pursed lips. 

“Who knows”, he wiggles a brow without taking his eyes off the road. “Maybe that’s just what I’m about to do.” 

“Stop it”, you whine, realizing just how quickly that careless joke of you turned sour. “This is getting creepy.” 

“May I remind you that you started this?” 

“But I don’t like where it’s going.” 

Now, finally, Suga turns around to face you, his expression of sudden seriousness. 

“Do you actually believe I would or could do something like that? To you?”

You swallow hard as your eyes once more get lost in his pitch-black orbs. 

“No. To be honest. I don’t know why, but I trust you. More than I trust myself. Does that make sense?” Unable to withstand his boring gaze any longer, you avert your face, covering your burning cheeks with both your hands. “No. Of course, it doesn’t. Just forget what I said. I don’t even know where it came from. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.” 

“No. Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He pauses. You can tell that he’s still looking at you. “No one has ever trusted me before, you know. I made sure of that. But I have to say it feels … good.”

Right in this moment, it takes all of your willpower not to give in to the strong urge to take a hold of Suga’s hand. Instead, you just look at him, dare yourself to meet his eyes. And the two of you spend the following minutes in telling silence, the air filling the space in between your bodies sizzling, every single atom vibrating with prickling electricity. The tension is palpable. You’re sure you’re not the only one who can tell. 

“Can I let down the window?”, you inquire,  your voice no more than a whisper, hesitant to break the quiet.

“Sure.” 

And so you wind down the window and poke your head out into the fresh breeze entangling itself in your loose hair, caressing your skin and drying a stray tear that had made its way down your cheek unnoticed. When now, suddenly, a familiar song starts sounding from the car’s speakers, your heart skips a beat. You would recognize this melody anywhere. A sound like that of another world. Magical. Unreal. Matching the moment’s ambiance oh so perfectly. 

How did he know?, you wonder. How did this strange man know to pick one of your very own favorite songs? How is it possible that Suga keeps on striking all the right chords in you? It isn’t. It shouldn’t be. 

“We’re here”, he unexpectedly announces. 

“Where?”

You turn around to look at Suga who’s eyes widen at the sight of your face. 

“Y/n, why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying. These are just tears. It’s not the same.” 

“It’s not?”

“No. Not to me. You know, when you’re always sad, you learn to tell the difference.” 

“Are you sad right now?”, he inquires, his tone soft. 

“Not really, no. That moment was just so perfect. The tears were happy ones. Because I forgot for a second.”

“Forgot what?” 

He stares at you as if he’s almost scared of your answer. 

“That I’m sad”, you reply, your lips smiling all by themselves. “And a little broken. You made me forget.” 

Yoongi can’t believe what he is looking at. How is it possible for you to become more gorgeous by the second? Is it really just the Link? He isn’t sure anymore. If he’s entirely honest with himself, he refuses to believe that what he feels for you is merely a matter of genetics. Not anymore at least. What you do to him can’t be explained by mere DNA analysis. It’s no longer just chromosomes that connect you. It’s bigger than that. When he looks into your shimmering eyes, still wet with tears, he can catch a glimpse of his very own soul. And for the first time in his life, he likes what he’s seeing. 

“I’m glad I could do that for you”, he says, taking in your smile, the saddest and most beautiful smile he has ever seen. “That I could help you forget about your sadness, even if it was only for a little while.”

“I’m glad you’re glad”, you reply without hesitation, immediately going on to shake your head at your own words, obviously embarrassed. “God, that sounded stupid.”

“No, it didn’t.” He can’t help but grin, even your flushed face appearing endearing to him. You’re so cute, he almost can’t resist the longing to plant a kiss on your forehead. And maybe smell your hair … and … 

“So. You said we were there? Where you wanted to take me?”, you swiftly change the topic, making good use of this chance to break eye contact and direct your attention towards the cityscape passing you by. 

“Yes, we are. This bridge is special to me. For several reasons.” 

“Such as?”, you inquire, your averted face remaining hidden behind a curtain of hair. 

“Well. I mentioned this person, this woman I linked with.”

“Yes.” 

“Well, the day I linked with her, by accident, you might say, I was standing on this very bridge, ready to jump.” 

Eyes, wide with shock, hair flying, you whirl around to stare at him in disbelief. 

Afraid his face could betray him, Yoongi decides to keep his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he speaks up again. 

“That spot over there”, he points to the place where he climbed the banister no more than a week ago, about to fall to his death, his cold fingers desperately clutching his phone which seemed to be the last thread connecting him to a life he didn’t feel was worth living, his eyes eagerly following the lines a perfect stranger sent him. Even now he still remembers these painful seconds all too vividly, the memory sending an icy shiver down his spine. “That’s where I stood, prepared to end my existence once and for all. I was sure I was gonna go through with it this time. But then I linked with her. And it changed everything.” 

Yoongi is forced to pause when his vocal cords refuse their service. 

“I’m glad it happened. The Link. That you didn’t …”, you stammer, your voice no more than a breathed whisper. 

If you only knew. That it was you who saved his petty life. 

“I’ll be honest with you”, he eventually continues. “I was quite an asshole before the Link. I didn’t think I could ever love somebody. And, quite frankly, I didn’t want to. I didn’t let myself. I thought love was bullshit.” He shakes his head. The words just won’t come out right. Yoongi can feel his heart pound against his ribcage and your eyes still glued to his side profile. 

“No, actually, I was kinda afraid it could be real, to be honest. I shielded myself from love because I was a coward, scared shitless. I built walls around myself, too high for anyone to ever climb. And if someone tried, I was sure to push them away in any way possible. Time and again I had to prove to myself that I wasn’t lovable, I guess. That, in the end, every new person claiming to want me in their lives would leave me, just like everyone did before them. I hurt so many people, y/n, just so I wouldn’t get hurt. I slept around. Had meaningless affairs with women who didn’t know me. But the very second the Link was built all of that anger and emptiness and sadness inside of me suddenly just … disappeared. I felt at peace for the first time in as long as I can remember. Because, before her, you know, there was just no one worth taking the risk for. The risk of letting someone in and depending on them. But the moment the Link was built, I didn’t feel alone anymore. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel isolated by the person I am.  And life had meaning again. She gave me meaning. And she doesn’t even know.” 

Teeth clenched, Yoongi’s trembling hands close so tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles turn white. 

“I’m sure she does.” He hears you say, and your words hurt him just as much as they heal him. “I’m sure she knows. She must.”

“I hope so.” 

With those words, a haunting quiet makes itself at home in the space between you, filling the inside of the car, Making it hard for him to breathe. Until you start talking again, the mere sound of your voice bringing him ease. 

“Part of me wishes to know what that feels like”, you mumble, more to yourself, one hand reaching out of the open window, your pale finger playing with the wind, glowing in the cold harsh light of the street lamps. Yoongi has to admit to himself that your vague words fan the spark of hope that has begun to settle in his heart. 

“But, don’t you have Jimin? Haven’t you been with him for a while now?” 

“So, what?”, you shrug, not taking your eyes off of the nocturnal city skyline. 

“Well, don’t you love him?” 

“To be honest, I’m not so sure if I ever loved him in the way I should’ve.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t know. Suga, could —” Eventually, you turn around to look at him, your face white as a sheet, lips trembling. “Could we maybe — Could you stop the car? I think I need to get out. To get some air. I — I —”

“Yes! Yes, of course!”, he cuts you off, pulling over immediately. 

As soon as the vehicle comes to a halt, you throw open the car door and stumble outside, towards the bridge’s railing, leaning over the banister, your shaking hands clutching the cold metal. 

Quickly, Yoongi rushes to your side, unsure of what to do or say, your concerning state instilling sheer terror in him.  

“Y/n? What is it? What’s wrong?”

You brush his word off with a gesture of your hand, indicating him to stay away as you cough and heave, your erratic breaths, now and then, being interrupted by broken sobs. 

Despite your efforts to keep him at a distance, following his instincts, Yoongi eventually approaches you from behind to carefully hold back your hair, just in case, and rub your back in soothing circles. Soon, he can feel your breathing slow down and your tense muscles relax. 

“I’m — I’m sorry. This —”, you stutter, your voice shaky, heavy with tears. 

“It’s okay, y/n. Just inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Don’t think. Just breathe.” 

Being this close to you, actually feeling your body press against his, feeling your warmth under his palm, is almost more than Yoongi can take. The tattoo on his wrist keeps burning relentlessly. Your relief, however, makes his pain seem insignificant. For you, he’d go through hell and still smile, he realizes as you let your head fall back and onto his shoulder. For you, he’d do anything and expect nothing in return. 

“Are you feeling any better?”, he cautiously asks after minutes of silence, only filled by the sound of both your breathing, have passed with your head still resting on his shoulder. 

“Yes. I think.” 

Instantly, as if you had only now become aware of the situation, you straighten your posture and step back, bringing a good two feet between yourself and Yoongi, hiding your face from his view.  

“Sorry. I —”

“Stop apologizing already.” 

These words came out harsher than intended. Brows furrowed, you shoot him an astonished glance. 

“I’m sorry”, Yoongi mutters under his breath, one hand awkwardly massaging his neck. 

“Stop apologizing already”, you snap at him, imitating his tone, biting your lip so as to keep it from breaking into a smile. 

“You’re pretty cheeky for someone who almost fainted just now, you know that?” 

“Yeah, right?”, you giggle, throwing back your head to take another deep breath. 

“So, are you ready to go back?”

Your head tilted to one side, you look at him, your unexpectedly serious eyes taking in his features, an intensity to their gaze that leads his face to flush. 

“Yes. Take me back, please.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod your head as you step closer. So close he could effortlessly reach out and touch you. 

“Yes, I am. Everything is a little less scary down there. With you. In your studio. I feel safe there.” 

Yoongi has to actively remind himself to breathe at this point. 

“Okay. Let’s go back then.”

The drive back is spent in comfortable silence. For a few minutes you even doze off, your head abuts against the now-closed window. Yoongi can’t keep himself from smiling like an idiot while he watches you, calm now, soundly sleeping, your mouth agape, dark lashes fluttering. 

Back at the studio, you plop down onto his sofa with a sigh, apparently feeling quite at home already. An assumption that fills Yoongi with contentment and even pride. He is sorry to disturb the peace, but a question has been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since the incident on the bridge. And he has never been one to hold back when it comes to wiping the slate clean. 

“So, y/n, what happened back there? In the car?”

“I didn’t get carsick, if that’s what you were thinking”, you joke, not meeting his gaze. 

“Come on. Let’s be real here.” Taking a deep breath, he squats down before you. This is harder than he thought it would be. Yoongi hates himself for putting you in the position to face those unpleasant feelings again. But there are just things that can’t be left unsaid. 

“If something like that happens, I need to know why, y/n. Especially if it’s in my car. So I can react accordingly. You scared me, you know. And don’t you even think about apologizing again.” 

“Okay, I won’t then”, you scoff, burying your face in your hands, your elbows propped up on your knees. 

Seconds elapse, stretching into what feels like an eternity, before you reluctantly proceed. 

“What happened is — I realized something. And it made me sick. Literally. Because I’m like the biggest asshole on earth. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand to — To hurt him like that. I disgust myself for having to.” 

“Him?” 

“I believe we both know who I’m talking about.” 

“What do you mean, hurt him? What did you realize?”

Yoongi has trouble containing his excitement. 

“You don’t have to tell me, of course”, he quickly adds. “Only if you want to. It’s not like you owe me any kind of explanation. I know what I needed to know. Anything else is —”

“I don’t love him”, you suddenly burst out, cutting him off in mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to reveal a tear-streaked face, eyes reddened. “I don’t love Jimin the way I should. And I’m not sure if I ever did. I’m afraid what we had was a lie. Sure, I needed him. We needed each other. At one point. And he probably still needs me. But I just — I just can’t keep up the charade any longer. I — I can’t keep playing a role I wasn’t cast for, you know!? I’m not what he deserves and he’s not what I need. It’s just — We’re just —”

He can tell your anxiety is setting in again. So, his instincts taking over once more, Yoongi cups your face with both his hands, forcing you to focus your attention on him. 

“I get it. Okay? It’s all right”, he enunciates, stressing each syllable. “Feelings change. People change. It’s nothing to hate yourself for. Do you hear me, y/n? It’s not your fault. You can’t force these things. You shouldn’t.” 

Reluctantly, you nod, blinking away another tear. 

“Not that I have any right to meddle in your relationship. But you shouldn't keep lying to yourself and especially not to him. You need to tell him. So he knows. How you really feel. Instead of raising false hopes in him.” 

“False hopes?”

“Well … Are you gonna get back together with him? Back to how things were?”, Yoongi asks as he pulls back from you, his hands dropping to his knees. 

“I — I don’t know. I —”

“Forget about it”, he interrupts you, afraid your next words could be the last straw. That they would very literally rip his heart apart. Because, slowly but surely, the growing pain in his chest is starting to make it almost impossible for him to breathe. “I shouldn’t have asked. This is none of my business.” 

Weak at the knees, the world starting to spin around him, Yoongi somehow manages to get up and step away before you can reach out for him, staggering towards his chair while a blinding brightness quickly closes in on him from all sides.  

The last thing he hears is your high-pitched voice calling out his name before he drops to the floor and a bottomless darkness takes over his consciousness. 

When he comes to, bright lights hinder Yoongi from immediately identifying his strange surroundings. 

Where is he? And most importantly, how did he get here? He can’t remember anything. Other than fainting. 

Only slowly he comes to realize that he is resting in a hospital bed. The air smells of disinfectant, a constant humming and beeping sound from various directions. 

Now that he slowly but surely regains full consciousness, another question comes to mind. 

Where are you? 

“Y/n!?”, he calls out, sitting up so quickly, another dizzy spell threatens to overpower him. 

“Shhh”, a nurse appears by his side out of nowhere. “You need to stay calm. Lie down. You’re in no condition to fuss about a girl right now.” 

“But — Where —?”

“Your friend left already. Seemed to be in a hurry.” With a warm smile, the middle-aged woman starts rummaging through her gown’s deep pockets. “She told me to give you this.”

With these words, she hands him a crumpled up piece of paper. Only hesitantly Yoongi extends his shaking hand to accept it.

“I didn’t peek if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“No, thank you. It’s fine.”

With a nod of her head, the nurse leaves to attend to a groaning elderly. 

She seemed in a hurry. 

No. No way. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

His heart racing, Yoongi barely manages to unfurl the paper, his eyes widening as they follow your quickly scribbled words. 

Now it all makes sense. Why I felt so drawn to you. Why you knew me so well. Why you appeared when I was at my weakest. 

How could you?? When were you planning on telling me your birth name?? Once I broke up with Jimin?? Or would you even have waited that long?? 

Shit. I trusted you. I was so blind. I should’ve seen it coming. 

Don’t contact me. I really can’t have this right now. 

No. No. No. No. 

END OF CHAPTER 17 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ 🎶 playlist 🎶 to the ‘Linked’ series here. It contains all the songs having been sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader in the past and some more tunes fitting the series’ vibe.  

Take care and have a great day! ☺️💖

NONE of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

[elsaclack]

i’m on the edge of a broken heart

this came out way more emotional than i was expecting but it’s fine hope u all enjoy lmao

based on that one post by @montygreen 

He gets home before Amy does.

Their apartment is still and quiet. It’s messier than Amy usually likes to leave it, but that’s no surprise, considering she’d left later than she normally does after he begged her to stay and eat breakfast with him. His hoodie from yesterday is still draped over the back of the couch, and her favorite blanket lies in a crumpled heap on the loveseat. His shoes kicked beneath the coffee table lie abandoned and forgotten, and the empty pizza box still sits atop the coffee table books after they polished it off the night before.

Truthfully, it’s not all that messy. But Jake knows his fiancee, he knows her like the back of his own hand, so he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that if a mess is the first thing she sees upon getting back home, the only thing she’s going to want to do is clean.

And that’s not fair. Because she’s currently exhausted and still drenched in toilet water, and the last thing he wants her to do upon getting home from this never-ending nightmare day is stress out over cleaning.

He leaves his messenger bag on the floor beside the bench to his left, tucked against the legs so as to be as small and space-saving as possible, and hangs his jacket on the hook by the door. He rolls the sleeves of his hoodie and his flannel beneath that half-way up his forearms, casts one last glance around their living room, and gets to work.

It really only takes about five minutes. Folding the pizza box up in that specific way Amy taught him nearly a year ago is by far the most time-consuming, but even that only takes a minute at most. He’s still bristling with energy, though, and the television screen is still coated by a fine layer of dust, so it doesn’t take much thought before he hauls out the stash of cleaning supplies from beneath the sink, plucks the bottle of furniture polish and the dust rag out from the rest, and starts back toward the living room.

That’s how she finds him. She comes through the front door to the sounds of him grunting from the effort, rounds the corner to the sight of him hopping on the balls of his feet, trying to reach the top shelf in her library nook.

“Jake?”

She still hasn’t changed clothes. Her sergeant’s button-up hangs from her crooked fingers and her purse from her crooked elbow, and though her shirt is still distinctly damp and her hair is, well, insane, she’s somehow staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

Amy Santiago is a vision of beauty.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly winded by the mere sight of her. He falls back to his heels, lets his hands fall down to his sides, and watches as she slowly paces toward him. “I was just...I thought I might...clean.”

Aside from reaching to toss her shirt and purse across the chaise to his right, she remains very still. “You never clean.” she finally says after a long stretch of silence.

There is no inquisitiveness to her tone. There is no confusion in her face. It’s a statement of fact, yes, but the complete lack of emotion in her entire demeanor is a clear and flashing neon sign pointing to the calm before the storm.

The dust rag slips out of his fingers and falls to the floor at his feet. Neither one of them look down at it.

Like a shot from a cannon, they charge toward each other at once. Amy smells like sweat and stale water but he buries his nose in the crook of her shoulder anyways, breathing her in. Her arms wrap like vices around his shoulders and his neck, and though her entire body is leaning securely into his, he can feel just how hard she’s shaking. A wet spot - one entirely unrelated to the one her soaked shirt is causing - begins to spread across his shoulder, just beneath where her face is tucked; all at once, tears prick in his eyes.

He pulls her in her just a little bit closer, holds her just a little bit tighter.

“That was awful,” Amy softly moans, sounding a breath away from full-on sobbing. “I was so worried about Rosa…”

“Me too,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter open for a brief moment before squeezing them shut again.

“I was, I just kept wondering what she was doing and what she was seeing, but - but -”

He strokes his thumb along her side and turns his head slightly so that his lips press lightly into the curve of her neck. “But what?” he whispers.

He feels her fingers tunnel up into his hair, nails scratching gently against his scalp. “But I also kept thinking about - about if you had been the one who responded to that call,”

She’s shaking even harder now, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her upright - which is ironic, he thinks, considering she’s the only thing keeping him upright in this moment.

Tears are flowing freely down his face now, wetting what seems to be the only dry part of her shirt left. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, letting a hand drift up her back to gently squeeze and knead the back of her neck. “I kinda kept thinking the same thing about you.”

She sniffles, and he feels her swallow hard, and then her lips are pecking against his collarbone through his shirt.

“And I also - I also started thinking about if, like, if I just - if I -” he stops, emotion suddenly cutting his own words off, and Amy continues her line of soft closed-mouth pecks along the line of his throat. “If something, uh, happened - happened to me. What would happen to you?”

He feels her pause against the underside of his jaw, and then she’s pulling back, breaking all contact save for her hands against his upper arms. There’s an unfamiliar look on her face, one that sends a shot of pain right through his chest to steal his breath away. “We need to actually have this conversation,” she says, so quiet, so serious, and all Jake can do is nod. “I need to not be covered in toilet water when we have it, though.”

It’s not until she’s in the shower and he’s ordering their dinner that he finally, belatedly recognizes the emotion on her face - grief.

The food has just arrived when she emerges from their bedroom, damp hair now neatly combed and pulled back and away from her face, clad in clean, warm pajamas. His old t-shirt hangs off of her frame and for a brief moment he’s knocked nearly breathless by his own affection and attraction for the woman settling cross-legged into the couch beside him; he hands her a plate and leans down over her with the motion, catching her off-guard in a slow, chaste kiss.

A move like that usually earns him a playful smirk or a curious smile; now all that greets him is her, looking anxious and vulnerable, and his heart breaks.

“I love you,” he tells her with every ounce of sincerity in his body.

She reaches up to gently stroke his cheek with her left hand, thumb grazing lightly over his five-o’clock shadow. “I love you, too,” she murmurs.

He sits down beside her, scooting in close enough that her knee rests against his thigh.

“We should really talk about today,” she says. He turns his attention away from his lo mein, letting the fork he was using to uselessly push the noodles around drop against the side of his takeout box, shifting his upper body to face her more head-on. She, in turn, tucks her chop sticks beneath her noodles to weigh them down and lets her plate settle against her legs. “I...I honestly don’t even really know where to start.”

He waits a moment, watching her chew the inside of her own cheek, before he leans forward and takes her hand in his. “I do,” he says, pulling her a little closer, lifting her hand to press against his chest. “You’re the most important person in the world to me. If anything ever happened to you, I’d lose my mind. Like I would need to be institutionalized.” Though there are fresh tears visibly gathering in her eyes, she still chokes out a laugh; the sound is far more strained than what he’s used to, but it still soothes some part of him, down in his core. “You’re my life now, Ames. You’re my family. You mean everything to me. And if I lost you, I - I dunno. I can’t even think about it.”

Her tears stream down her face but she seems oblivious to it; gently, she digs the pads of her fingers into his chest.

“I would want you to be happy, though,” he suddenly says, and confusion cuts through her tears. I’d want you to be happy and healthy, I wouldn’t want you to suffer -”

“So you get to totally lose your mind if I die, but I have to move on and be happy if you die? No, I don’t think so, Peralta, we’re either both moving on or we’re both losing our minds.”

“Amy -”

“No, I’m serious! This is why we need to have this conversation, Jake! We’re just a couple of weeks away from literally pledging the rest of our lives to each other. ‘Til death do us part, right? We need to talk about this. We need to fully understand what that means for us. Because I don’t want you to lose your mind. You are so good and so kind, and you’ve given our families and our friends and our colleagues so much joy over the years. If they’re gonna lose me, they shouldn’t have to lose you, too.”

He blinks, vision clouded with tears, and squeezes her hand still against his chest. “That’s exactly what I was trying to say before, about you.”

A small and tearful smile twitches across her face. “It would be really hard,” she admits softly, gaze darting down to their hands. “And I honestly don’t know if I would ever fully move on. You will always, always have a piece of my heart.” She pauses, jaw clenched, and Jake strokes his thumb over her fingers. “B-but I know you wouldn’t want me to - to close myself off,” she says, voice suddenly considerably higher than before, and his heart is breaking over and over and over again. “I would lean so heavily on all our friends and I would visit your mom as often as I could, and I would tell everyone - everyone about how amazing you are.”

He quickly swipes her plate out of her lap and slides it onto the coffee table, along with his own takeout box, before reaching for her with both hands and pulling her into him. They’re both crying now, fierce in the way they cling to each other, but somehow they manage to maneuver around so that Jake is laid out across the couch and Amy’s tucked in beside him, draped so completely over him that she’s practically lying on top of him.

The apartment is still and quiet and clean all around them, and slowly, for what feels like hours. Jake and Amy come completely undone in each others’ arms.

But it does eventually taper off. After a while it’s just them; just Amy’s fingertip doodling senseless patterns along Jake’s chest and his shoulder, just Jake’s fingers burrowing and tunneling through Amy’s now-messy hair. It’s quiet, and peaceful, and Jake turns his head to press a kiss against Amy’s forehead.

“I feel selfish about thinking about all of this while Rosa was actually the one in danger today,” Amy finally admits in a hushed whisper.

Jake shakes his head, letting his cheek bump lightly against Amy’s forehead. “Don’t,” he says softly, “it’s the natural place to go, mentally speaking. Terry went and updated his entire life insurance policy while we were waiting for news.”

She makes a soft noise, her hand lightly tapping against his chest. “I need to do that, too,” she mumbles. “I think my dad is still listed as the primary beneficiary on my policy, but I want to change it to you before we’re married.”

Jake tilts his head back, straining to look down at her face. “You have a life insurance policy?” he asks.

He feels her tense against him, before she slowly tilts her head back to meet his gaze. “You don’t?”

“I’m not exactly made of money, babe. Besides, do you know how many people have been murdered because of those things -”

“Oh my god, we’re calling first thing in the morning and setting one up for you -”

“Why, so you can kill me for the money some day?”

“Yeah, you caught me, after all of this emotional crying and declaring my undying love for you, you figured out that I’m only in this for the non-existent life insurance policy.”

His eyes still feel heavy from the crying and hers are most definitely bloodshot, but that doesn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up from his gut, or the blinding (albeit begrudging) smile that splits her face in half. She’s so beautiful - so perfect - and though this day has been full of uncertainty and terror and hypotheticals that will surely haunt his dreams for weeks to come, he can’t help but to revel in this moment of closeness with her.

So he shifts his hand from her back up to her neck, strokes his thumb against her jaw, and gently pulls her down to meet him for another slow, toe-curling kiss.

“I’m so thankful that we’ve had each other for this long,” he whispers against her lips. She tilts her mouth back slightly, letting her forehead rest against his. “And I’m so, so thankful for whatever time we have left together. I love you so much, Ames.”

Slowly, carefully, her lips slat back over his in a tender press. He loses himself in it for a moment, in the warmth of her proximity and the truly reverent way her left hand presses against his face. He’s so caught up in it, in fact, that his head actually comes up off the couch in an effort to follow her when she slowly pulls away.

“I love you so much, too, Jake,” she murmurs.

He gets his own life insurance policy the following afternoon, and on the line where it asks for the beneficiary to his plan, he writes Amy Santiago without a second thought.

(He has to go back and change it a few short weeks later, of course - considering Amy Santiago legally changed her name to Amy Santiago-Peralta - but that’s emotional for another reason entirely.)

[gypsy-horror]

Nursing Not Home

                                  Nursing(Not)Home

                            Too many double shifts…..

Today started out like any other day. The alarm buzzed next to me as I hit snooze religiously in ten minute intervals. I dragged myself out of bed and put on the black, fake silk, kimono robe I had bought for myself in Chinatown. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the patterned geishas on the garment; envying their warm, tireless faces. This was my fourth double shift this week. The nursing home where I was employed had recently undergone a pay freeze and many of the nurses and other employees had sought out new jobs. Being short staffed was typical; but lately, it was worse than ever.

I sighed loudly as I stood up and walked to the bathroom. Glimpsing myself in the mirror, I stopped and drowsily gazed at my cadaverous expression. My long, brown hair was knotted up in a bun that sat loose on top of my head. A thick layer of plaque was caked over my coffee stained yellow teeth. The copious amount of coffee I had consumed to maintain function between my three to four hour sleep habit and my long night shifts, had neglected my oral hygiene. The freckles along my nose were prominent on my overly pale skin and resembled age spots under the luminescent light of my bathroom. They greeted the bags under my eyes as they sunk down into the deep crevices formed in dark shades of grey and blue. I frowned at the image of the girl that greeted me in the mirror. I shrugged her off, and halfheartedly dragged my lifeless body into the shower.

As I got out, the steam filled the room and covered the mirror in a thick dew. Happily avoiding the girl in the mirror, I put my black scrubs on, wrapped my dark purple stethoscope around my neck, slipped on my shoes, and headed for the door. At this point I was going to be at least fifteen minutes late; but with the shortage in staff, my boss was more than lenient on those of us picking up the slack.

When I arrived, I indulged myself in the break room with a crappy cup of cheap Folgers coffee the nursing home supplied for the staff. Next to the coffee pot was a community fridge, which housed the hazelnut creamer I used to mask the bitter taste of the extra dark coffee. As I pulled the creamer from the fridge, I could feel my newly bought creamer was... not so newly bought anymore. Apparently community fridge meant more than I thought. Glaring at my name clearly printed in sharpie on the bottle, and cap; I dripped the remains of the once full bottle into the muck in my cup. The drops weren't even enough to cloud the black coloring of my typically milky drink. Grudgingly, I threw the empty bottle into the trash and reached back in the fridge for any creamer I could find. After all, they did use all of mine...I was just doing what's fair.

"Hmmm...Jessica." I read off the bottle aloud. Your vanilla creamer will have to do. As I began to pour the remnants of Jessica’s creamer into the cup, It slimed out slowly and wretched my nostrils. I tipped it back quickly so that the mucus textured sludge didn’t have a chance to plummet into what was already a shit cup of coffee. I decided to settle for the bitter blackness, scared to venture further into the fridges depths.

The building was separated into three sections, station one, station two, and station three. Each section had around twenty-three patients, give or take any recent deaths or new admissions. There were two long hallways labeled west hall and east hall. The doors down each hall lined next to one another, contained two beds each, with zero to two residents a room. With the shortage in staff the admissions had slowed and more than the usual rooms sat empty.

I grabbed the clipboard from the desk at station one and read my assignment.

"Mara: 203A-216B, station 3.”

I unenthusiastically wrote the section on my paper and sauntered through the building to the back. Station three had the hardest patients to care for; combative and non-compliant about taking medications. This was going to be a long night.

When I got to station three I was greeted by an unpleasant sight. Her name was Haley, and she was the worst nurse on staff. She never passed all the medications out, leaving them for the shift following; She never did her charting, and my neglected patients were already on their lights like a Christmas tree glowing up the hall. The repetitive sounds of beeping filled my ears, alarming and irritating me further. Haley hurriedly gave me a half ass report and I rushed to salvage my night. Going room to room, I settled my patients minds, got them some fresh water, their medications, and tucked them in for the night. About two painstaking hours later I walked to the last of my rooms; Room 216. As I approached the room, the smell of roadkill hit my nostrils. It was worse than any smell I had ever experienced and I had been doing this job for five years. It instantly rocked my typically strong stomach. I took a step back. Had one of my patients died and Haley hadn't noticed the whole shift? I wouldn't have been surprised. I grabbed a face mask from my cart and made my way back down to the vile smelling room. There was only one lady who lived in room 216, and she was a quiet, tenderhearted eighty-seven year old with Alzheimer's. She frequently had delusions and could get aggressive when agitated, but being a whopping one hundred and fifteen pounds... she couldn't do much. I half expected to find my poor patient, Florence, dead by the smell that was coming from that room; but to my surprise I was greeted by two women. Apparently, Haley didn't just forget to hand out her meds; she also failed to mention 216 had a new admit in bed B.

"Oh!" I said puzzlingly. "I'm so sorry; had I known we had a new patient I would have came down here first to introduce myself. My name is Mara and I will be your nurse until morning, is there anything I can do for you this evening?" I said, stumbling on my words, trying not to sound flustered over my newly discovered patient. She smiled a crooked smile at me and continued sipping her hot tea.

“She must be hard of hearing,” I thought to myself, so I got a little closer and repeated what I had said a lot louder and asked her name. Still, no answer. I assumed, much like her roommate, she wasn't quite all there and decided I would read her chart when I was finished.

“Funny though,” I thought realizing only after the fact; when I walked up to her, I saw her tea cup was empty. She was sipping an empty tea cup. How strange. Not only that, but she was a strange looking woman.

Her skin was pale with a hue of blue, like someone with poor blood circulation. The blankness in her pitch black eyes was paralyzingly eerie. Her hair was short, patchy, and a dark shade of grey. She had obvious signs of scalp digging from the numerous clusters of claw shaped scabs lining her hair. Her lips were dry and flaking, and her toothless smile, smug; like she knew something you didn't. Chills ran up my spine. It was nearly silent in the room besides the obvious death rattling coming from my new patient’s lungs. She gurgled and crackled with each and every breath: silence, breath, gurgle, crackle, repeat. The sound was hypnotic and unearthly. Of course I had heard a similar sound before, but it was typically only a sound that a dying patient made before their passing. This lady was upright and clearly not dying. Something about this woman rubbed me the wrong way. I wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible. As she rolled her wheelchair backwards towards her bed, I turned to check on Florence.

I was content to find she was breathing and comfortably sleeping. Her wrinkles were softened as she relaxed her face and her long white hair cascaded down her left shoulder. She was a stunning woman of her age, and in her youth she was even more so. The photo next to her bed showed a more youthful Florence Maddex, in her white wedding dress, a beaming smile on her face, and her late husband next to her staring delightedly at her beauty. She had to have been in her thirties when the photo was taken. If Florence is fine,  where was that smell coming from? I searched the room and found nothing, so I finished up, refilled my coffee, and came back to my station.

I got out 216B’s chart and sat down to read up on my new patient. Rosemary Pine, was a ninety-eight year old woman with unidentified psychological issues, and was nearly deaf. That's why she couldn't hear me.  As I read on I also discovered she had no living family, and only one emergency contact. The contact had no name, only a number. I stared frustratingly at the lack of effort taken upon the staff to get accurate and adequate information on our new patient. How am I supposed to care for someone I have such little information on? Haley truly was the worst nurse ever.

After thoroughly searching Rosemary's file for information, I conceded and decided to focus my attention on the stack of paperwork I had waiting for me on the far end of the desk: Tylenol 2:00am, fall risk, 420cc Output. Repetitive charting on each and every one of my patients. This was going to be a long night.

I had made it halfway through my charting when my stomach began to ache as the stench hit my nose again

"Oh, god!" I said aloud. "What IS that?!" I followed the scent down the hall to room 216. I had to find out where the smell was coming from.

It was dark as I entered the room, and the smell was burning my lips and nostrils. I made my way to bed B and reached blindly for the string light. I made my way with my hand through the thick darkness and patted it against the wall searching. I nudged my hand against something where the light string should have been, but it was warm and slimy. I grabbed onto it and pulled down hard. Light beamed down and I jerked back. There was fresh blood dripping down the string and down my hands, and the bed was covered as well. I froze.

I heard heavy breathing and rattling from behind me. I slowly turned my head towards the bathroom where the horrid sound came from. Wheeling in her chair was Rosemary, not a drop of blood on her. I made my way towards her, coercing her away from the blood soaked bed, but when I turned back around, her bed was now immaculate. Not a drop or stain in sight! Her sheets were pure white and her vintage, light pink comforter sat perfectly folded at the end of the bed. The light switch was also back to normal. Was I dreaming? Had I worked so much I was starting to have delusions of my own? I shook my head furiously and pushed Rosemary's wheelchair back towards her bed. She smiled as I helped her up and laid her down. I wondered if she could read lips. I looked at her directly and mouthed "Can I take a look at your skin?"

She nodded. My hands still shaking, I grabbed a pair of medium gloves from the wall. I pulled her pajama sleeves up and checked her arms, nothing. I checked her back, her stomach, still nothing. Finally I made it down to her feet and legs. As I pulled her sock off the smell became even stronger. Her feet were bandaged all the way up to her knees. I pulled her pant sleeves up and began unwrapping the bandages. As I unwrapped, I could now see where the vile stench was coming from. Her legs and feet were covered in sores and necrotic tissue. There were parts of her legs where the flesh hung blackened off the bone. Her knees were blistered and bloodied, and her toes were nearly all missing. They appeared to have rotted off her feet entirely.

As I examined her further, I saw something beneath the remaining skin was forcing its way upwards and moving! It wriggled and pressed against her loose skin tightly; something was about to bust through. I watched stunned and held my breath as a tiny head poked its way through one of the breaks in her skin. Maggots were festering and burrowing into the remainder of this woman’s legs. I began to gag and backed away towards the sink. The poor woman! She must be in terrible pain! I quickly wrapped her rotting legs back up and tucked her tightly in with her blankets. How have they not done anything about this? She should be in the hospital!

I made my way back to my desk and quickly made it through my charting so I could focus my attention on writing a long, well thought out note for Miss Rosemary's chart.

"Patient was found to have severe necrotic tissue damage from mid knee down on both Right and Left legs, with extreme Myiasis. Concern that adequate medication and treatment is not being performed for recovery; etc."

The only thing this poor woman was being prescribed was Tylenol extra strength. I felt like it had to be some mistake she ended up in our care and hoped that my extensive notes on our new patient would be read thoroughly and handled accordingly. Something was seriously wrong with this whole situation.

Now nearing the end of my shift, I tried putting Rosemary to the back of my mind as I began nodding off on the desk. As my eyes fluttered, and then fully began to shut, a wild scream woke me from my haze. I jumped out of my chair and sprinted towards the hall. Again, a horrific scream pierced my ears and I chased after it. Room 216.... I ran in and quickly, relying on the hall light for sight. It was Florence. Her blue eyes beaming towards the ceiling and her body tensed tightly with pain. I ran to her side.

"Florence! What's wrong, what's going on?!?" She screamed again, and said nothing. I checked her pulse and listened to her chest with my stethoscope. I looked her over. Nothing appeared to be wrong with her physically, but she was frightened, no... she was more than frightened, this was sheer horror on her face. I held her hand and glanced over at Rosemary. She was peaceful and sound asleep. Even sound asleep, a sense of pride painted guiltily over her smug face. The rattling in her chest with every breath filled the empty silence and muffled the panicked exhales coming from Florence. As I looked at her, tears welled in her eyes. She stayed silent. I decided since nothing was physically wrong with her, that maybe she had a bad dream, or a delusion that caused her to become so afraid. Whatever it was, it didn't feel right. Tentatively, I began searching the room. I needed to find out more about this Rosemary woman.

I slid my hand slowly across the white lace covering her oak wood table; on it she had a pair of thick, brown rimmed reading glasses and an antique porcelain tea set with painted roses and gold trim. I picked up one of the empty tea cups and stared inside. It looked ancient! The bottom of the cup was covered in tiny scratches running every which direction and the sides of the cup were even worse. Maybe I was reading into things a little too much, but the scratches almost resembled someone or something trying to claw its way out. I could feel my heart begin to pound in my chest as I stared down at the tiny scratches in the cup.

I set it down slowly and opened the lid to the teapot. As I opened it, a single large cockroach scurried out from inside and ran out onto the table. I jumped back. The insect stared at me for a long while and I stared back. It’s beady eyes pierced into me like daggers. It’s hard brown exterior shone from the dim light in the hall.  When I moved to the left, the cockroach in return moved with me. I couldn’t blink, my eyes locked on the creature that sat before me. It was watching me. I stood still and after, what felt like an eternity, the roach scurried down the leg of the table and onto the floor. I wanted to run over and squish it, but something stopped me. I watched as the roach began running up the long pink bedding and onto Rosemary's chest. I wasn’t sure I could believe my eyes; was I that sleep deprived?  I didn’t want to...I really didn’t want to...but I  watched as the cockroach from inside the pot made its way to Rosemary's lips, pushing flaked pieces of skin with its feet as it buried itself inside. I could see her neck pulse and crawl as it made its way down the back of her throat. I began shrieking but muffled my screams with my hands as I slowly backed out of the room. Suddenly Rosemary’s eyes shot open wide, she slowly turned her head towards me and smiled evilly.

I turned and was going to run but slammed straight into the morning shift nurse.

"OUCH! Damn Mara... are you okay? You don't look so good…” the morning shift nurse said, still in pain but with concern in her voice.

"Yeah…” I responded, “I'm just tired... I've worked fifty-two hours this week already, and it's only Thursday." I didn't want to tell her what happened and that I was creeped out by our new patient, so I left it at that. It is not like she would believe me anyway.

I hurried up my charting and made sure to put a few vague, but haunting notes on my patients in room 216, and made my way out the door as fast as I could. When I arrived at home I stripped my clothes off and fell into my bed. I was not taking the effort to shower after the night I had. As my head hit the pillow I almost instantly fell asleep. My last thought was of Rosemary...and her strange tea set. This next shift was going to come all too quickly.

That night when I woke, my first thought was of her as well. I hoped that I wouldn't end up with that section tonight, but given that it was the hardest section, and no one liked to work it, I typically got stuck there. I made my way slowly through my normal routine. I wanted to call in sick, but it was way past the 2 hour courtesy notice required for call offs. I would have to suck it up.

My drive to work seemed shorter than usual. Images of blood stained walls, cockroaches,  and creepy old ladies plagued my mind. I couldn't help feeling that somehow she was... watching me. I pulled into the parking lot as the sun began to fade on the horizon. In the corner of the window by the entrance was Rosemary. I blinked tiredly and looked again with widened eyes. She was holding something... I couldn't quite make out what it was. As I got out of my car and made my way to the door, she was gone. “Odd,” I thought anxiously to myself, “She is fast for her age.”

I shook it off and made my way inside and began my usual routine of getting coffee, and checking and receiving report for my assignment. When I got to station three, I received a startling report on 216A. Florence had lost five pounds overnight and had a small sore on her right leg that hadn't been there before.  

"Strange..." I said aloud.

"Why is that strange?" The other nurse, Erin, asked. I stared blankly down the hall for awhile before I realized she was talking to me.

"Oh, nothing. It's just... have you noticed anything weird going on in that room lately?" She gave me a funny look.

"Mara, how many hours have you worked this week? Maybe you should take a day or two off, you look like you need it." I frowned as she walked away.

I made the usual rounds on my patients to quiet them all down and give them their medications. As I made my way closer and closer to 216 my hands began sweating and my stomach churned. I didn't want to go in that room, I didn't want to see her face. I took my time, trying to prolong the inevitable. When I finally ran out of excuses to stay in 215, I made my way slowly into room 216. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I walked in. Rosemary was at her table sipping from her empty teacup, and Florence was in the bed next to her fast asleep. The window was open slightly, and the breeze from outside lightly swayed the tan curtains. The lights were dimmed and it was quiet as death.The rattling sound in Rosemary’s chest was gone... not a sound could be heard in the room until she pursed her lips and slurped on her tea.

I decided to start with Rosemary so I could get her out of the way. When I made my way over to her, I could see her cup was again empty. I looked at her and her black eyes glared into mine. Something about her was different tonight. The wrinkles around her eyes had softened, and her dark, grey, coarse hair was lightened and shined in the light. The bags under her droopy eyes had vanished and the scabs on her scalp seemed to have healed overnight. She suddenly seemed ten years younger. Chills ran up my spine as she continued glaring into my soul. I mouthed to her that I was going to help her into bed to look at her legs. As I unwrapped the bandages, the smell hit my stomach just as usual, but I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Her legs were healing at a rapid rate. It was physically impossible for them to have healed that much in one day. Yesterday they looked as if they were rotting away. The maggots had died and shriveled laying crunched against her bandages. I shook the dead maggot carcasses into the trash and wrapped her legs back up gagging as Rosemary stared at me amusingly. I tucked her in and made my way over to Florence.

My hands flew up to cover my mouth as I gasped at the sight of her. Her long white hair was dull and dying. Her soft wrinkles were engraved into her face like a stone carvings. Her mouth gaped open and a stench as deadly as Rosemary's legs escaped with each breath. If you listened closely, you could hear a very faint rattle beginning to invade her chest. In report I was told she lost five pounds, but now by the looks of her, it was clearly at least ten. I opened the blankets to find her leg bandaged tightly. Under the bandage was at least seven lesions with already dying flesh surrounding them. I turned the light up from a dim and saw, to my horror, the sores didn't stop there. Her arms, chest, and left leg were also covered with gruesome sores. While I was looking over Florence, I could see something small crawling around tangled in her white sheets. I choked back fear and reached for the blanket shaking as I flipped the contents over, a DAMN cockroach glided out from the blankets for me. I shook my hands frantically to fling it away from landing on me. It fell to the ground with an unexpected thud.

"What did you do to her you evil bitch!" I screamed at Rosemary, knowing she couldn't hear me. But as I said it she laughed loudly and it echoed in the room. She was laughing AT me!

"Leave her alone! You understand? Just leave her alone!" She cackled louder and I ran out of the room.

I shook as I fell back into my chair. I could hardly breathe. I went to pick up my pen to write some notes on room 216, but it fell out of my hand as I trembled. I chugged what was left of my coffee and pushed the other twenty binders to the floor forcefully and focused my attention on Rosemary's chart. I hastily flipped through the pages and read every detail to find as much information on this woman as I could. There was literally no information on her that could help me. I sat defeated until I remembered her emergency contact number. It had no name, but I was sure I could at least find something out if I called.

I picked up the phone and dialed the emergency contact number. As it began ringing, another ring answered its call. The ring was coming from down the hall. I walked with the phone, as long as the cord would allow, to hear where the ringing was coming from. Room 216. My face went pale as I heard someone pick up on the other end. Heavy breathing was bellowing in my ear. My heart stopped and I stood perfectly still.

For awhile we said nothing. I gathered some courage and began asking questions.       

"Um... hello. My names Mara,” I said, ignorantly hoping the phone ringing down the hall was just a coincidence.   

“This number was listed as an emergency contact for Miss Rosemary Pine. I had a few questions I wanted to ask so I can fill out more of her chart. May I ask who this is? No one took a name for whom the emergency contact was." More shallow breathing was heard on the other line before a crackling voice began speaking to me.

"She tastes good with cream and sugar." Howling laughter could be heard on the line and down the hall. I quickly ran back to my desk and hung up the phone. It's Rosemary! But how?!? There are no phones in any of the patient rooms! I ran up the hall to station two in hopes the other nurses would understand. As I came stumbling up the hall, the other nurse on duty Jason looked oddly at me as I tried to catch my breath. I was sweating profusely.

"Jason!” I said breathlessly, “I think the new patient is killing my other patient!" I screamed psychotically. My eyes darted around the area looking for her.

“Jason she’s watching I know she’s watching!”

He sat silent.

"Uh, Mara.... are you sure?” He said, ignoring my clearly crazy comment about Rosemary watching us, “I mean these people are pretty old, and you seem, well... you just don’t seem yourself lately. You haven't gotten much rest and I think it might be getting to you. Go back to your station, finish up your work, and go home early. Take a day off. This place is starting to get to you." He said as he backed his chair away from me, clearly frightened by my behavior.

"No!" I said. "I am serious! Florence is in bad shape and I think this new lady has something to do with it. I just tried calling her emergency contact and it was her on the other line!" This is all I could tell him without further warranting a one way ticket to the loony bin.

"Mara, seriously, stop it. Who cares if she made herself her emergency contact. She's old. Give it a rest already."I walked sluggishly back to my station, feeling defeated that no one believed me. When I sat down, the phone began to ring. We never got phone calls on the night shift. I let it ring, and ring, and ring, until finally, I fearfully reached my hand to the receiver and grabbed the phone. I picked it up and gradually rested it against my ear. The heavy breathing began again and I sat frozen.

"Poor Mara, no one will believe her. The mean old lady in 216 is killing her roommate. What are you going to do, NURSE? How are you going to save her?" She laughed into my ear sending rage and fear into my heart. I opened my mouth to respond but froze speechless. She hung up and the dial tone invaded my ears. How could she hear my conversation with Jason? She was deaf! That's impossible! I went to set the phone down and as I did, the phone shook wildly in my hand. I turned the phone over and my bloodshot eyes watched as hundreds of cockroaches came pouring out of the tiny holes of the phone. I threw it down to the ground as they piled up, crawling around my feet; shaking the remainder of them off of my hand I literally began losing my mind. I thrashed and screamed in my seat. I rocked back and forth tucking my knees in for comfort. I pulled my hair and wrenched my head up screaming louder. I begged for it all to end. A piercing shriek from down the hall stopped my rocking trance. When I  looked down again, the bugs had vanished. I couldn’t move, I only stared down at the once infested carpet, trying to comprehend what was happening. Another shriek woke me from a lifeless haze. I ran down the hall to the room and began trying to comfort Florence as she hollered in pain.

"Why are you doing this!?" I screamed at Rosemary. No response. "I know you can hear me!!! What are you doing to her?" Spit foaming at the sides of my mouth, again no response. I brushed the hair out of Florence’s eyes and ran to get her some pain medication to ease whatever pain was being inflicted on her. She hollered as I stuck the pain pill in her mouth and gave her sips to swallow. It took about 5 minutes for her to finally quiet down and fall back asleep. I was thankful, but more worried about her than ever. Rosemary was next to her now fast asleep. My thoughts romanticized smothering her with her pillow. I didn't want to lose my license... but I also didn't want her killing my patient; This is how I rationalized my thirst for smothering her. We were supposed to protect our patients from all harm.

I stood over Rosemary’s bed contemplating her untimely demise and wondering how I could make it look like she died naturally. She was old. No one would ever know the difference between her dying in her sleep, being smothered, or overdosing on medication. But inevitably, I made my way to my desk, brushing my unhinged thoughts aside and burying those thoughts into the charting I hadn’t even started.

I sat down and book by book, halfheartedly charted on each of my patients. Staring blankly off at my medicine cart from time to time with a mind that was occupied with thoughts of killing Rosemary with Morphine. When I got to 216's chart I began an hour long three page progress report on both bed A and B. In as much detail as possible, I explained the impossible recovery of Ms. Pine, and the quickly declining health of Ms. Maddex. I hoped maybe if people read the notes that they could put a connection together themselves. I went to the break room when I was finished and refilled my coffee. I was exhausted from the nights venture and needed desperately to get the hell out of this place. The rest of the morning I looked at ads in the paper for open nursing positions in the area until the next shift nurse came in. I didn't even give report. I handed over the med keys and walked as fast as I could out of the building.

When I got home I did everything I could to fall asleep, but nothing was working. I couldn't get what had happened out of my mind I just wanted it to all go away. I took a few Benedryl from my medicine cabinet hoping the drowsy side effect would put me to sleep. As I laid down the room began spinning and all I could hear was her voice echoing "She tastes good with cream and sugar." As I lay there with my eyes open, a lone cockroach perched up in the corner of my room and I could only watch, paralyzed, as it seemed to watch me.

After hours of that sentence playing over in my head and staring at the spy in the corner of my room, I slowly began to doze off, but even that didn't stop the voices.

"She tastes good with cream and sugar, and I'm going to drink every last drop of her" Rosemary's words filled my dreams.

"I'm going to suck her bones dry, and there is nothing you can do about it; poor tired, Mara." She cackled. "She tastes so good, with cream and sugar!" I woke violently out of my deep sleep and hurriedly got dressed. My attire was less than work appropriate, but sweatpants and an old college t-shirt would have to do. I knew what was going on now, and I had to go save Florence!

The only thing fueling my tired body was adrenaline and fear. I fumbled with the keys for only a moment, then jumped into my car and drove as fast as I could back to work. There were many things running through my head the twenty-five minute drive felt like an eternity.

When I arrived, I quickly made my way into the building and ran down the hallway to room 216. When I got there, three men with a gurney were carrying a small black body bag out of the room. The hall wreaked of death and a delicate pale blue, sore covered hand fell out of the unzipped body bag. One of the men apologized, grabbed the hand, and pushed it back into the bag. My heart sunk into my stomach.

"What happened!?!? I yelled after the men. They looked me up and down like I was delusional. I pushed them out of the way and opened the bag. There was Florence, the beauty drained from her sore covered skin. Old blood traced her jaw line into her neck. Her soft white hair was grayed, and it had patches where it had fallen out. Her skin, was pale blue, and her body withered like a dying flower. She looked like she had aged forty years since I saw her. I got one good look before one of the men pushed me aside and quickly zipped up the body bag.

"Have you lost your damn mind? Let's get out of here before she gets any crazier." For an instant time stood still and I forgot what my purpose was in being here, that was, until I heard a slurping noise coming from room 216... That bitch was sipping that empty tea cup again, and I knew she had something to do with this. I made my way into the room and sitting in her brown oak chair was Rosemary... sipping that same god damn cup of tea and grinning. But this time, she had to look another ten years younger. Her hair cascaded down her side, grey, with auburn streaks. Her wrinkles had softened even more and her once pale skin had a soft honey glow. I furiously walked up to her and screamed in her face "What have you done to her!?!?!!"

I looked down and noticed something ...different about her usually empty tea cup. Inside her cup, was a pale white creamy colored liquid, that glowed a slight shade of yellow. I bent down to look closer and as I did, Rosemary grabbed the back of my neck and roughly pushed my face so close to the cup my nose nearly touched the fluorescent liquid. I pushed back a bit and that's when I saw it. Tiny shadows shaped like bodies floating through the creamy liquid like koi in a pond. They were airy and light, but as I looked closer, and focused my attention, I could make out the torture on their dead faces. As I glanced at each face, there, floating among the bodies, was Florence.

"She tasted so good with cream and sugar." I stepped back and grabbed for the tea cup.

"I...I...I..." I stuttered.  No words would escape my trembling lips. I grabbed for her cup and chucked it at the wall, shattering the glass into little pieces. Nothing but the glass hit the floor. I looked down at the porcelain grave. No liquid, no bodies, no Florence. I turned around to face Rosemary again, but she was gone. Not a trace of her left in the room: Her bed, once covered in her soft pink bedding, was gone; her table gone, tea set gone, all of Rosemary, gone.

I sat down against the wall next to the only remaining evidence she ever existed, and smashed my hand into the broken glass beside me.

"This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real" I said repetitively to comfort myself, with not much relief. I knew it was real, it was all so very real. I picked up my glass embedded hand and watched as the drops of blood ran out the cuts and stained the carpet. I scratched my bloodied hand through the glass again, wanting to feel anything but the numbness I was experiencing at that moment. My boss poked her head through the door.

"What is all this noise? What is going on, Mara? Why are you even here and what did you do to your hand." I sat still against the wall and ignored her. "Mara, I'm going to need you to come to my office." Again I sat motionless against the wall. She stood staring at me for awhile, so I finally gathered a few words for her.

"She killed Florence" was all I could manage.

"Who killed Florence?! I'm going to need to get a better report than that on this; you need to tell me what happened!" I stood up slowly and walked to station three to grab Florence and Rosemary's charts. We made our way to the corner of the building to her office. Her office was quiet and cold. Unlike the rest of the building, it was clean kept and didn't seem to belong in a nursing home. I slammed the charts on her desk and before she could get a word out, I began my own interrogation.

"Why has nobody read my notes? Why has nobody done anything about 216B?! Why did Florence have to suffer and no one paid any attention but me? Why did you keep Rosemary here when everything I charted proved we needed to get her out of here! She died because of you! No one took anything I said seriously and now look what has happened!" I nearly screamed every word of it at her. I began breathing aggressively at her. She only looked at me puzzlingly and worried.

"Mara.... there is no 216B... who is Rosemary?" She said calmly, as if she was trying to preserve what little sanity I had left. I was seconds from losing it.

"You know! Rosemary! She's the woman who moved in with Florence a couple of days ago before all of this started happening!" I grabbed 216B's chart and furiously flipped the cover open. It was blank. I flipped to the next page, blank. The next, blank. Blank... blank... blank... I began ripping through pages, savagely looking for my notes or any of her admission papers.

Nothing.

"No! No! No!" I screamed, "She was here!" I began describing every detail of the woman but stopped as I noticed my boss was giving me a look like she was afraid of me.

"Mara... I think you need to use your vacation days and go home for a couple of weeks. There has been no admissions in room 216B for over 6 months." I stared at the blank pages and said nothing. I had lost my mind. No one knew of a Rosemary but me... I was alone. I began questioning everything that had happened in the last few days, and began to believe that this was all a delusion caused by my own sleep deprivation. I had never truly been able to relate fully to my patients, until now. I had more empathy for them than I ever had. I made my way out of her office, packed the few things I had at work and walked to my car.

"I'm just crazy," I thought as I sat in the driver’s seat and slightly giggled. I couldn't wrap my mind around what had just happened. I felt it was real, but there was no proof that it was. I was stunned. I put my car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. I was finally starting to feel the effects of the Benedryl about ten minutes into my drive. I turned on the radio to keep myself awake and my mind occupied. I stared hypnotized on the pavement. My eyes began to flutter, and I shook my head to stay awake. Again my eyes fluttered. As I tried to focus on the road something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. A single cockroach crawled up onto my steering wheel. At that moment, I lost it. I swung furiously at the creature, with intent to kill. My car jerked back and forth, swerving across the road. I was still swinging my fists violently in the car until finally… *CRASH*

My eyes began to flutter, but this time, they fluttered awake. My sight was blurry but the faint sounds of beeping and an IV drip filled the room. As my eyes began to focus I looked down and read my wrist band.

"Mara Landry. March 26, 1989. St. John's Hospital," at that moment I felt more safe than I had in days and more rested than I had felt in months. I sunk my head into my pillow and relaxed my body. As I began to nod off, a nurse popped his head around the corner of the doorway.

"Hey! You are awake! You have been out for three days! How are you feeling" he asked enthusiastically. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts.

"I'm fine! Actually, the best I've felt in awhile.” I went to move my feet to the edge of the bed but they were heavy. I pulled my blankets over and both my legs were bruised and had large casts up to my knees.

The nurse explained. "You had quite the accident, broke both of your legs, but you’re lucky! From the damage your car took, it's a miracle you're alive!" It didn't bother me actually, the comfort the hospital gave me made me want to stay forever. We went over my care plan, he checked me over, got my vital signs, got my insurance information, some signatures he needed from me, and explained future discharge plans. He replaced my bag of Saline on my IV and a last minute remark sprang in his head as he tossed the empty IV bag into the trash and began exiting the room.

"Oh I almost forgot to tell you. We have a patient being admitted within the next couple of hours and she will be your roommate. It shouldn't be a problem though, she's a sweet older lady. Her name is Rosemary."

[steveothezep]

Sick Of Battling Cancer? Three New Alternatives to obtain Rid of Those Defiant Cells

With new technical renovations and also the expanding disbelief on the classic 'cut, melt and toxin' methods for dealing with (not also curing) Cancer, brand-new options have been emerging (or remembered) that were long forgotten and also quite possibly hidden by the powers-that-be. In the age of details and also new methods on matters as health as well as health, individuals and approaches that declare to know the best ways to treat Cancer cells have actually been emerging. From using cbd vape juice , the avoidance of sugars and also milks, the come-back of fasting and the expedition of the concept of Toxemia, in this short article we will certainly be exploring some alternatives for those in look for exploring new endeavors in doing away with those pesky, uneasy and also lethal rebellious cells. Fasting, a treatment motivated by sages as well as experts to clean the heart and soul because the dawn of time has been just recently investigated by doctors around the globe as well as have generated from research studies tremendous rates of success. Fasting, as the total abstaining of food has actually been labelled as 'the rapid means to total health' and after a fast is finished often the topic is related to wellness and youth. According to Ben Klassen in his book 'Salubrious Living": Autolysis is the dissolving or absorbing of cells by different ferments which are created in the body cells. It is by autolysis that numerous abnormal growths are eliminated on a quickly. The fragmentation of the growths, adhered to by their absorption, has actually been kept in mind time and again during fasts. Growths as large as a grapefruit have vanished on long fasts. Growths as big as a goose egg disappear on fasts of a few weeks period. Little growths the dimension of a pea normally go away after three or four days of fasting. The autolyzation of irregular growths during fasts have actually been observed in countless cases in Europe as well as America. Not only fasting, but additionally making use of Cannabis Oil has been located to contain the development rate of cancer cells and also to minimize them. Cannabis oil is one of the most functional natural items found by male. Classified by lots of as a 'superfood', it has massive ammounts of fatty acids and also the ratio in between omega 6, omega3 and linolenic acid is 2:5:1. Dr. Robert Ramer and Dr. Burkhard Hinz of the University of Rostock in Germany have discussed in 2007 that their experiments concerning using marihuana has actually cut lung cancer in half and also has avoided the cancer cells from dispersing. Other doctors, such as Anju Preet, that research study in Speculative Medicine has claimed: 'The beauty of this study is that we are revealing that a material of abuse, if utilized prudently, could supply a new road to therapy versus lung cancer cells,' certainly, in order to comprehend just what Cancer is as well as just how it acts, possibly we should attempt a new approach of what the principle of condition as well as health suggested, implies and will certainly imply. Go into Toxemia: We are taught to believe that our bodies get ill as a result of bacteria and also bacteria that can be found in contact with us end up becoming part of our system and ravaging chaos till our body immune system finds a means to get eliminate it. Yet to the advocates of Toxemia, the method is a little various. The body, based on intake of processed foods of modern-day life compromises its defenses and also reduces its vibrational rate. Then after a time in which the body is loaded down with synthetic toxins as well as its cleansing powers have suffered, the body lowers its vibrational frequency and also allows external representatives of a reduced vibrational price to enter the body and develop a circumstance of situation that could require the individual to go through mandatory rest. As strange and also shocking as it may sound, there is a pinch of logic right into it. There is the insurance claim that in order to be free of condition a body has to maintain his frequency high adequate and also well oxygenated. However just how do we enhance the vibrational frequency? Bruce Tainio and also Gary Young have uncovered that the normal frequency of a body is in between 62-68 Mhz however if it drops listed below that, the person may come to be a candidate for disease. Signs and symptoms of Cold show up at 58 Mhz, Influenza at 52 Mhz, Cancer at 42 Mhz. Disharmony turns up in the power field prior to it becomes a trouble in the body. According to Youthful and also Tainio: Refined foods have an absolutely no Mhz regularity, fresh produce up to 15 mhz, dry herbs from 12-22 Mhz as well as fresh herbs from 20-27 Mhz. Important Oils of healing grade start at 52 Mhz as well as go as high as 320 Mhz (this being rose oil). When an individual beverages coffee, the regularity of the body might drop to as long as 10 Mhz, and it can take 3 or even more days to return to its initial regularity. Yet, if an essential oil of 75 Mhz or higher is made use of quickly after drinking coffee, the typical frequency returns in less than one minute. The harmonic Range of Feeling, explained by Robert Tennyson Stevens, indicated that the highest possible frequency is Enthusiasm, Love and Pleasure. This is complied with by discomfort, which is adhered to by anger. The next low resonance is concern, which is followed by sorrow, as well as listed below is apathy. The most affordable in the range is unconsciousness (significance we really feel so dreadful that we have actually blocked ourselves from these scenarios from our lives. In order to be healthy and balanced, individuals should raise their vibrational degrees. Allow's not forget some foods we need to stay clear of. It is recognized that Cancer cells could not live in an alkaline environment. Fine-tuned foods are usually burglarized of their alkaline gets as well as thus end up being acidic. Therefore becoming part of the system as well as fostering the settlement of Cancer cells. Smoking, alcohol consumption alcohol and living sedentarily do not assist the body in getting rid of unwanted toxins, so the birth of maladies and infirmities become a fact, occasionally developing dreadful kinds of Cancer cells and also bringing all the anguish and also grief we can never ever obtain accustomed to see or live.