#she keeps trying to dig in her ceramic tile

[shift-shaping]

how's bindi doing?

Gooby

[opabiniawastrans]

Me: It is vitally important, as a biologist, to keep in mind that while animals have inner lives just as complex and interesting as humans, their experiences are fundamentally different from mine and I cannot project my interpretations of the world on to them

Also me: *types "can bearded dragon get depression" into Google*

[midnightshade]

𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | Gojo Satoru

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 – 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐: 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: After a long day, Gojo and his lover decide to take care of multiple needs at once.

𖤐 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

𖤐 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Creampie, Vaginal, Third Person P.O.V, not Beta Read

𖤐 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: I'm not really attracted to Gojo, so this was a fun challenge. I hope he's in character!

𖤐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𓇢𓆸 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 – 𝐅𝐞𝐦. 𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐜. 𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

[𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

The halls of Jujutsu High are dark as the moon crawls its way across the sky. A hush has fallen over the world, save for the pounding of water against ceramic.

In the showers, steam obscures two figures from sight. Satoru Gojo has his arms hooked under his lover's thighs, holding her up against the tiled wall of the showers as he thrusts up into her needy pussy.

She has her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, their skin wet and glistening with water. Each thrust of Satoru's hips pulls nonstop moans from her lips.

"Better be quiet," Gojo teased. "Or do you want the others to hear you?"

She clenches her legs around his waist, moving her hips in time with his thrusts. "Y-you're the one who suggested this! We could have just –fuck– did this in our room!"

Satoru snickered at the annoyance in her voice, finding it cute how she was trying so hard to be angry while she was coming apart on his cock.

"Where's your sense of adventure, sweetheart? Besides, this is more convenient. We get to relieve a little stress and we don't have to worry about clean-up afterwards!"

She wanted to roll her eyes at his comment, but Gojo shifted his hold so that her weight would be supported more by the wall. He kept one hand wrapped under her, bringing the other up between their bodies to rub tight circles into her swollen, neglected clit.

Satoru smirked when he was rewarded with a loud curse. He felt her squeeze around him, sucking him in deeper.

He leaned closer to her, his pretty blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he stared up at her from under his eyelashes.

"Has my baby been this needy? I didn't realize I was neglecting you so much. Let me make it up to you."

A shiver ran down her body, both from arousal and fear. That look in Gojo's eyes was a look she knew well. Like he was going to devour her whole.

Satoru readjusted his grip, a dangerous smirk twisting his features as he pulled himself out to the tip before slamming back in.

An immediate shock of pleasure exploded through her body, forcing her to arch her back. She screamed in surprise and pleasure, her voice cracking from the force.

Satoru kept his eyes trained on her face, a deep chuckle bubbling up in his chest. He had gotten the reaction he had wanted. It was hard not to enjoy it so much, watching her fall apart on his dick.

Embarrassment cut through her pleasure as she desperately slapped a hand over her mouth, attempting to smother her own screams.

Gojo continued his furious assault on her hole, his eyes never once leaving her face as he admired her features. She was so adorable, so gorgeous. He felt blessed being able to see her like this. She was all for him.

"Having trouble, sweetheart?" He teased.

When she glared at him, he chuckled. "Don't pretend like you aren't loving this. I can feel you squeezing me."

It was true. Her cunt was constricting around him so tightly, her walls spasming as he mercilessly bounced her on his cock, that it was getting hard for him to keep rhythm. He was starting to lose himself in her heat, biting his lip to suppress his own quiet moans.

"I've missed this," Gojo breathed out, his fingers digging into her skin. A blush dusted across his cheeks as his head lulled back, His thick cock pulsed inside of her, his orgasm creeping closer with every second.

Satoru panted with exertion from how hard he was driving himself into her, but he refused to stop. Not until they were both satisfied. She could only cling to him, trying not to slip from his water-slicked grasp.

"Come on, I want to feel you." His movements on her clit grew more frantic, obsessed with the way she was sucking him in.

"Cum for me. Want to see those eyes roll back into that pretty head of yours."

The tension was pulling taut in her abdomen, and each thrust sent her closer to the edge. Eventually, she couldn't even muffle her sounds, but she didn't care anymore. The only thing she cared about was how good Satoru Gojo's dick felt Stretching her tight hole open.

With a shrill cry, her back arched and she came hard on his cock. Her pussy spasmed, clenching down so hard around his length that Satoru's legs trembled at the sensation.

He continued thrusting up into her, his movements sloppy before sheathing himself inside of her with one final thrust, pumping her full as his dick pulsed.

The water continued drumming against the floor, accompanying the sounds of their heavy panting as they stayed locked in an embrace. After several long seconds, Satoru finally pulled out, his spent cock slipping from her still clenching hole.

He slowly lowered one of her legs down, keeping the other in his grasp as he kept her steady against the wall. Her legs were shaking, but Satoru made sure she didn't fall.

He looked up at her, admiring his handiwork as he took in her fucked out expression.

"I guess I was a little pent-up, too. Fucked you dumb, huh?" He joked, reveling in the way she simply huffed in response, unable to formulate coherent words as her body still shook from pleasure.

Gojo hummed, raising her leg higher to get a good look at her pussy. He whistled, watching as his cum dribbled out of her twitching hole and down her trembling thighs

Without a second thought, he brought his free hand to her folds, spreading her open so he could get a better look. He felt her lurch under his touch, still so sensitive from her release.

He swiped his fingers up through her folds, collecting the mess of fluids before bringing them up to her mouth. In a daze, she obediently opened her mouth, allowing him to shove his fingers inside

Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned softly, sucking their joined essence off of his fingers until they were cleaned.

Satisfied, Gojo pulled his fingers out of her mouth, caressing her cheek before grabbing her chin in a gentle yet firm grip. He tilted her head back, kissing her softly. Compared to how rough he had been prior, it was a jarring change.

She kissed him back readily, their wet bodies rubbing against each other. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

Gojo could taste himself on her tongue, smiling into the kiss as he rubbed her back. He broke it finally, giving her another grin before reaching for a wash cloth and some strawberry scented body wash.

"Look at you. All tuckered out after that, huh? Let's get cleaned up, 'kay? There's a nice, warm bed calling our names."

He opened the bottle with his thumb, flipping up the lid before squirting it out onto the cloth.

After sudsing it up, he set the bottle aside and pulled her against his chest. He started to rub down her body, smiling softly as she rested against him.

"Thank you, Satoru," she muttered, suppressing a yawn. Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the sensation of the cloth rubbing over her skin.

She felt so relaxed. The sweet scent of strawberry, the heat of the water, Satoru's presence. It all lulled her into a daze. She was almost worried she'd fall asleep right then and there, standing up.

"See? This was a good idea after all," Satoru said, one arm snaking around her waist to make sure she didn't lose her balance and fall over.

"Don't ruin it."

Satoru laughed lightly at her tired retort, kissing the crown of her head. He'd take care of her, just as he always did.

In moments like this, he wasn't the Strongest. He was just Gojo Satoru, enjoying an intimate moment with the person he cherished most in the world.

©Midnightshade. All rights reserved. Do NOT repost, reupload, or modify my works. Do not translate my works, do not link to them or recommend them on other websites, and do not use them for AI training

[astrum99]

I think I learned how to self-destruct from a very young age.

My mother is a very tidy person. Keen on keeping things perfectly clean, wiping until the handles sparkle like stars, and hiding everything in closets, cabinets, and drawers. The house looked like a hotel. There were very little signs of life.

I used to be messy as a child. The complete opposite of her vision. Keeping nicknacks on the table, every writing utensil, every collected rock, every sticker and stamp. I thought I knew where things were, I didn't. I hid things I treasured, and then I lost them. I used to think that I was just bad at keeping things organized.

My mother hated it. She loves me, of course, but she hated the mess. She despised the chaos and randomness, and gosh, the dust! So every once in a while, she cleaned for me. Putting things away into the little boxes; tucking the boxes away onto shelves. She tossed away things for me, too. She tossed away waste. Sometimes not-waste. She didn’t mean to, she didn’t know. I can’t possibly blame her.

After the third time it happened to something I genuinely treasured with all my heart, I learned the fragility and worthlessness of the “things I love”; and by extension, my attachment itself. It was a lesson ingrained in me. Useless items, useless affections. One time I wondered if she thought that of me too.

It didn’t help that my family moved so much when I was young. Renting only a few years before changing locations. Keeping things light and simple so we can move easily again. That means nothing big, nothing heavy, nothing to keep except items that are expensive and important. Old drawings, old writing, volumes of signed yearbooks were tossed because I can’t be greedy and take up precious space reserved for other practical things like bowls and computers and bars of soap.

I started organizing my own room when I was in high school. All the items, fit neatly into little spaces. A few drawers that were stuffed full, so my desk can be devoid of life. It looks like a fucking cubicle. I was praised for it.

During my final year in high school, I left my first and only art sculpture in a place I knew my mother would accidentally smash. I was terribly proud of it. I remember leaving it on the desk, imagining the broken pieces, and choosing to leave it there anyway. She did, of course. So I spend a whole class mending the broken parts. Water, clay, fuse, repeat. I left it in the classroom to “bake” and never took it back. I loved that thing. It was big, and heavy, and useless. I see myself in its image. (I don’t even have a photo of it. Isn't that hilarious?)

Every so often I think about burning my artwork. Tearing off the pages. Smearing jet-black ink. Submerge in bleach. Toss into a river. Scratch and shred and stab until it turns into scraps.

I think about smashing my favourite bowls and cups on the ceramic tiles, until they break into razor-sharp pieces. I think about sticking my hands in them until they dig into the softest part of my flesh and draw crimson.

I stay awake far longer than I should. I binge eat far more than I should. I delay things that I know I must do until I panic to make them perfect, because they must be perfect.

My bedroom wall is falling apart. Something to do with the drywall and plaster. The floors creak. The windows shake in strong winds. This house is my parents’. I imagine it all coming down on me. I stay. It tethers me.

The desire to destroy still engulfs me sometimes, but I’d like to think I’m better now. Time brings strength and reflection. Buying posters. Putting up paintings. Trying to convince myself to purchase something that I wanted but not needed.

It has to be better, because I’m terrified that one day I’ll find myself unable to tell if my apathy comes from my body, or from the imprint of my mother.

That desperate, anxious distancing from the eventual loss.

God, I hope my room is messy.

[riddikulus-writings]

Escapades

A/N: I don't write porn but the new The Suicide Squad movie has re-woken my Joel Kinnaman thirst and here we are, trying out my hand. I also accidentally wrote a part two if you want to read it here

Word Count: 1115

Pairing: Rick Flag x Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: No plot. At all. Vague knowledge of writing sexual escapades. Choking. Slight breeding kink. Creampie. Unprotected P in V sex [wrap it before you tap it, guys!!] Rick won't shut the hell up during drunk bathroom sex. Bad pun at the end?

That’s when they found themselves crashing backwards into the small bathroom nestled in the back of the bar. Stumbling over one another in their sudden fervor to be tangled up. The second the door kicked shut, clothes were ripped off. Rick’s shirt slung over the top of the stall. Nyx’s pants slid from one leg. She was pinned to the wall, one leg slung over his hip. Rick’s grip bruising on her thighs as he moved his lips up her neck back to bite at her bottom lip. Panties shucked to the side, he slid two fingers over her the wet slit of her sex before pushing them inside and curling.

He eagerly swallowed the sweet sounds she made as he worked her open. Reveled in the way her hips rocked against his hand. One hand slid up his neck, knocked off his hat to grab at his hair and the other raked trailed down his bare shoulders. He moved to bury his face in her shoulder, “All this for me? Listen to that-- you‘re soaked. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

Nyx whimpered something desperate and bit into his shoulder in a failed attempt to muffle her whines-- all it did was spur a growl from his chest. Rick felt her tense, could feel her release building up and he pulled free his fingers. Nyx’s head fell back, her mouth open, about to protest when he stuck his fingers in her mouth, “Taste yourself.”

Either she does or he does. He’d rather his first taste be straight from the source.

His other hand began working at his belt and suddenly her hands were there, instead, batting his away. Rick slid his hands underneath her shirt, fingertips skimming along her skin with feathery touches that became weighted to her ribs like bricks when her hand clasped around his cock.

His hips moved almost on their own as she stroked him. Rick’s eyes fell shut, mouth open. They were forehead to forehead and Nyx couldn’t help the almost evil grin she had when she heard his desperate pants as she worked him. When she slid her thumb over his tip his eyes shot back open and he hiked her leg higher up on his hip, “Keep that there, sweetheart.”

Again, she’d opened her mouth for a snarky half-drunk remark that slid to a sharp gasp when he pulled her drenched panties to the side, again, and drove himself in to the hilt in one slick movement, “Ah-fuck--”

“Yeah?” he pulled her other leg up, pressing her further into the wall, “You like that?”

She loved it. Basked in the stretch of him filling her. The filthy sounds, the almost pornographic groans falling from his lips. Her spine scraped up the wall with every thrust of his hips meeting hers and all she could do was cry out his name. He leaned in and captured her lips once more. It was an aggressive kiss, teeth and tongue and the sweet spicy tang of Fernet.

Even though the hot kisses she wouldn't shut up, her groans echoing through the cramped space. Rick smiled against her lips, "Be quiet."

"I-- can't," she gasped out, breaths jerking with every slide of his cock through her folds.

Nyx's already fuzzy world spun suddenly and she was standing on her own two feet, bent over the small ceramic sink. She was about to protest about the lack of Rick filling her senses but the idea was interrupted when her panties were ripped and he once again entered her in one full thrust.

His hand found her throat, pulling her back up against him, "All that mouthing off and it takes finally fuckin' you to shut you up?"

Desperate nods had her cheek rubbing against his stubble, "Uh-huh. Uh-huh--- yes, fuck, Rick--"

"Fuck, you're so damn tight, sweetheart." His eyes found them in the smudged mirror and he had to slow his hips to prevent from coming right then; Nyx was flushed, mouth hanging open. Eyes rolling, hair falling in her face. An evil grin spread over his kiss-swollen lips at the sight and he grunted out, "Look how pretty you are, taking my cock like this."

She didn't open her eyes and his grip on her throat tightened, pulling another desperate moan from her; another coat of her slick coated his cock, her cunt gripping him even tighter than before. "I said look."

Finally her eyes opened and both her hands moved from the edges of the sink to his forearm, fingernails digging in, “Rick, I’m gonna--”

“I got you, I got you,” he muttered, free hand finding her clit to help her through her impending orgasm, “C’mon, baby, cum on my cock.”

She did, gritting out his name in a whispered chant. If it weren’t for his legs bracing hers open, he was sure her legs would’ve clamped shut. Her whole body tensed up, cunt clenching and fluttering around him unbelievably hard as he worked her through wave after wave. At this angle he couldn’t silence her, save for the grip around her throat, but even then Nyx was quite vocal. His own release was close, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. His voice came out in a whine, “Want me to fill you up? Feel me drippin’ down your legs the rest of the night? Fuckin’ pretty little filthy thing.”

“Oh, God, please.,” she’d turned her head, nestling her face in the crook of his neck as she moved her hips back against his, “Please, fuckin’ breed me please please oh fuck--”

He pressed into her, grinding against something devastating inside her as he reached his peak, painting her walls in thick ropes as he pinned her against the edge of the sink. They stayed like that, her pussy still fluttering around his softening cock, her legs shaking. He turned his head and pressed his nose to her temple, taking slow deep breaths as he reveled in her.

Five minutes? A half hour? Their drunken haze had gotten worse if anything, but after an unknown amount of time she’d finally found her voice, “Where are my pants?”

Finally, he eased out of her, chuckling quietly. “Around your ankle.”

Somehow, getting dressed was more intimate than the previous activities. They helped each other right themselves, straightening each other out. Smoothing wrinkled clothes, flattening wild hair. Nyx picked his cowboy hat from the dark tiled floor, setting atop her own head, “This is mine, now, cowboy.”

He creaked the door open, holding it for her. Rick had to lean in extra close so she could hear his quiet remark over the loud music of the bar, “Gonna save a horse, later?”

[maplecornia]

Chapter 3

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.06K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: everytime I upload a chapter my tags increase LMAO i hope you guys are enjoying the story so far ^^ BTW when they're speaking and their words are bolded that means they're speaking in English just a heads up ;)

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne

What is he doing here?

And whose clothes do those belong to?

You mouth his name, and in his eyes, you can see the surprise turn to shame.

The sick feeling in your stomach grows bigger.

You pray that you're wrong. That for the first time in your life, your intuition isn't correct. That what you think happened was merely a misunderstanding. That he didn't do what you think he did.

You want to reassure yourself that you didn't give up your heart in vain.

That he still loves you.

But everything points to the signs.

The fact that he only wears boxers, his smooth muscled skin shining in the soft moonlight.

The pile of mixed clothes on the floor.

The look in his eyes and the ruffled mess of his hair.

Everything tells you what you already know.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice shaking. He doesn't meet your eyes.

The sick feeling grows deeper in your chest.

"What's going on?" you repeat, your voice stronger and more severe.

Even if your heart can't stand strong, at least you can.

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead, you hear a woman's voice from the bedroom.

Your bedroom.

"Babe, who is that?" you can't seem to look away from the door that it materialized from, as he looks between it and you, unsure of what to do. As though he were the one trapped. As though he were the one who was in pain. As though he were the victim here.

Instead of the murderer.

As she comes into view in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and running her hands through her hair, you can't move. You're frozen, and the world completely disappears, a roar of static noise rising in your ears.

No.

No.

NO.

This can't be happening. Not to you. You were so careful. You were so sure. So sure that he felt the same. So sure that he was yours and yours alone. So sure that nothing would be able to break what you shared. That you had finally found the one.

However, as she looks at you, her green eyes spark with realization. Then as they quickly turn to shame, she avoids your gaze as well.

You know.

This is happening.

It's real.

And there's no turning back from it.

You can't feel yourself as you start to cry.

In the shower, the hot water clings to your skin, mixing with the tears. You lean against the tiled wall, squeezing your eyes shut, you cling to yourself. Nails digging into your flesh, you bite your lip, shaking violently.

Mixed images of his face flash through your mind unwillingly.

Hiding alone, the steam surrounding you in a thick veil of deception, you give in to the pain.

You allow the tears to come.

You allow his face to stare into yours once more. You paint the same hazelnut gaze of his eyes. You try to recall the safety you once felt when he held you in his arms. You pull pieces of the same warmth that rose in your cold body flushing your face when he smiled at you, out of the depths of your mind. You look for the tenderness reflecting in his eyes when he whispered that he loved you. You sigh as you remember the way his curly hair had felt on your skin as you ran your hands through it. You picture his perfectly sculpted face, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes. The strong jaw and full lips. The curve of his throat and the touch of his body.

The mirage holds you in its embrace, makes you forget everything, all the pain, all the hurt, the betrayal that tore your soul apart for his pleasure.

However, when it leans in to kiss you, your eyes fly open to reality, and you find yourself hugging your body, the shower still running.

Shaking your head, you proceed to clean yourself, hoping that perhaps the water could wash away the pain.

Some things weren't enough. Some things are not good to dwell over. Some things are better left locked away.

In the end, it wasn't real.

None of it was real.

Done with the shower, you turn the water off, strands of hair falling in your face, and droplets of water dripping off of your body.

Was any part you enough to keep him?

Was this body?

Was it enough to have him wait for you?

Looking down at yourself, you press your fingers against your stomach, pulling at the flesh and skin as though it would change anything.

Were you enough?

Shaking the thought out of your mind, you reach for your towel as you open the shower curtain and step out into the steamy bathroom. Flipping on the fan switch, you dry yourself off, avoiding the reflection in the mirror. You lotion your body down, before pulling on your bra and underwear. Ignoring the drips from your hair, you tug on a loose T-shirt and shorts, and shake out your head, water falling everywhere as though you were a wet dog.

Sighing, you turn to the mirror, where fog from the shower is fading, water droplets trailing down like rain and making pathways. You follow them with your eyes for a moment before, in a sudden urge, you swipe your hand across the screen, destroying their peaceful journey. What's left of your reflection.

Staring into your eyes, you can see just how tired you look. Just how worn down you are. Touching just below your eye, the dark circles under your eyes from restless nights of tears and loss of sleep stand out like a stain on your skin.

What has he done to you?

This isn't you, this isn't who you are.

What has he turned you into?

Sighing, you turn away from the mirror and pull on your robe.

Drying your hair off with your towel, you pull open the door and walk outside, your wet feet slapping on the crisp wood floor as you make your way into the living room.

You look around for any sign of Jae or Miji, but they are nowhere to be seen. Glancing over at the kitchen island, you spot a small piece of paper. Taking it into your fingers, you read the neat block letters of Jaejin's handwriting. His Korean alphabet is so structured, so neat and so straight as though it were the writing of a computer. It reads:

“Hey, I’m sorry we left, but Mijeong prepared a surprise birthday dinner for me tonight, we’ll be back later so help yourself to make dinner or whatever. Remember this is your home now too, I love you!!”

You smile at the thoughtful letter and pocket it in your robe.

You had prepared a gift for Jae today yourself, but you'd reckon you'd just give it to him later.

Turning to the room you take a deep breath before beginning to explore.

The living room is very spacious, which you prefer. The TV is elevated on the left wall from the kitchen, the couch positioned against the right wall across from the screen. In the middle of the room, there is a cute small glass coffee table with forgotten magazines and books laying on top of it. Underneath the TV there are many different bookshelves with movies, books, and magazines shelved on them. All around the apartment, there are potted plants, cute decorations, and some photographs.

Stepping onto the carpet, you dig your feet into it as though it were the warm sand on the beach.

"I would have been fine sleeping on this floor, you know. This is like heaven." You murmur to yourself, closing your eyes in content. You wait there for a moment before the soft plinks of rain begin outside, knocking you out of your stupor.

Opening your eyes, you turn to the balcony's clear screen door and press your hand against it. Gazing outside, you smile at the sight of rain against the lights of the city. Opening the door a crack, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

After a moment, you step back inside and shut the screen door, turning to the kitchen. You pull out a pot and fill it with water before setting it on the ceramic stove and heating it. As you wait for it to boil, you pull out your phone and turn the notifications off from vibration. As soon as you do, you click on your Instagram and into the group chat you share with your friends.

Looking through, you can't help but feel a bit conflicted.

Biting your lip, your finger hovers over the message box before you quickly pull away and place your phone on the counter. Letting out a shaky breath, you swallow the lump rising dangerously in your throat before looking away.

You're sensitive today.

You knew it was going to be like this.

When you moved in the middle of high school back home, it was the same. Their lives carried on without you. They still had fun, they still had other things to do, they still had a life outside of you. Outside of you being there.

Things were different.

They were still your friends, they'll always be your friends, but they weren't the same.

Will they ever be the same?

When you hear the crackling of the boiling water, your head snaps up and you pocket the phone once more. You pull the pot off the stove and grab a mug out of one of the many cabinets in Jae's kitchen. As you set it beside the cooling water on the counter, you search his pantry for a cocoa mix. Normally you would have tea, but right after the sight of the rain, you're in the mood for something to warm you from the inside out.

Something to remind you of home.

On cold, rainy days after you and your friends would practice at the dance studio, or finish having a meal together or anything simple like that; you would hurry home and with your group, you would make them cocoa. You would start a fire and would sit with each other spending the time together, happy and complete.

The nostalgia and sadness growing too much, you are relieved when you find the hot cocoa packets. You let out a little shout of happiness and accomplishment before walking out of the pantry and dumping the contents into the cup. Setting the packet aside, you take the pot of water and carefully pour it into the cup as well. While the powder and water slowly swirl together, you rummage for a spoon before mixing it. Once you're satisfied, you sip it carefully and...

...almost burn your tongue off.

Coughing violently, you set it down and focus on putting away everything you brought out, giving it time to cool off. Once everything is done and put away, you pick up your mug, holding it to your face as you softly blow on it. Even now the smell and the warmth of it is getting rid of the chill you feel whenever you're alone.

Settling yourself amongst the blankets and pillows on the couch, you take the TV remote off of the coffee table and turn on the TV. Netflix pops up and you search for a K- drama you were watching before you left. When you find it, you press play, leaving off captions so that you can practice your Korean a bit more.

As the intro starts, you hum along to it, setting up a sort of bed so you can watch comfortably. Once it's done, you lay down, your head sinking into a pillow comfortably, and a soft gray blanket pulled over your body. You're in a position so that you can still lounge but won't spill your cocoa.

As the show begins, you mouth the words along with them. When you can't catch what they say, you're quick to rewind it and try it again until you understand. You laugh with the show, cry with it, finding yourself on an emotional roller coaster.

You've always been like this, too emotional, too easily attached, too naive. Always careful to keep yourself at a reasonable distance from anyone who could hurt you. From anyone who you couldn't handle if they left you. It takes a while for you to open yourself up to someone, and when you do, you're wholly and completely theirs.

It's a lose-lose situation.

A lose-lose way of life.

Before you know it, the cocoa is gone and the episode is almost over. Setting the mug on the coffee table, you settle back into the pillow. As you watch, your eyes grow heavy, and you drift further and further away. The last thing you see before you close them is their touching kiss before they flutter shut and you fall into a restless sleep.

Hours pass as you lie there on the couch, sleeping. The show continues to play until the question "are you still watching?" shows up on the screen as it often does when you've been watching for a while without much activity.

Once the show is off, the apartment goes silent and it seems almost empty. In the far background, there are the sounds of cars honking, the screech of tires on the pavement, even the sound of music from the billboards and clubs.

This is like home, these sounds are familiar. These are the reasons why you sleep so soundly, hugging the pillow as though it were your lifeline.

You do not wake when Mijeong and Jaejin enter the apartment. They are laughing, but as soon as they see you on the couch, fast asleep, they fall quiet, each one of them smiling softly.

They hold unimaginable compassion for you and deep love.

Mijeong immediately sets down her stuff, sliding out of her shoes and walking towards you. Tenderly, she brushes back your hair as though she were your mother taking care of you.

“She’s sound asleep.” She whispers, just as Jaejin joins her side.

“That’s not like her. She’s such a light sleeper, she would have woken up when we came home.” He replies worry reflected in his eyes. Mijeong’s smile, at his statement, fades away and she nods.

“She must be in so much pain that she wants to drown out the world around her,” Mijeong says sadly before standing up and clearing her throat.

“Let's take her to her room.” When Jaejin doesn't move, she gives him an expectant look and he jolts to attention. She hits him softly on his arm and he lets out a slight joking yelp.

"I was going to do it, I just wasn't ready yet." He whines, and she chuckles before leading the way to your room as Jaejin picks you up with strong, sure arms. Cradled in his arms as though you were a baby, he looks down at you with a tender look. He hates that he can't help you.

No one can.

He smiles how sound asleep you are now, cradled in his arms, your head resting against the crook of his neck. Mijeong, watching the encounter, smiles as well. He notices her look and his attention changes immediately from you to her in a second.

“What is it?” he asks, and she shakes her head, opening the door to your newly acclaimed bedroom.

“Nothing.” She says but a sly smile is playing at her lips, as though she’s concealing a secret. Which she is. A secret that, at that moment, she thought he would make a great father. A secret that at that moment, she wanted things with him that were far off in the future, but very real to her now.

As they walk into your room, Mijeong pulls back the covers, and Jaejin sets you down softly on the bed. Once you are out of his arms, and Mijeong pulls the covers up over your body, you settle instinctively into the soft mattress, and immediately curl up into a ball, holding tightly to one of the many pillows on your bed. They smile as they watch over you, and Jaejin presses a soft kiss on your forehead. Mijeong does the same, brushing back strands of hair on your forehead. Turning around, they share a tender look before walking out of the room and cracking the door shut behind them.

“Are you sure that she’ll be okay?” Mijeong asks as soon as the door is shut. Jaejin looks at her a bit surprised.

“Of course. Why, are you having second thoughts?” he asks before heading into the living room, Mijeong not far behind.

"No. I'm not, I just....I wish we could tell her before we do anything. She's going to wake up and we'll be gone." Mijeong explains, following him and settling on the counter. Jaejin pauses from setting the living room in order and turns to her. He takes her hand in his own and kisses her softly on the forehead before pressing his forehead to hers tenderly.

"I love you, and I wish we could have told her before we leave tomorrow, but she will be okay. She'll have the apartment, and my job at Big Hit to take over. Everything will be okay." He reassures her. Mijeong hesitates before nodding her head in agreement. Jaejin smiles, before pulling away and turning off the TV. "Besides, I'll leave her a note just like we did tonight before we take off in the morning. This is just too much of an amazing opportunity for you and for me to waste."

"I know." Mijeong answers, rocking on the counter as she swings her legs back and forth. "Not every model gets a chance to appear at Fashion Week, but Jae....she'll be all alone."

Done with ordering the room, he chuckles as he begins to make his way back to her.

"She is a grown-up you know. It’s only a few months, she can take care of herself." He says, pulling her off the counter and spinning around in the air before setting her down as she giggles and leans on him, a little dizzy.

"Don't worry," he reassures her once more before heading into their room, his voice fading as he closes the door behind him.

"Yen will be okay. She always is."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: thanks to everyone who read! so why do you think miss Yen moved to Korea?

+

I'm going to be updating my mutuals list (because I never had it to begin with ;-;) on my navigation so if you want to be added, pls ask me ^^ thankssss

chapter 4 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

[gotham-ruaidh]

Pas De Deux - A  Moodboard (Three Part) One-Shot (Part 2)

@iamnottrisha​ - thanks for organizing!

@taamagams - thanks for creating this beautiful moodboard!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

She’d fretted all night.

 What to wear the next day.

 What the hell was going on between her and Jamie.

 How intense his eyes had been.

 How sweet the baklava had tasted when they shared it.

 The heat of the kiss on her cheek after he’d walked her home from Sahadi’s.

 Adso’s happy meows as he devoured Jamie’s leftover lamb.

 She could barely focus on her lessons that day – and the students certainly didn’t mind when she decided to show a National Geographic documentary about whale sharks. She watched it six times with her classes, hoping that the simple purple dress she’d found at the back of her closet would be good enough.

 They’d agreed to meet at four thirty – ninety minutes after classes ended.

 So just as Claire buttoned up her coat, Jamie knocked on the door of her office. He was dressed nicely – black pants, dark blue button-down shirt, gray peacoat draped over one arm.

 Claire smoothed invisible fuzz from her coat. “Hi,” she smiled.

 “Hi,” he smiled back. “You OK to take the subway for a bit?”

 She nodded, pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

 He did – a quick walk to Atlantic Terminal, and then they waited for the 2 train on the Manhattan-bound platform.

 “When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she teased.

 The train arrived, and he followed her into the car, taking a seat next to her. Boldly he took her hand.

 “We’ll be switching to the 1 at Times Square. Maybe that’s enough of a clue.”

 She squeezed his hand. “Well – in the interim, can you tell me about your family?”

 Through Brooklyn and lower Manhattan, he did. And she did.

 His stories about Greenpoint in the 1980s – the Polish restaurants, the longshoremen, the Saturday afternoons digging in the backyard for bottles and pottery shards discarded around the old turn-of-the-century outhouse.

 Her stories about Canada and Brazil and Tanzania and Australia, roaming the world with Uncle Lamb and his anthropology students.

 Their stories about living in New York, and their students, and how their beloved neighborhoods had shrunk with gentrification.

 At Times Square they exited the train and crossed the platform, still holding hands. As the 1 train approached they watched a man playing “Under The Boardwalk” on steel drums. Jamie drew Claire closer to his side.

 The 1 train they boarded was an older model – individual orange and yellow molded seats stacked against each other. Claire squeezed in between Jamie’s broad shoulders and the sticky metal wall.

 “Are you hungry?”

 She turned to look at him – noses inches apart. “I can always eat.”

 “No food rules I should be aware of?”

 She smiled. “No. Just good food.”

 He glanced out the window – the train rolled past the ceramic tiles of ships at Columbus Circle. “I know a good place. Nothing fancy.”

 Claire lay her hand on his knee. “I hope you know I don’t need anything fancy. You don’t need to woo me, Jamie.”

 He met her eyes then – firm and clear. “Yes I do, Claire.”

 She opened her mouth to reply – but the train jerked to a stop. Jamie stood. She grabbed his hand and followed him onto the platform at Lincoln Center. Marveling at the mosaics of musicians and acrobats and opera divas singing arias on the station walls.

 Five minutes later they were seated at a bustling restaurant, browsing a menu of American classics.

 “We’ve got plenty of time before the show,” Jamie said softly, reviewing the wine list.

 “Are you going to keep it a secret until we go across the street?” she teased.

 He looked up. “Let me just enjoy the fact that I can surprise you.”

 When the waiter arrived, she ordered a medium-rare cheeseburger and an Old Fashioned. Jamie smiled so broadly as he ordered a steak and a Manhattan.

 “No salad for you, Claire?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Rabbit food. In many of the places I lived with Uncle Lamb as a girl, if you couldn’t peel it or cook it, you couldn’t eat it.”

 “And you’ve kept those habits, even though you’ve been back in the U.S. for how many years now?”

 “Eleven.” She paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. “I never wanted to be one of those women who feel compelled to watch every single thing that they eat – to survive on green juice or whatever the hell they pay all that money for.”

 Jamie raised his glass. “To being independent-minded.”

 She clinked her glass against his. Sipped her drink.

 “I assume that doesn’t bother you, Jamie?”

 His brows creased. “What are you talking about?”

 She swallowed. “That I’m…different. That I have my own opinions.”

 “What? No, Claire.” He reached across the table and took her free hand. Caressing. “Don’t even think about that being something negative.”

 “And it doesn’t bother you that I’m divorced?”

 He set down his drink. “No. You can tell me whatever you want, Claire, whenever you feel comfortable, and I promise you it won’t bother me. It does bother me that whoever he was, he was stupid enough to not appreciate you in the way you deserve.”

 “But – ”

 “Are you trying to push me away, Claire? Because I hope you can tell that I’m trying very desperately to get to know you, and share my world with you. And I want desperately for you to do the same. However much of yourself you want to share with me, I’ll gladly take it.”

 She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what it is between us, Jamie. But I’m open to it. I’m open to you.”

 He released her hand. She heard his chair scraping against the floor – and then he gently took both of her hands. Her eyes flew open – seeing him kneel before her, in the crowded restaurant, not caring about the wait staff or the people gawking from neighboring tables.

 “My heart is open to yours, Claire. Please know that.”

 Tears slipped from her eyes. “I do,” she whispered.

 He squeezed her hands. Rose. Leaned over, breath hot against her cheek.

 “Good,” he whispered.

[theashemarie]

Sparks in the Sky | Pearlina

Written for Frost Bytes Zine! Please go support the full zine, as a lot of people worked very hard on it! I’m very honored to be apart of it! 

This is a collab with @katiemonz​! Her piece is reblogged below, and we ask that you share the version with both pieces! 

[Crossposted on ao3.]

--

Outside, snow falls like silent starlight. Pearl watches it from her spot in the kitchen, shivering in her thin leggings and t-shirt. Soon, she’ll have to shrug into a hoodie and socks, but for now she’s enjoying the cold, enjoying watching the flecks of snow as they land against the window and melt. The city beyond is dark, quiet in the pitch of the blackout, and white, the only electric light from cars as they glide along the roads slowly.

The blackout wasn’t expected but also isn’t a surprise. The Great Zapfish doesn’t like blizzards and the snowfall and ice are so dramatic that they drag the electrical lines down, so there’s always at least one every winter. The blackouts aren’t usually this close to the holidays though, but Pearl’s been living in this city her whole life so nothing surprises her anymore.

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Marina is bundled up on the couch, covered in blankets and dressed in her thickest flannel pajamas. She and the cold don’t get along because she’s used to the perpetual tropics of the domes in Octo Valley—something that Pearl can’t fathom, being a child of the surface and its seasons—so this time of year she’s usually nothing more than a ball of fleece, flannel, sweaters, fake fur, hoodies, boots, scarves, and her beloved fuzzy socks. Pearl can see a pair of them now, red and green, poking out from the bottom of her favorite blanket.

“Probably all night. The roads ain’t safe so they can’t get crews out to fix it.” Pearl glances back to see Marina worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, staring down at her lap. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We have the ceramic heater.”

They do—one of the perks of living in their so-old-it-might-as-well-be-vintage apartment. Almost all the other buildings in downtown use solely electric heating because it’s more efficient, but this building is the oldest one that Pearl’s family owns, the one that probably should be at the top of the renovation shortlist—and it has undergone some reno: they have electric heating in the floors of the bathrooms and their bedroom and wall-mounted air conditioners—but living here is a compromise. The truth is that Pearl wanted to be in one of those newer buildings, with all the metal and glass, the hard tile floors, the central heating and cooling, but Marina wanted vintage; Marina wanted warmth; Marina wanted a place that wasn’t blindingly white. Marina is someone who, after years spent in a world of metal and militaristic order, wanted natural materials and the raw, methodical chaos of brick.

Marina loves wood floors that are so old they feel soft. And Pearl loves Marina. So, they live here, on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings in downtown with wood floors and exposed brick and a balcony with wrought iron railings. There are drafts and the faucets used to leak, but it’s packed to the gills with personality and love. Downtown is Pearl’s half of the compromise: she wanted to be here, in the middle of everything, close to the studio and the square and Starfish Mainstage and The Reef, and Marina, despite favoring the quiet of the suburbs, loves Pearl, so they’ve found their small, warm home here.

And they have their ceramic heater, connected to the gas, and their gas stove and their gas water heater, so things could be worse. Way worse. Which reminds her...

“Reena... Listen, I won’t lie. Power’s out, snow’s coming down. It’s gonna get cold. You know what that means,” Pearl says, one eyebrow rising like a question mark.

Marina looks up at her, thoughtful, and then grins. She throws off her blanket and springs to her feet. “I’ll get the marshmallows!”

+++

They make s’mores on the stove after igniting the gas with a lighter, hold metal skewers out over the small flame, and toast their marshmallows as well as they can. Eventually, Pearl gets too cold to hide it and her teeth begin to chatter, which makes Marina point her toward their room with a stern glance. Pearl grumbles away, and she begrudgingly pulls on her biggest, pinkest hoodie, a bobble hat, and a pair of Marina’s socks. They’re too big so they crawl up her legs to her knees.

Carefully, she moves the velvet bag from the waistband of her leggings to the large front pocket of her hoodie, feeling to make sure the ring is still there. It’ll be much more secure there.

When Pearl returns, Marina is waist deep in a bottom cupboard, searching for candles. “Enough flashlights,” she says when Pearl comes up behind her and puts a hand on her back. The s’mores are sitting on a plate, chocolate oozing. “We need some warm light.”

They pick out giant three-wick candles—cranberry and fleece scented—and light them. Marina’s face, cast in a golden light, looks beautiful as she sets the candles down around their small, sweet feast. Behind them, the Squidmas tree, merry in its dressing, tinsel, and ornaments, sits dark, with a multitude of colorful presents—half wrapped by Marina’s careful, precise hands and the other half stuffed into bags messily by Pearl—lying underneath, expectantly, with all the patience of freshly fallen snow.

Of course, the most important present, the one Pearl’s been hiding since the Final Fest, is deep within the pocket of her hoodie. The only way to keep the small gold circlet hidden was to keep it on her person at all times, even when she slept and showered. She doesn’t have the traditional box because that would give her away, and instead she keeps the ring tucked away in a small, velvet drawstring bag.

Five months of hiding, of waiting, of panicking and Pearl is almost at the finish line. Squidmas morning, when it’s just the two of them, the presents, and mugs of sugary hot cocoa, she’s going to do it. She’s going to take that knee and pop that question.

Or so she tells herself.

“Pearlie,” Marina says, drawing Pearl out of her intense second-guessing. “They’re gonna get cold!”

Pearl grins at her, trying to look convincing and not like she’s beating herself up for taking so long. Five months —

She bites into her s’more, crunching the graham cracker in half with her teeth. Chocolate oozes out and she has to dart and lean over the counter to keep it from dripping on her shirt. Marina laughs at her.

Once they’re done eating, Marina pads toward the window, worrying her lip again. The snow is still coming down in small, individual crystals that paint the sky in great flurries of white. Luckily, the moon is bright tonight, so they can see the city clearly, and the stars are vivid—

Wait.

“Pearl...” Marina says, realizing at the same time. “The stars ...”

With all the light pollution gone, the stars are singing clearly from between the clouds. Marina’s hands come up to cover her mouth, and Pearl stares at her, at those long, precise fingers, and she feels something shift inside her, sending up a small blizzard of confusion in her stomach. This is...

“Reena...” Pearl says, suddenly alive with a fever that warms her through. She feels her face heat up as a plan forms. “We have to stay here in the living room tonight... The ceramic heater will keep us warm. I have— I have an idea! Don’t move!”

“Wh— Pearlie... What ?”

Pearl darts across the room, slipping in her socks, and cranks the knob on the heater up, sees the coils turn color as the gas kicks on and the small flame inside ignites. Then, she spins around, snatches Marina’s favorite blanket off the couch, and scurries to their room, digs around in their closet, and grabs as many blankets as she can carry. She dumps these on the ground right in front of the balcony doors, and makes one more mad dash, this time for the bathroom, where she grabs three large, fluffy towels.

When she returns, Marina is standing near the blanket pile, staring at it pensively, and she sends Pearl a confused, worried look. Pearl waves her off and drops to her knees. The floor is frigid this close to the old, single-paned doors, and she quickly stuffs the towels near the bottom, trying to block the cold from seeping in through the small crack. Then, she gathers up the blankets again and organizes them into a haphazard pile, creating a soft pallet on their old, worn, wood floor.

“C’mon.” Pearl holds her hands out and Marina carefully places her fingers into Pearl’s warm palms. Pearl guides her down, sets her right in the middle of the pile, grabs two more blankets, and drapes them over her. Marina chuckles and pulls them tighter around herself.

“I’ll be right back,” Pearl says, holding her hands out like Marina’s liable to disappear. It’s just that this moment feels suddenly special, feels like she needs to make it count, because it’s never this quiet and dark in the city and it’s the holidays and Pearl actually feels like this all means something, like this little bubble of warmth that they’re creating needs to be enjoyed completely and what better way to do that than in a pile of blankets, staring up at the stars?

Pearl scoops up the candles—dangerously, one in the crook of her elbow—and deposits them carefully around the small nest and crawls close to Marina, who opens up the blankets to let her in.

They stare up, up, up through the wide glass of the balcony doors, at the panorama of the sky, and watch the stars. The candles flicker around them, like small facsimiles for the distant sparks painted on the horizon. Marina raises one arm and points out constellations, using the old human names like Gemini, Orion, Hydra, but Pearl is far too fascinated with the light reflecting in Marina’s eyes.

“I haven’t seen the stars since Mt. Nantai,” Marina says into the quiet, whispering it against the glass as she leans close to see, breath appearing in a small burst of white on its surface. “Since I popped my head out of Octo Valley and climbed out.”

Pearl, taken back for a second, back to when Marina had short hair and Pearl was aching for a best friend, answers a bit belatedly: “We’ve visited Mt. Nantai since then.”

Marina looks back at her, cheeks painted with a light blush. “I wasn’t exactly looking at the stars then. I had more important things to look at.”

The look she gives Pearl is so full of tenderness that it strikes Pearl right in the chest. “Oh ,” she breathes. “S-same.”

Usually, she doesn’t get flustered like this, but something about the blackout, how close they’re sitting, the sight of the stars, the distinct shape of the engagement ring digging into her palm, where she’s clutching it inside her pocket, is making her soft. Her chest feels like it’s gearing up for a timpani solo.

This is it , she realizes as Marina smiles softly at her and focuses back on the stars. Forget Squidmas morning. This is it, back to where they started—just them, the stars, and nature. Of course, back then, Pearl never imagined that she’d fall in love with anyone , let alone Marina, and it took a few years to get here, but she’s not about to look this cosmic realignment in the face and say no.

“Reena...” she says, pulling her hand free. The velvet bag is there, and she can feel the ring through it. She removes it with shaking fingers. Outside, the snow continues to fall, covering the balcony and the furniture they forgot to pull inside.

Pearl shakes the ring into her palm. “Marina... It’s early, but I have a present for you.”

Marina turns. Pearl holds the ring up, stomach dropping open like a snowflake in freefall.

Marina’s eyes land on the ring. Pearl smiles with as much confidence as she can muster.

Marina’s face lights up like the stars in the night’s sky. 

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Five

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

Sorry for the week delay in posting this new chapter of my @cssns story, but between the rough week at work, and an even rougher weekend in my personal life, I barely had the time, or the energy, to write. This chapter also ran a little bit longer than I originally intended but that was partially because I decided to add a brief glimpse into Emma's everyday life as a Storybrooke deputy to bridge the time between her two "dates".  Just a little bit of comedy to lighten things up because a big revelation is coming soon that will shake Emma’s trust.

I want to extend my thanks to everyone involved in this event!  @kmomof4, your commentary leaves me in stitches every week!  I have to also thank @cocohook38 for the incredible artwork above and @lassluna for her time as my beta to help keep this tale on track.

I also want to give a little head’s up that since next week is my daughter’s birthday, it will be another 2 weeks until I can post Chapter six.  Party planning is a lot of work!

Read from the beginning on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four    AO3  FF.net

Thursday morning came way too quickly. The sun hadn't even risen yet as Emma reached across her nightstand to squelch the incessant beeping of her alarm clock, wishing the whole time that there was a similar button that would cease the throbbing inside her skull. She was going to pay dearly for overindulging last night, but despite the hangover, she didn't regret everything she did last night and she was actually looking forward to the day. Well, more specifically, the night.

The past few hours had also given her a stark reminder as to why living with her brother was a bad idea. Her sister-in-law had still been awake watching television in the living room when Emma tried to slip in the door unnoticed. Mary Margaret had a huge, exuberant grin on her face, probably hoping that Emma would spill all of the lurid details of the evening - especially the part that included why she was trying to sneak into the loft after midnight, but Emma wasn't going to be quite so forthcoming. Not tonight at least.

She gave her sister-in-law an embarrassed smile and feigned a yawn as she practically darted across the room to the stairs. Mary Margaret simply nodded and whispered "good night" but Emma had little doubt that they'd have the full conversation later. The woman definitely had a way of pulling information out of people without even breaking a sweat, or her sweet demeanor. She'd probably make one hell of an interrogator if she wasn't a third grade teacher, Emma thought as she ascended the stairs to her bedroom.

Now that it was morning, she had a bigger challenge facing her - getting downstairs and out of the door before David realized that she was running nearly half an hour late. She really wanted a steaming hot cup of coffee with a side of ibuprofen, but it would have to wait until she got to the station since she wasn't going to have time to stop at Granny's on the way. She tiptoed down the stairs as stealthily as she could, crossed through the kitchen to grab her bag and jacket by the front door - instantly freezing and cringing at the sound of two words uttered from the living room.

"Late night?"

Damn. Of course, David was already awake. "Yeah. Sorry… I'm on my way in…" she apologized without making eye contact with her brother. She absolutely needed to get a place of her own.

"Give Anton a call when you get to the station. He left a very strange message on my phone this morning and it sounded very much like a problem that will take someone with your particular skill set to deal with…"

"Really? What kind of problem?"

"He said that a couple of his pigs escaped their pen and got into the bean fields…"

Emma swung her head around at the mention of Anton's beans with a puzzled and slightly worried expression on her face. "Do I dare ask - which beans? String beans? Beanstalk beans? Or…"

"That would be the or. Apparently, they ate a few of Anton's new experimental anti-gravity beans that he's been testing to make climbing those big ol' beanstalks to his realm easier."

"So… we've got flying pigs?" she deadpanned, too hungover to even find the humor in this ridiculous situation.

"Technically floating pigs… I mean, they can't really go anywhere due to the protective field around Anton's farm, but he needs someone who might be able to do a little magical piggy wrangling."

Emma shook her head and exhaled a frustrated sigh. This definitely wasn't the start she needed for this day. She had to think of a spell that would either counteract the effect of the beans or somehow figure a way to confine them to a safe area until the beans wore off - however long that may take.

The ironic part was that two days ago, if someone had told her that she'd have two handsome, eligible men vying for her attention, she would have replied when pigs fly. Now she was about to contend with actual airborne swine while thinking about both of those wonderful men. But she was also trying to ignore a niggling thought deep in her subconscious that kept saying that this wasn't necessarily a good thing. She just wasn't clear-headed enough to want to listen to it yet.

**********

A few hours later, after battling three very unruly pigs at Anton's bean farm, Emma was now certain she'd seen everything. She'd attempted three different spells trying to get the pigs to come back down to earth, but none were successful. So, with Anton's assurance that the floating effect would wear off in a few hours, as a last resort, she used her teleportation abilities to relocate each of the pigs into the general area of their enclosure. Once all three were back in one place, she utilized a protection spell to put a separate force field around the pig pen so they wouldn't be able to fly off again. She just couldn't promise Anton that they'd have a soft landing when the beans wore off, so he'd made the decision to make the enclosure as muddy as possible to help cushion their descent.

Mud that had clung to her boots as she'd wandered into Granny's, already exhausted only two hours into her morning. Who would have thought that wrangling flying pigs would be such hard work? It had certainly been enough to leave her famished so she'd left David a message to let him know she was taking her lunch hour early so she could get breakfast. Graham could handle things until she got back she told herself as she slid onto one of the stools at the diner's counter.

The little devil on her shoulder urged her to order some bacon and eggs, but when Ruby came over to take her order, she decided on a Belgian waffle with strawberries and a heap of whipped cream on top instead. She did go ahead and order a side of scrambled eggs, but what she really wanted brought out to her first was the biggest cup of Granny's strongest brew. Ruby took her order to the kitchen, then returned to fill both Emma's stainless steel travel mug as well as a ceramic mug to drink here. Emma thanked her bubbly friend, silently questioning how anyone could be so perky this early in the morning as took a tentative sip of the steaming coffee. She relished the beverage's aroma but didn't realize how much she'd been craving it until the welcome warmth reached her belly. Now this morning was improving.

After a short wait, Granny herself emerged from the kitchen with Emma's food, immediately scrunching her nose in disgust as she approached the deputy.

"What the hell is that stench?" Granny scowled, glaring at Emma - and the muddy footprints that the deputy had left on the floor when she entered the diner. "And where did that mess come from?"

"Sorry, Granny," Emma flushed with embarrassment while digging through her jacket pockets in search of her wand. "I was out at Anton's farm and I sort of forgot…" Brandishing her magic wand, she waved it in the direction of the dirty floor and recited the spell - "Et abiit lutum. Dirt be gone." With a swish of her wand, the floor was sparkling clean once again and Emma repeated the spell over her boots, not daring to leave behind even the slightest trace of mud when she left the building.

"That's better," the elder woman grumbled as she placed the plates of food onto the countertop directly in front of Emma. "Next time, please clean the boots before entering my diner." Emma nodded in agreement as she stabbed her fork into a chunk of scrambled egg. You just didn't argue with Granny. Ever.

By the time she'd finished off the eggs and devoured half of the waffle (but all of the strawberries), she heard the tap of shoe soles on the magically clean tile approaching her. A quick glance over her left shoulder revealed that the figure nearing her was Walsh, seemingly off to a late start this morning. She noticed that his pace slowed a bit as he got closer, his steps becoming tentative as he reached the counter - and Emma, for that matter.

"Good morning, Emma," he greeted her, his voice a little timid. "I hadn't expected to see you here. Would you mind if I joined you?"

"The seat's not occupied," she teased, still very aware of the awkward way they'd said goodnight last evening. He was partially responsible for her hangover so she didn't feel the least bit guilty taunting him a bit. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could wrangle an explanation out of him for his weird behavior yesterday without having to outright ask. "Thank you again for dinner last night. I had a great time catching up on lost time. Can I return the favor and buy you breakfast?"

"How about just coffee?" he suggested as he took a seat on the stool to her left. "I have a meeting with one of my suppliers this morning so I'm short on time."

"Sure. Hey, Ruby - can I get another coffee for my friend here?"

"Just a sec. I've got a fresh pot brewing," Ruby responded, fishing a second ceramic mug from beneath the counter. She brought the empty mug over to where Emma and Walsh were sitting, giving Emma a sly wink of approval as she placed the cup in front of Walsh. "Be right back, hon."

Emma shook her head at the waitress' actions, although she secretly appreciated the affirmation. As promised, Ruby came right back over with a fresh pot of coffee, filling Walsh's mug and topping off Emma's before scurrying off. They each waited until she was out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

"Emma, I think I owe you a bit of an apology over how our evening ended last night," Walsh spoke up, his confession catching her off-guard. She hadn't imagined that he would bring up the subject without even the slightest bit of prodding.

"An apology?" she feigned ignorance. "For what?"

"I guess I didn't like how things ended rather abruptly and that's entirely my fault. I let myself get a little too comfortable and I completely forgot that it wasn't the old days. I'd fully expected to see you off with a goodnight kiss, forgetting entirely that we weren't on a date. It wouldn't have been appropriate and I'm very sorry if you sensed any disappointment on my part."

"The thought never crossed my mind," she insisted, shoving another forkful of waffle into her mouth before her tongue had a chance to betray her.

"Phew," he sighed loudly. "I was honestly worried that you'd be upset with me this morning and I'm really glad that you aren't because I'd love to have dinner with you again. If you'll have me, that is…"

"I would love to have dinner with you again, Walsh," she replied after she finished chewing and swallowing her food. "How long do you expect to be in town?"

"Through the weekend, for sure and it looks like probably Monday since the shipment I'm awaiting seems to be delayed by a storm in the Atlantic. That's what my meeting this morning is about - to get an update on the ship's pending arrival. Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow's Friday, right? I can't tomorrow. I have a meeting…"

"A meeting? At night?"

"Well, more like a training session - to help me work on refining some newly-acquired skills." She wasn't entirely sure how she should explain that she was actually attending a coven gathering at the height of the full moon, but since Walsh had hinted earlier that he was familiar with Storybrooke's less-than-secretive other side, she didn't think he'd be opposed to discover that she was dabbling in magic. "I've been studying to become a witch."

"A witch?" he asked incredulously, although she didn't sense he was overly surprised by her revelation.

"Yes. Technically, I guess I already am a witch, but I'm still pretty much a novice. I've been studying with some of the town's most powerful…"

"The Mills sisters?" he interrupted, again catching her unprepared for his query. He was definitely well-versed enough to be able to drop names.

"Yeah, I've been learning from them as a part of their current coven."

"Excellent teachers, I'm sure."

"They are, but just how do you know about them?" she asked skeptically. "You've crossed paths with them?"

"So to speak. I've been doing business in Storybrooke for years and through my contacts here, I've learned a lot about this little town. As I mentioned yesterday, this town is a great source for unique discoveries."

"Alright then, I have to ask - do you practice magic at all?"

"No, I don't dabble in it myself, but I've picked up a few potions here and there from Mr. Gold at the pawn shop. He's an excellent apothecary as well. I've been told that both he and his wife were members of the Mills sisters' coven until maybe a year ago. I guess they mostly stopped practicing magic when their son was born but Mr. Gold is still a wonderful source of information and trinkets."

"I haven't really gotten to know the Golds that well, but as you know, Storybrooke is full of surprises," she chuckled nervously, for some reason feeling ill at ease with the direction the conversation had taken. She glanced up at the clock on the wall near the old jukebox and made a very animated display of being late. "Oh, crap! I hate to run off on you again, Walsh, but I really better get to the station before my brother sends out a search party. I'm probably free Saturday though…"

"I'll take a look at my agenda, but I'm pretty sure I'm free that day too."

"Great. Call me later then." She forced a smile to her lips as she gathered up her things and dropped a ten dollar bill and a couple of ones on the countertop to pay for her meal and Walsh's coffee. "Thanks, Ruby!" she shouted to her friend as she snatched up the travel mug. "I'll see you around town, Walsh."

Walsh stood up to see her out before returning to his seat. Ruby swiftly whisked away Emma's empty plates before asking Walsh if there was anything else she could get him. He politely declined, staring at Emma through the window as she made her way through the diner's courtyard and disappeared beyond the hedge. Ruby gave him a smile and a nod as she vanished into the kitchen with a huge grin on her face knowing that tomorrow night she was absolutely going to grill Emma to learn everything about her handsome friend.

**********

Despite clearing the air with Walsh and making tentative plans with him for the weekend, Emma had only a singular thought on her mind the rest of the day - her date that evening with the infuriatingly charming Captain Jones. A relatively light afternoon of patrols allowed her to leave the station on time - and to take a much needed shower to wash away any remaining traces of Anton's bean field mud. Tonight, she was going on a proper date, albeit on that modern day pirate ship, and she wanted to look her best.

She'd selected a soft pink chiffon dress from her armoire and drew her unruly hair back into the neatest ponytail she could manage. She wasn't sure why, but she really wanted to project a softer image tonight, to showcase a more feminine side than the tough-talking, hard-drinking deputy that the captain had witnessed so far. She'd even added a rare touch of makeup to her face - a little mascara, a bit of shimmering peach eyeshadow and a hint of shiny mauve lip gloss - not that she was intending to kiss anyone tonight. It just seemed appropriate.

At quarter to seven, she scurried down the stairs, grabbed her tan leather jacket from the rack beside the front door and slipped out before her sister-in-law, Mary Margaret, could even say "have a good night". She'd decided it was best to drive to the harbor since the gathering clouds overhead were threatening a storm and the last thing she wanted to do was walk home through rain-swollen puddles in dress shoes. It was just before 7PM when she pulled her yellow Bug into a parking space opposite the Jolly Roger, and she couldn't quite figure out why she was experiencing increasing anxiety.

It was just a date. She'd been on dates before. Why was she suddenly so damned nervous?

Her heart was pounding as she ascended the gangplank, cursing her choice of footwear as her heels made an awful racket on the metal ramp. Once aboard, she noticed that there were a few lanterns illuminating the deck but there was little activity. She could hear the creaking of the old wood and the waves lapping against the hull, but not much else. It would appear that the captain had been true to his word about giving the crew a night off.

One individual was on the deck to greet her though and that was the jovial Mr. Smee. At the sight of her, he scrambled to get to the top of the gangplank before she did, offering a hand to aid her in stepping down onto the slippery wooden planking.

"So lovely to see you again, Deputy Swan," the first mate gushed, welcoming her with a huge smile. "The captain hasn't stopped talking about you all day and he's expecting you in his quarters."

"He's been talking about me, huh?" she responded with a nervous chuckle, thankful that the darkness of the night obscured her blushing.

"My goodness, yes, dear… He had Cookie prep a lovely meal for the two of you and,if I do say so myself, it smells absolutely divine!"

"Sounds wonderful."

"Well, now - right this way, Deputy," he instructed with an animated gesture towards the hatch she'd seen Killian Jones emerge from yesterday. Smee led the way and even raised the hatch for her. "Right down below, Miss. Just watch yer step…"

"Thank you, Mr. Smee," she replied, getting a look at the steep, angled ladder that descended into the Captain's quarters, wishing once again that she'd worn anything but heels tonight. She was also regretting her choice of attire as a sharp breeze across the stern nearly gave her an unwanted Marilyn Monroe moment. They were way too early in this relationship for her to be showing off her undergarments and she could only hope that her date was enough of a gentleman to allow her to descend this awkward ladder without peeking up her skirt.

The cozy room below was decorated with surprisingly eccentric style and smelled faintly of rum, candles and the musty scent of old books and maps. She found Killian in the center of the chamber with his back to her, lighting the second of two slender, ruby red taper candles atop a sturdy looking wooden table. In addition to the candles, the table was set with two plates that appeared to be actual fine china, flatware that was likely real silver as it has just the slightest blemish of tarnish and two crystal goblets. A pair of matching wooden armchairs with brocade seat cushions flanked the table and in the center of the display sat a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of wine he'd brought out to chill.

"Good evening, Swan," he greeted her, spinning around to face her with a single, long stemmed red rose clutched in his prosthetic left hand. "For you, Love." He extended the mechanical hand toward her, offering the flower that she accepted with a blushing grin.

"Thank you," she replied as she brought the bloom to her nose, inhaling its fragrance. "No hook this evening?"

"I decided to go with a softer persona this evening, although if you prefer the other attachment, I'll be happy to swap them."

"A softer persona? Were you afraid of intimidating me?" she asked him with a snicker.

"Well, I do cut an intimidating figure, do I not?"

She wasn't entirely certain if he was being serious or facetious but with a challenge like that, she couldn't help but give him a visual once-over. He'd traded out the black denim from yesterday for a pair of black dress trousers which he'd paired with a black wool sweater that hugged the curve of his biceps almost indecently. Her brain immediately reminded her about his off-the-cuff comment yesterday about seeing anything she liked and right now, she only had one answer - yes. She was enjoying everything she was seeing.

"Still full of yourself, I see," she quipped as he ushered her to one of the armchairs so she could sit down.

"Merely confidence, Love," he assured her with a sinful smirk as he withdrew the dark green glass wine bottle from its icy bath. "Would you care for some wine? I have this lovely vintage chilling here, but if you prefer, there's always plenty of rum."

"After last night, I think I'll start off slow. Some wine would be perfect." As she took her seat, he yanked the cork from the wine bottle using his teeth, filling her goblet before his own.

"My cook will be here momentarily with tonight's repast. I do hope that you enjoy seafood as I inadvertently failed to ask."

"I grew up in New England so I think seafood was one of the main food groups - at least if frozen fish sticks and tater tots count."

"Ah, a classic combination," he chuckled. "This may be a trifle more haute cuisine though."

"I certainly hope so, Captain, or I'll be sadly disappointed in your standards," she countered sarcastically as she took a sip from her glass, quickly realizing that if his taste in wine was any indication, dinner should be an absolute treat.

In fact, the only real disappointment Emma experienced that night was that it had to come to an end. The food was delicious and the wine he'd selected complemented it perfectly. This roguish captain surprised her at every turn. For all of his posturing and machismo, she'd found Killian Jones to be a perfect gentleman and a well-educated, excellent storyteller. True or not, he'd entertained her with tales of his voyages around the globe and when he'd finished, he listened intently to her exploits. She'd not been on a date this enjoyable in a very long time but unfortunately, tomorrow was still a work day so she knew she needed to wind things down.

"Well, Captain Jones," she began with a deep sigh, "you do indeed know how to show a girl a good time, but unfortunately, my time is running short."

"Alas, the real world interferes," he replied disparagingly. He was enjoying the evening as much as she was, but he knew that they each still had duties to attend to in the morning. "We wouldn't want you turning into a pumpkin at midnight, now would we?"

"I can assure you, I've never turned into a pumpkin… A bear, maybe, but never a pumpkin... But yeah…, sometimes the real world sucks."

"In Storybrooke, I would hesitate to take any unnecessary chances at the witching hour."

His choice of words caught her attention and for a moment, unnerved her until she recalled that she'd been toying with Magic last night at the Rabbit Hole. He'd probably observed her for a while, deciding if it was safe to approach, but clearly not adverse to her powers.

"I really hope we might be able to do this again before you set sail," she mentioned, hopefully that he'd be open to the suggestion.

"I can certainly make that happen, Love. We're awaiting supplies from another ship that has been delayed by a foul Nor'easter. We won't be leaving port for a few days, at the very least. Just let me know when you're free and I can make arrangements to be there."

"You can just drop everything for a date?" she wondered.

"It's good to be the Captain," he assured her with a wily smirk.

"I'm sure it is," she smiled broadly. This man was just too much. "Well, Captain, I will let you know when I have some free time. I'd really like to do this again."

"As would I, Swan. Now, how about I walk you out to your vehicle?"

"Actually, as wonderful as that sounds, I'm going to walk myself out so I'm less likely to give in to temptation. After being burned one too many times before, I'd rather not rush into anything…"

"Then I shall bid you goodnight, Emma. Until we meet again?"

"Absolutely." There was no way she wasn't going to plan a second date with Killian Jones but she was treading cautiously with both potential romances. The spell promised that she'd discover true love but it didn't say it would be easy.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Not much. Just characters coming together.

Warnings: Representation of anxiety, curse word(s).

Word count: Sometimes I feel like my mind teases me irrespective of the setting around us. It’d be like, oh you’re sitting in your office, too bad if we had a new fic idea, right? riiiight? *deep inhale*

MASTERLIST in bio, my love

CHAPTER 1: The End

Everything moves in slow motion. The water coming down the silver faucet. The gasp escaping your lungs. The whimper being born in the heart of your heated throat. The water dripping down your nose into the spotless white sink. Your hands running across your face mixing the tears with the tap water over your skin. Everything moves at a snail’s pace. Everything except your heartbeat and your shallow breaths. One, you start counting, trying to trick your brain into taking in one long gulp of air while your moist eyes close themselves for the fear of losing your balance. Two. Your trembling hands grab the edges of the ceramic sink to ground you. Three. You bend your knees and get close to the outer space shade of black tiles beneath your grey block heels.

Four. You start to whisper to yourself. It's okay. You're okay. Remember. Just try to remember. Five. Your eyes open and look at the objects around you to recount them inside your head. Faucet. Hand towel. Mirror. Hand dryer. Purse. Phone. Six. You get up and pick the hand towel from the pile neatly stacked beside the sink to pat your face dry, pressuring your shaking fingers hard into the fabric pressing onto your skin. Seven. You whisper the list you just made out loud to your reflection in the mirror. Eight. You clench and unclench your hands, repeating the ritual till you can no longer feel the shiver as evidently as before. Nine. You pick up your brown-rimmed glasses and put them on, adjusting them over the bridge of your nose using the help of your reflection. Ten. You straighten your back and square up your shoulders, smoothening the rebellious hair strands over your head back till the bun. Breathe. Tugging your royal blue blouse to get rid of the wrinkles, you swipe off some invisible dust bunnies away from the fabric before picking your grey purse. Your eyes lock for a moment with your reflection's, creating a minuscule swerve of a latent pain rising somewhere behind those pupils. And just at the speed at which they met, they look away from the mirror to walk towards the door. The click of the washroom door alerts your body and you move out into the gallery of this glass building, mingling into the crowd going about their daily lives. Everyone who walks by is in suits. Monotones. Nothing lighter than a plain white, nothing darker than an abyss black and nothing more colourful than the stainless steel grey. The walls wear the same shades as the concrete they were made with. The massive beams running to the top at the entrance add a bright hue of white to the structure. The reception desk right by the wall whose corner you came out of is decorated in black. You almost feel out of place in your blue before your mind realises that you actually are. "Miss Kira?" The receptionist with fiery ombre soft curls running till her shoulder calls out to you as you approach her, "Miss Donatella will see you now." You try to pass her a smile but hurt your muscles in the process. Taking the yellow guest ID you follow the receptionist's instructions to go the twentieth floor. Between the ground level and floor twenty, half a minute of silence is a rare opportunistic gift that your mind takes to breathe away the episode in the washroom before the ding echoes around the elevator covered in mirrors on all sides. You step inside the destined floor and just one thought crosses your mind. Why am I still surprised? The walls here are the same as any other part of the building. Concrete. Naked. Dull? And where there aren't any walls, there is glass frosted to a level desired by someone who wants to keep their private sections of the offices private indeed. The absence of any footfall in this part of the building makes the clack of your heels louder than supposed to be. The corridor seems deserted and you really cannot tell if any human is breathing on the other side of that glass. It feels like an eternal walk through a cement maze till you finally spot the glass door marked Conference Hall C and turn the handle. A blonde, pale woman- paler than what you're accustomed to seeing usually- sits behind a grey table huge enough to accommodate a buffet for a family of twelve. She smiles at you and asks you to come in. Now that is a surprise. Not the smile. Not the setting. The fact that she is wearing beige in the world of grayscale is what shocks you a little. "You must be Kira..." a raspy voice greets you from her raspberry painted lips before turning towards the file to look for the last name. "Just Kira, please," you respond, stopping by the lone chair that stands on your end next to the table in this hall, "and you must be Miss Donatella." She nods and passes just a hint of a smile before requesting you to sit down. The air around her smells of lavenders. You don't like lavenders; not recently. Maybe it's this premeditated thought that sets a tiny itch in your nose as you sit down. Donatella opens a white file with your name on it. "So," she begins as she shifts in her comfortable black swivel chair and you know she's crossing her legs under that table, "Miss Kira, you have an impressive resume." You try to smile better this time. You are forced to. This woman practically holds the cards to some very important, life-changing events in your life right this moment in this room. "I have to say," Donatella raises her brows in a little grim speculation while eyeing the contents of the file, "it is so impressive that you should not be applying for the post of an assistant." Pressing the pulsation in your lips you take in a lungful. "My academic qualifications are elements of education that I deemed necessary on my way, Miss Donatella, if their degree of complexity is your concern. Now, as far as my application for the portfolio of an assistant goes, I'd say my qualifications along with my extracurriculars are actually one good example of me being able to handle multitasking, work decently under pressure and get the results on time." You can see Donatella's lips curve up a little before she plants her fingers over her lips, trying to cover whatever positive emotion she is feeling while her other hand sifts through the pages scrutinize your life as seen on those pieces of paper. "It says here you worked at Rein Industries for six months," Donatella bends her voice in a question. "That was a mandatory internship I did during my college course," you reply, feeling your ears heat up. You do not realise when you left thumb starts to move along the right wrist, trying to feel the bone beneath your skin. "They didn't present you with an offer?" "They did. I had to decline for some personal reasons." "Must be some reason," Donatella quips, her hand resting on her chin while her mix of grey and honey eyes look right at you, "because you do not have any work experience for an entire year after that. Which...was last year." The movement of your thumb does not stop. The smile plastered on your lips stretches a little as you look down at your hands for a second before meeting her calculating gaze. "I, unfortunately, had some health issues last year. Hence, the little gap in my resume. If I had joined any company at that point of time I'm sure you understand how that would have affected not only mine but the company's performance as well." "Why Sun Corp?" Donatella does not even wait for you to breathe out the last word when the question drops on you and you realise your fingers digging into the skin of your palms right on time. "It's hardly been a year and Sun Corp has been expanding throughout the country with its extended subsidiaries. That's unlike any private corporation I have seen." "And this is what attracted you?" You can almost hear Donatella's scoff. "I wasn't finished yet, Miss Donatella," you mention before continuing, not waiting for her brows to retain their composure, "Sun Corp has been working within third world countries just like ours and unlike any other multinational company, which basically want a monopoly with a huge profit margin, it has been working on the grass root level with a comparatively low but evidently stable profit index. And the reason this corporation has been having one successful industrial arm after another is that someone in here knows exactly what the population needs in our country." You pause for a moment to let the air around you ease the heat flurrying through your body. Donatella takes that one moment to glance at her phone, moving it little to make it light up. "Now unlike other companies who are content in fulfilling the bare minimum required of their corporate social responsibility and hiring agencies to research on how to market their product to the general public, Sun Corp's management has been using its resources on actually finding the necessity and working on building the bridges hereafter...with the people who actually are in need of those bridges." The silence that follows is satisfactory for one side and shifty for the other. "All you have given me till now is pretty much a really generic reason though I must say you seem to have done some homework, if not all," Donatella is quick to remark before scribbling something down on your file. "Twelve per cent." "Excuse me?" You inhale before repeating the figure. "Twelve per cent. That was the increase in the yield of crops when my family took up Sun Farms' aid. I'm sure it does not seem like much to someone who doesn't have a background in agriculture but it helped pay for my sibling's tuition so there's that. Now, this is the twelve per cent that I know. I haven't included the percentage of sales that increased by word of mouth publicity after that. And considering how environmentally conscious and cautious my family is about the chemicals going into their crops, I can assure you the word-of-mouth thing was huge." The image of your grandfather going on about the better health of the mustard growing in the vast field brings the first genuine smile on your face today. But Donatella, on the other hand, seems unphased. The silver watch on her wrist peeks from inside her cuffs- reflecting the soft golden lights of the room right into your eyes- when she sits up and close to the table, throwing a quick look at her phone. Her elbows barely rest on the table; as if she's preventing herself from being at ease. "And that is the only reason you are here. Out of a sense of-" she raises her hands a little with a light shrug- "gratitude. Is that so?" "I am here because this company seems to have farsightedness, Miss Donatella. Not regarding what it needs to do to stay in the game but regarding what the people would want now and in the near future. And I feel that it forces you to believe in some kind of a direct or indirect moral compass that comes with the corporation's work," you are quick to answer. Donatella's chuckle is like the one that comes out of actors portraying the Victorian era aristocracy to show the restraint the women would be put through even when having fun. Why it reminds you of those actors is something you find both amusing and confusing in that instant. "Moral compass." Donatella's mutter is more for herself than for you, spewing the words out in mockery. "I have to say, sweetheart," she shakes her head while her brows try to imitate an emotion of sympathy, "this was good. Really good. The first such answer I have heard but, really? Are you sure?" Now you are really confused. "I beg your pardon ma'am?" You try not let the pricks of fear show over your face, your thumb digging into your wrist for some reason unknown to your consciousness. Donatella intwines her fingers together as her honey and grey fixate on you. "How many interviews do you think I've taken for this position? Hm? Ten thousand applications came in for just this post. The post of being the assistant to the company's founder. Out of those ten thousand, two hundred people were shortlisted for the interview. And even in those two hundred candidates was barely a person who actually wanted to apply for the post." You feel the space between your brows get heavier with every passing second. "If they didn't want the post then why did they apply?" "For the same reason you did, young lady. They all want to get close to the man himself," she declares before muttering, "Cheapskates." "Excuse me?" You can almost see her roll her eyes at you. "Oh don't give me that look," she huffs tiringly with a wave of her hand, "a pretty girl like you giving up all of this hard work of so many degrees just so you can satiate your desire to meet him. Some of you even have the audacity to think of getting into his pants. Take my advice and get out of here. Girls like you have a better chance of stalking him on the internet than getting to even kiss the floor Mr Odinson walks on." The next few seconds are filled with the ticking of the watch on Donatella's wrist. The ringing in your ears is mind-numbing for the first ten seconds before it transforms into something else. An ember of rage lights up somewhere inside you, heating up a spot right in the centre of your chest. Your thumb rubs the back of your palm through the silence before coming to an abrupt stop with the one long breath you take in. "I am flattered Miss Donatella, that you think I'm pretty," you begin, with just a hint of a smile this time, "And also surprised, because you are being so straightforward with...what you think about me." You abruptly push your chair forward to keep your arms on the table, openly offending Donatella, who gasps at your guts to do so. "But it does make me wonder that almost all one hundred and ninety-nine people might actually be having evidence to get you fired before you leave this company, ma'am." Donatella blinks, faster than she'd supposed to, as her one leg that had so comfortably been resting on the other goes down. "Ex-" "You should be more wary of...people who want to get into his pants, that's what you said, right? Be wary of such people discreetly taking pictures of your boss while you make deals with his rivals behind his back, Donatella. Because I can assure that these people have a drive more intense than the number of zeros you were offered on your paychecks to leave Sun Corp." The stoic and cold demeanour she had been maintaining till now starts to crumble bit by bit. "Don't make accusations you cannot prove, Kira," she nearly hisses. "Don't make judgments you cannot justify, Donatella," you softly throw the words her way. "And I'm not making this up, something which was just proved from your facial expressions. The entire Instagram has proof of your meeting with some private military corp that's been trying to find a way to enter the country through some other businesses." The fear in Donatella's distant gaze is hard to miss. But you barely feel any empathy for her. Picking up your purse from the floor you begin to get up but pause. "Oh and one more thing, Donatella DeMorgeaux Bellasario-" you tap your finger on the smooth steel table surface- "your boss hates it when anyone addresses him as Odinson. At least his assistant should be aware of that," you enunciate before getting up, looking at that lingering rage in your reflection in the mirror covering the wall next to you before going for the door you entered from. "How do you know all this? What are you, some kind of a-" "No, I'm not a spy Donatella," you spew at her from the door, irritation brewing up over your features, never looking back at the woman, "just like you said, I did my homework." "Bitch," you mutter under your breath before exiting the room. Donatella sits there, her hands covering the creeping disbelief over her face. Behind the mirror, you had caught your reflection in, a pair of emerald eyes glisten in the filtered light entering the darkness they are engulfed in. Having seen the entire thing unfold in front of them, they turn towards a camera resting in a corner of the dark space near the ceiling, a smirk glimmering through those green eyes showered in the soft foreign golden light. "Be careful, Balder," the man in the black suit warns the blonde guy with a soft face, "you so much as put a scratch on anything in this house, I'll make you pay it from your pocket." The blonde looks at the man in command. Balder cannot help but feel both scared and excited to look at him, his dark skin reflecting the blue sky outside with such flawlessness. As if that wasn't enough, the weight in the British voice is enough to make any manly man weak in his knees. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Balder apologises softly before carefully planting the miniature camera behind the book stack, his pale nimble fingers working carefully with the rosewood he had drilled to make way for the device. The man in the suit walks around the tiny studio apartment space, taking in the citrus smell of a body spray that was used in this space this morning. The bedroom is a five-step walk from the main door that opens into the living room-cum-open kitchen-cum-study. A violet coloured quilt lies on the bed in a mess, half-covering a Bulbasaur plushie. His long gloved fingers trace the edge of the headboard to collect the dust over the latex for examination. "José," he speaks without looking away from the dust bunnies over his fingertips, "put one on the headboard too." "Yes sir," comes another voice as a tall dusky man dressed in a cleaner's uniform walks into the bedroom space. The huge, calculated steps walk back into the living room, hands resting inside his pant pockets. "All the cameras and listening devices are in position, sir," the olive-skinned woman sitting on the carpeted floor with a laptop in her hand declares as she types away some codes on her screen, "we're going live in three, two, one." A press of a button later, the screen floods with Balder and José's faces- adjusting the cameras- along with the man's back to the one device planted above the apartment door. "Good work, Torra," the man announces, "now route that feed to my account and remove the access from yours and anyone else's. Make it a level seven clearance feed." "Ooh! They must someone really important we're spying on. Yes, sir," woman quips happily before typing in a serial number and pressing enter, allowing the screen to show the rerouting before going blank. "Mission accomplished." Within the next five minutes, the apartment sees the two men and woman trickle out of its space as if they were never there. The man in the suit takes one last look around before he eyes land on the nine figures resting on the side table near the door. The nine protagonists of One Piece sit there facing the kitchen opposite to where they stand. The man looks at them all in some deep thought, his honey eyes lingering for some time on one figure before moving over to the next, before he takes one hand out of his pocket and moves the figure of the woman with long black hair to face his direction. Content with his work, he walks out of the apartment, allowing the silence before his arrival to take back its place as gracefully as he had. The walk back to your place is heavy and slow. The noise from the passing subway train behind you does not help the piercing pain going in and out of your throbbing head. Picking up a sandwich and fresh juice from the local deli you stop by the twenty-four seven store to grab a bottle of Jägermeister. It is only when you've reached the front of your building do you take an effort to conceal the liquor bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag inside your purse. The walls might only have ears, but the old women living around your place had heightened senses when it came to young single people living in their vicinity. Your building's elevator feels like a good change from the mirrored one you had been trapped in on your way in and out of the building today. The chime is welcomed too as you step out on your floor, your keys ready to open the door and lock yourself in your comfort zone. Your neighbour- a young man a year or two older than you- tries to wave your way and before he can even blurt out your name, you have bolted the door and thrown the keys into their designated bowl on the side table. Keeping your purse down on the carpet gently, you take in one long breath. "Breathe," you whisper to yourself. "Just breathe. Forget everything else. Right now, just breathe. Please." Your eyes take in the familiar soft space. The kitchen, The Tempest lying on the two-person dining table, your quilt still the same mess you had left in the morning. The oil painting of a sunflower hanging on the wall you are leaning over, your One Piece figures sitting right next to you on the table. Luffy, Brook, Zoro, Franky, Nami, Chopper, Sanji and Robin. A blank minute passes as you stand there, frozen in time, looking at the figures in a confused daze. And then something dawns on you. Your hand, with a life of its own, moves to turn Robin towards the direction she usually faces before coming back to your side. A cold prickle passes through your spine as your eyes go about the familiar space with a scrutinizing gaze shrouding the fear behind those eyes. Someone was here, your mind sets off all the alarms in one go. And this time, when it actually seems appropriate to feel the panic erode you, you stand there breathing normally. No shivers. No sweats. The vibration and loud chime of your phone makes you jump where you stand eventually. Your fingers take out the device from your pant pockets to click it open. Another chime comes. A message from your bank stating the recent deposit that had been made into your account. Another message congratulating you on getting the position of Assistant to the founder and head of Sun Corp, requesting you to join the post tomorrow. Donatella clicks her phone close and places a grey file on an oakwood desk before walking out of the lavish office space and into a room with a fire pit separating the space into a lounge area and a living room with its length. The clack of her pencil heels stops as her eyes catch the figure standing by the glass wall that opens to the view of the city beneath and mountains beyond them. "I have narrowed down some candidates to come as my replacement," she speaks in the direction of the figure, never bothering to close the distance between them, "but I still need to go through another batch tomorrow." The figure stands there. Still. Like an old tree. Donatella can feel a tiny chill rise up somewhere inside her, which she tried to suppress as she shifts her eyes away, her hands coming together in front of her while her shoulders move a little to shake away a lingering stiffness. "Burn them." A soft voice- like a warm brandy laced with honey going down your throat, heating it up in ways unknown- commands the room. "I'm sorry?" Donatella fears her ears didn't catch that right. The figure's shoulders finally shift a little but the pale arms exposed through folded up black sleeves do not move away, the hands resting inside the pant pockets. "I said burn them," the voice says again. "Why?" "Because none of those letters spells out Kira." An arrow seems to have pierced Donatella's chest as her eyes go wide before her entire body tries to find its composure. The fact that the figure doesn't move still amplifies the fear crawling over her skin. "I-I think-" "Pack your things and never show your face within a hundred meters of my empire. You're fired." The voice never rises. Not once. The delicate smoothness lingers throughout the words even when the threat is delivered. Donatella brings her rage over features, about to spit some words into the ice-like air surrounding her. "Before you say something you'll regret I suggest you look at the table in front of you, Donatella." And she does. All the heavy rage folded in her wrinkles disappearing within a flash, replaced by nothing but mortal fear as the photographs on table show her meeting with an unknown man before displaying her in a compromising position in high-resolution grayscale. "Mr Odinson, I-" The head turns a little in her direction, making her cracked voice stop at once. Even with a distance of at least twenty feet between them, she can see the green embers burn from where they stand. And before she knows it, her lungs are trying to find air to breathe. "I'm sorry Mr Loki, sir," are her last words before she hurriedly walks out of the space that has been chilled to the core by that one traumatising side glare. It's done. The man in the black suit closes his phone and walks across the length of the dark room that has nothing in the name of lights except for the endless skylight revealing the infinite stars above him and the twelve screens lit up on the wall he is walking towards. Grabbing the top of the swivel chair, he sits down before pulling up two screens on the monitors in front of him. His hand goes in the pocket of his jacket to take out two marbles with hues of orange, golden, fiery red and black trapped in them, seemingly similar to a pair of golden eyes. And like a ritual known to his hands, he starts moving them around in his fingers while his eyes are fixated on the two figures on those separate screens, considerably apart, sitting inside the space of their homes, eyeing the alcohol bottles sitting next to them. One of them shifts their gaze away to look at the phone in their hand before closing it and moving out of the camera's view. A chime comes on this side. The man takes out his phone to see the message displayed on the screen. Thank you, Heimdall. He looks back at the screen and clicks a key on the keyboard to reveal Loki's figure laying down on the bed. The other screen shows you under your quilt, your back halfway down the bed and halfway supported by the soft headboard, looking at the Jager bottle resting by your bedside before you turn off the lights and take off your glasses, throwing them in the little space between the empty pillow next to your head and the headboard. Heimdall watches neither of the figures closes their eyes, just lying in there on their beds in the dead of the night, waiting for some distant memory to either kill them with dried out tear ducts or tire them enough to put them to sleep.

(I don’t know where I thought I’d be going with this but it’s here.)

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @joyofbebbanburg @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 Loki @avenging-blackwidow @yzssie

@wishrains @ultraslytherwin @loki-the-fox @awkward-dr-strang3rman @royaldork @arianna-17-11 @uranusismyfavoriteplanette @marvelrose @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @writingpromptsstuff @auroraborialis15 @marvel-cinematic-universe0123 @henloamkitty @alexakeyloveloki @markusstraya

(tags are open. Lemme know how you found this chapter and if you’d like to read more of this AU)

[thepinkwriterr]

Caught // Natasha Romanova x Fem Reader (two)

“Mia? Mia?” A panicked voice trailed through my ears. “Oh my god. Tony!” The same voice called. I forced my eyes open to see the assassin. “N-nat?” My voice cracked and popped with vulnerability. She sighed in relief as I tried my best to smile at her. Every muscle in my body ached. What the hell happened to me? “What the hell happened?” Another voice asked. I didn’t hear the response, or find out who’s voice that was. My vision went dark and my mind went blank.

“Mia.” Natasha’s voice was light and pleasant, barely a whisper. Her lips were upturned at the corners, forming an angelic smile. I looked up to see a sky of breezy blue, filled with clouds. I looked back down, the sand between my toes off putting. In an instant, everyone else was there. Bruce, Clint, Steve, Tony, even Pepper and Happy. Confusion was heavy in my mind. The beach was a harsh contrast to the lab I remembered being in last. 

My limbs were pushed, guided to the water. The clouds deadpanned black, and the sky filled with amber. The sea turned deep red as I looked into the brash waves. I flailed as I was pushed into the crimson tides. Their faces weren’t faces any longer; they were peach colored blurs. My lungs burned and my eyes seared from the sea water as I fought my way to the surface. Each time I started to see the light of the sun, I was pulled in deeper. I could feel exhaustion overtaking me. Still, I fought to break free. 

“Mia? Mia!” This time it was Tony’s voice that awoke me. This time it was startling. I shot from the mattress, the feeling of water tight in my lungs. I coughed vehemently, my throat dry as the Savanna. After my fit, I looked up to see all my friends. They stared at me with wide, concerned eyes. I stared back them, my eyes red and watery from my fit. “Can we have a minute alone?” She asked, breaking the tension. 

Everyone filed out, leaving Nat and I alone. Her embrace was sudden and loving. She melted into me. I laid my head on her shoulder, her skin warm through her suit. “You scared me.” Her voice was broken. The tense lump in her throat was audible. “I know. I’m sorry...” 

That night, after Nat left my room, I fell into a deep, consuming sleep. No dreams, no sleep paralysis. Just blank, black sleep. The kind of sleep addicts have when they crash. When I awoke, I stood from my bed. I needed water. I rushed to the bathroom connected to my room. I started gulping water from the faucet as soon as the light flicked on. My panting was loud and fast as I turned off the tap, the back of my throat feeling relief. Looking in the mirror startled me. My once long brown hair was chopped. I was now sporting a bottle blonde look. My suit was ripped and torn, revealing bloody cuts and gashes. I looked down at the pretty white porcelain sink. Silver sheers laid on the counter from when I cut my hair the last time I was home. The last time I felt safe. The last time I was safe. 

Glass crashed to the floor, blood flowing down to my wrists. two men barged into my room as the clanking settled. They stood in the doorway, looking at the bloodied girl. “Just drop the scissors.” One said calmly, slowly walking toward me. My screaming startled the other, the clanking of the scissors startingly the other. I backed into the corner, my throat aching from my screams. But I couldn’t stop. Images of my tormentors clouded my mind. The feeling of their rough fingertips grazing my body made my skin crawl. I scratched my arms, my long fingernails cutting down my forearm. Their groans and grunts were deafening, the only sound filling the room. I couldn’t hear the men, only see their stunned faces. I felt like I knew them, but my brain couldn’t process their features. Not with the screaming memories filling all my cells. 

The next morning, I woke up in my bed. I knew it was my bed because the sheets were a light colored silk. I remembered the feeling against my bare legs from before. When my eyes opened, I could see my maroon walls. The same large photo of The Avengers adorned the red wall. As I sat up, my arms twinged. The long lashes along my forearms were pink and tender, a hint of red backing them. My throat moaned in pain as I swallowed. 

A small knock at my door caused a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Mia. It’s just me.” Tony’s gentle voice soothed me. “C-come in.” Slowly and quietly, he trudged in. He looked sad and sympathetic. Like I would break if he looked at me normally. Who am I kidding? I’m already broken. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and gentle. I shrugged. He sat on my bed close to me. “What happened to you in there?” He implored. “I-I don’t remember” Tears washed down my face, staining my cheeks and shirt. I could see a fire behind his eyes. I slammed into Tony, an embrace sucking all my tears away. 

We talked slowly for another hour. Tears never once stopped free flowing down my face. Recounting my capture seemed to enrage Tony, the fire never leaving from behind his eyes. Although I could see he was trying his best to stay open and positive for me. “I’ll make some calls and find the best psychologist in New York. I promise.” He swore, looking into my eyes. “And if you need anything else, you come to me. Anything. Crisis centers, mental health facilities. Anything. Okay?” He explained. I nodded. He stepped out of my door, his foot steps fading down the hall. 

Tony’s POV

“Did she tell you what happened?” Nat beseeched. “She doesn’t remember.” I sighed. Natasha groaned, her chair clattering to the floor as she stood quickly. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him!” She flamed. “Nat, calm down! You already did!” Clint stood, trying to calm her. “I’m gonna dig him up and burn his bones to ashes!” She screamed once again. “You’re gonna scare Mia if you keep screaming.” Clint reasoned with her. She breathed out, her nerves falling back down. Her footsteps faltered down the hall as she made her way to Mia’s room.

Natasha’s POV

I knocked on her door, trying my best not to be angry. That would only scare her and make her fear me. No response. Panic filled my veins, forcing me to rip the door open. She was asleep. Her lithe body under the heavy white duvet. All I could see was her unfamiliar hair peaking out of the blanket. Peace and relief filled me. That was quickly replaced with an ache deep in my chest. I could’ve saved her, and I didn’t.

My feet jerked my body toward her bed. I couldn’t help myself. I laid down behind her, pulling the blanket back over us. I settled into her, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her being. An idea popped into my head as I looked at her blonde locks.

Mia’s POV

Nat walked into the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel. I looked away quickly, continuing my gentle attack on a bright pink apple. “I have something for you.” She smiled small, sitting across from me at the large table. She took the towel off her head, short blonde tresses fell from the white cotton. “Wow...” I was breathless. “Y-you look gorgeous.” My heart was bleeding an hour ago, tears billowing from my ducts; now I’m fawning over the woman i’ve been in love with the entire time I’ve known her. “Thanks.” She smiled. “Wow...” Bruce stared at her neat, pin straight hair. “You look good like that.” He muttered. “Thanks.” She smiled again.

I could feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Her smile heated my face, giving me a welcome feeling for the first time in months. Their gentle wings began flittering violently in my stomach, forcing bile up my throat. I stood to run to the bathroom, running out of time. My foot slipped on the leftover shower water on the white tiles. On my way down, bile coated my lap. My vision clouded over as my head collided with the ceramic tiles.

[foolsdiamond]

so i went to my moms apt to update her bearded dragon tiamat’s tank for christmas.  a pic of her old tank set up thats rly leftover from when she was still tiny, then the new tnak w ceramic tiles fr the habitat for humanity restore (thoroughly cleaned and dried before using!).  i need to get 3 more rectangles to finish it off, plus now i’m gonna make plans to get a dig box set up as a mother’s day present for her.  i realize now i didn’t really give her a good hide on the cool side of the tank so i might pick up some silk plants from walmart or the dollar store and work something out with clay.  but at least she no longer has the ceramic hot rock in there to burn herself on (ive been talking abt it since the day they got it but her apt gets so cold during the day the cool side gets too low) and the Space Heater is currently above the tank as an additional heat source. i’m trying to help my mom set up a 24-hr night heat bulb so she’s got a heat source in the dark too and doesnt freeze at night. w/ any luck, the tile will absorb enough heat to help too.  she’s already really happy with it.

descriptions for the pictures under the cut, in order:

PICTURE 1: Uncleaned tank with papertowel bedding.  The floor is cluttered with furniture, with a large aquarium tree in the upper left corner, a very large and shallow water bowl in the lower left corner, two separate food dishes for bugs and vegetables, a ceramic heated rock with the cable masked by plastic leaves in the center, an aquarium crocodile skull, a chunk of wood, and a half log in the bottom right corner, a silk fern inthe upper right corner, a sandblasted y-shaped grape vine overtop of everything on the right side, and a 6 inch space heater on top of the log.

PICTURE 2: Cleaned tank, with ceramic tiles laid overtop of papertowel (three 12x12 inch squares along the top, and three 2x12 inch rectangles below, with space for three more).  On the lefthand side, a new corner-fitting water bowl that is more deep than it is wide to save floor space and keep her water from getting as dirty, a ceramic angled log hide with the fabric fern behind it, her vegetable food dish tucked beside it, and the y-shaped sandblasted grapevine overhanging as a basking spot.  Her bug-bowl rests beneath it.  And on the right, the aquarium crocodile skull basking spot, the natural half-log, extra tiles for more depth of the landscape, and a wooden vine-covered ladder (part of a set up that should allow her to reenter the cage whenever shes done roaming the apartment).

PICTURE 3: A close up of the new hide on the left hot side, with the bearded dragon Tiamat curled up inside to go to sleep.

PICTURE 4: Bonus pic of Tiamat wearing a leash with bat wings.  She is very grumpy.

[elizaviento]

Manipulation (part 8)

NSFW -- 2400 words

(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation.  Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

I woke up once in the middle of the night when I felt the humid, warm puffs of her breath bathing my neck and shoulder.  Startled, I nearly throttled her before the memories of what had transpired hours earlier sprang forward from my memory bank.  Releasing a sigh of relief, I rolled on my side and strained to see her face as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

She was lying on her side, facing me with one hand tucked under the pillow.  My scratchy blanket covered from her shoulders downward and I wondered if she was still nude.  Gently and slowly lifting the shroud, so as not to wake her, I peeked underneath and smirked when I was rewarded with bare breasts.  Then, I chanced placing the hand still under the blanket on her hip, confirming that no fabric covered her lower half either.

As exhaustion began to overtake me again, I wiggled closer to her on the cot and draped an arm across her waist.  She stirred only slightly, but her features remained slack.  Closing my eyes, I quickly banished the nagging thought of what would become of this once the harsh light of day illuminated our transgressions.

----------

Digging through all the crap I had stored on the metal shelves in the garage was always such a pain in the ass.  Briefly wondering if I could somehow bribe Summer to organize it for me, my eyes were inexplicably drawn to the two boxes sitting next to the shelves; the same boxes that I’d begrudgingly agreed to allow her to store in here until she moved out.  Stepping closer toward them, I tilted my head to read her handwriting scrawled down each side in black magic marker.  One box was labeled as ‘random crap’ and the other simply as ‘photos’.

Photos, huh? I had missed out on over thirteen years so the pathetic curiosity was overwhelming and it took me all of five seconds to pull a pocket knife from my lab coat and slice the thick packing tape across the top.

It was an absolute cluster fuck inside.  What appeared to be hundreds of loose photographs haphazardly tossed in a cardboard box with no cataloging or preservation method whatsoever.  Thinking back to the state of the boxes on my metal shelves, I smirked to myself at this common thread between us as I removed a handful of photos from the box to leaf through.

Most of them were of the kids.  In fact, discarding each one on top of the other unopened box as I went, I figured 85 percent.  Some were of Beth, Jerry, Joyce, Leonard, other people I didn’t recognize and didn’t give two shits about.  But, then, the next handful I scooped up and shuffled through revealed her in a sleeveless, knee length white dress.  The kids were in the photo with her – one on each side – and they were also dressed in formal attire.   She didn’t appear much different physically but the kids were obviously a few years younger.  The next photo in the stack also showed her in that same white dress.  Only now, just her father appeared with her.

Nice going, Rick.  You stumbled across her wedding photos.  You know what they say right?  Curiosity punches the old man directly in the ball sack.  Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead, huh pal?  Maybe you should quit before you find one that she and her husband took of themselves while they fucked on their wedding night in some kind of amateur hour photo shoot.

Tossing the pile I had in my hand back into the box, I quickly threw the others inside as well before finding a roll of tape on my shelves to reseal it.  It served me right, I supposed.  I’d watched more than a few Ricks in the dimensions where her counterparts were still married play games of hide and seek with her husband.  Most of them were having an affair and that presented its own set of challenges, but the ones who weren’t were just plain miserable.  They avoided her and her husband’s counterparts like the plague, and I honestly couldn’t blame them.  I’d only caught a glimpse or two of the husband through the goggles and honestly couldn’t pick the guy out from Adam.  As it were though, I’d prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible. No good would come of stumbling across a photo of him, at this point.

Feeling grumpy from having almost sabotaged myself, I gave up my plans of recalibrating the ionic defibulizer and decided to go back inside to check on her.  I’d left her sleeping in my room about an hour prior when I’d realized that I’d been staring at her while she slept for a creepy, stalker-esque amount of time. But, as soon as I entered the kitchen, I caught the faint sound of water running through pipes.  Considering no one else was home, I felt my cock twitch as the cliché image of her soaped up in a steamy shower invaded my mind.

Again, it took me all of five seconds to decide to join her, even as I was already walking toward the bathroom.  Jiggling the door knob, I found it locked – which was fucking adorable – so I fished an ink pen from my inner pocket, pushed it through the hole to pop the lock on the other side, shed every stitch of clothing and opened the door.  The bathroom was completely shrouded in steam and I wondered if she was trying to boil herself alive.  Then, the bubbly sound of her laughter could be heard over the shower spray.  An intrusive thought crept in that she was trying to scrub the shame of our coupling from her skin, but I shoved it away as I forcefully yanked the shower curtain back.

She screamed. Loud. She also tried to scramble backward which only managed to pitch her off balance as the balls of her feet slipped up the tub wall.  Thankfully she steadied herself before falling and cracking her skull.

“What w-w-were you laughing about in here?” I asked nonchalantly while trying not to laugh.

“WHAT?!” she screamed back at me.  Obviously her brain hadn't fully caught on to the fact that I wasn’t there to murder her and I smirked as I stepped over the tub wall to join her.

“Jeez, tone it down – dial it back a bit or Jerry will start to suspect something,” I joked as I shimmied past her to get to the spray of water.  Noticing the look of pure terror on her face at the prospect, I clarified that I wasn’t serious by adding, “Re-relax.  He’s not here.”  A moment later, she shoved me as I ducked my head under the shower spray. “Hey, watch it!  I – I’m an old man, remember?  If I shatter a hip, you’re cleaning – emptying my bedpan.”

She laughed, shaking her head and folding her arms across her chest as she shivered slightly. Her brow was also furrowed, making it obvious that she was having a serious reflection on what I’d just said. The last thing I wanted was for her to try to backpedal, so I moved in closer.

“I can hear the gears t-t-turning in that head of yours,” I said, grabbing one of her forearms to pull her in until we were chest to chest.  Wrapping my arms around her, I rested my chin on the crown of her head and turned her until she was again under the soothing spray.  Once I was sure that she had warmed up enough, I pulled back slightly to look down on her.  When she shifted her gaze upward toward me, she also rose on her tip toes and kissed me, parting her lips slightly to encase my bottom lip between hers and gently tugged it with her teeth as she lowered back on her heels.

Wasting not even one second, I wrapped my arms around her tighter and continued where she’d left off – pressing several short, open mouth kisses to her lips before pushing inside; rolling my tongue over and around hers until I had her absolutely breathless.  All the while, my cock filled and swelled against the soft flesh of her stomach. And, as I pulled away to trail kisses across her jaw, she leaned back to grant me easier access which, in turn, shifted her smooth skin across the head of my cock.  That bit of stimulation flipped a switch in my brain, throwing me into a frenzy I could hardly control.

Without warning, I unwrapped my arms from her waist to grip both of her biceps, turned her around and roughly shoved her against the shower wall.  Then, placing one hand on the back of her neck, I pressed her cheek to the ceramic tile.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” I growled in her ear, rutting against her ass from behind. “Are you wet enough for me yet?” Moving one hand between her thighs, I spread her lips wide with my ring and index fingers before thrusting my middle finger inside.  We groaned in unison – her from the sudden intrusion and me from the sensation of my digit sinking into that tight, wet snatch of hers.  “Mmm, yeah, y-y-you – you’re ready,” was all the warning I gave her before swiftly positioning and slamming home.  Her chest and face slid upward against the tile with the force of it and she cried out.  For a split second, I wondered if I’d hurt her.  Most of her counterparts seemed to like it rough now and again but perhaps I’d misinterpreted her earlier lip bite.

That is, until she demanded – “Do it again.”

Suppressing a moan, I gripped her hips a bit tighter.  “Yeah?  You like that?” I asked before pulling out and ramming back in.

“Oh, fuuuck…” she sobbed.  “Don’t stop!”

Jesus Christ, it’s like Christmas morning and I’ve just been gifted the perfect toy, I thought as I shuffled back slightly – tugging her hips to move with me – and then positioned both hands to clamp down on her shoulders for leverage.  Dropping a kiss on top of her head, I pulled out nearly all the way and then slammed home again and again and again.

“Oh, shit. Oh, Christ.  I – I’ve fucked my hand so many times while – while dreamin’ about pounding you in this shower,” I confessed; the words spewing from my mouth unchecked as she slid and grunted against the tile.  She moaned in response, her pussy tightly enveloping my cock and I continued to give it to her.  “I can feel you squeezing my dick, baby, fuck. Touch – rub your clit for me.  I want – wanna feel you cum.”

Sliding one hand down the tile, she squeezed it under her body.  Seconds later, she cried out and her knees buckled beneath her. I adjusted my grip from her shoulders to her hips to hold her upright as she continued to massage her clit until her legs began to tremble.

“Oh my god! Oh my fucking god!” she screamed, slamming her free hand against the tile.  Her cunt continued to tighten as I fucked her and I knew she was seconds from cumming. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to her ear and commanded her to do so.

“Cum.”

And, she did. Her body seizing in the same manner as the night before, she hitched a sob as a flash flood erupted from her cunt, coating my cock as I continued to savagely fuck her.  As each contraction pulsed and squeezed, I faltered my rhythm as I drew closer to the edge of that cliff.

“I’m gonna – gonna cum on your ass, baby. You ready?” I asked, my speed increasing as I chased my own release.  The glide of her slick pussy was so god damn perfect and I wondered how I would contain myself from fucking her 24/7.

“Yesss,” she hissed in reply.  Her climax ebbing, she steadied herself before continuing, “Cum on me, Rick.  Do it, baby.”

“Ah FUCK!” I yelled as I pulled out and pumped my cock. Once, twice; the pressure building and building until it snapped and I came all over her ass – each rope painting the perfect landscape of debauchery on her backside.

Completely exhausted and panting like a dog, I hadn’t even realized I’d slumped on top of her until she spoke –

“That was fun. But, I really need to actually shower now.”

Laughing, I stood upright and wrapped my arms around her waist to pull her from the shower wall and steady her on her feet.

“I – uh – gotta get Morty, anyway,” I said, pulling the curtain back and stepping out while she angled her body back under the water.

“Morty’s in school,” she informed me and I scoffed.

“So? I’ve got shit to do and – and need his help.”  Once I was fully clothed, I turned back toward her to add, “Don’t tell Beth.”

“Rick, that’s not fair,” she replied, pulling the shower curtain around her body to shield from the cold air wafting in from the hall.  I should have known that her sense of duty to the kids would remain absolute.

“Okay, fiiiine,” I groaned, rolling my eyes before stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door.

“You’re still going to get him, aren’t you?!” she yelled after me.

Smirking at her correct assumption, I casually strolled toward the garage.  And, as I did, I had the distinct feeling that what had just transpired had cemented something between us.  Yeah, we’d fucked the night before, but it was under a haze of alcohol and vulnerability.  She could have refused me just now.  She could have screamed at me to leave the bathroom as soon as I ripped open the shower curtain.  But, she didn’t.  Even the short conversation between us after the euphoria of a good fuck had faded was natural and easy – no awkwardness or tension whatsoever.  I supposed that, even at my age, it was never too late for firsts.

To be continued...

[asongstress1422]

If You Go Down to The Woods Today

Reylo Fanfic -- werewolf au

Read on: AO3

Happy Halloween!!

The prickle on the back of her neck had Rey turning around to scan the area, hand slipping into her coat pocket around the small canister of mace. It was just shy of three in the morning and for what Rey could see of the rain soaked street it was vode of life. Though her instincts had gotten her out of too many tight spots for her to just not listen to them now. It they told her something was out there, it was out there.

So she had two options.

First being go back the way she had come. It was about two blocks, less than five minutes if she ran, to the club where she worked, though she doubted anyone would still be there. On a night like this her coworkers would want to get home just as much as she did. But she could lock herself safely inside and call an uber, though even the shout few blocks to her apartment would send her bank account into the red.

Her second option was walking the four remaining blocks to her apartment. A longer distance, yes, but if things got really hairy there was a twenty-four hour convenience store that she could hide out in. It was Satur-- er, Sunday morning so that meant Bonnie would be manning the counter. Rey bit her lip, weighing the idea of potentially luring her problems to the woman’s place of employment against knowing the older woman had a concealed weapons permit and was always packing. And Rey’s apartment was only another block up from there.

Path decided, Rey buttoned her coat tight around her neck and, on a deep breath, closed her umbrella.  The mid-October rain was cold, instantly plastering her hair to her scalp. Shoving wet hair out of her eyes Rey marched forward, impromptu weapon clutched in her hands.

She made it about a block until her body screamed at her again and with little thought she turned, umbrella in a defensive block across her chest, palms and wrist loose, ready to counter just as her Sensei had drilled her.

A deeper shadow along the row of cars froze, yellow-green eyes reflecting the steep lamps. Her brain’s pseudo perpetrator.

Rey’s sigh floated in the air around her as her shoulders sagged in releaf. Then she laughed at herself further revealing her tension. “Good graces, boy, you scared me. What are you doing out here in all this wet, don’t you have some place to be?”

The dog remained pressed up against the red honda that had seen better days, completely motionless. Only its eyes followed her as she crouched on the sidewalk offering a hand. “Come on, I’m not going to hurt you,” she cood. “I just want to see if you got a collar so I can get you home.”

Slowly the animal moved, inching towards her and out of the shadow of the car.

“Wow,” Rey breathed as it cautiously slunk towards her, “you are a big boy, aren't you.”

In the weak light he appeared to be all black, long hair distorting his body as it dripped water. Kneeling as she was if he stood to his full height he his head would have topped hers but instead he kept his body hunkered close to the ground as he stretched out his huge head to sniff at her fingers, warm air curling over them.

Tentatively Rey scratched his chin. After a startled second of tension the great beast ease deeper into her palm. She ran her hands back to his neck. Finding no collar she gave it a good scratch as she looked down both ways of the empty road.

“Well, somebody has to be looking for you. You’re too well groomed to have been a stray long with all the hair you have.” He looked up to her as she spoke making them nearly nose to nose. “My goodness, you are a pretty thing.”

What she was about to do was probably one of her more stupid endeavors but her conscience simply wouldn’t let her leave the animal out in the rain. With a sigh she pushed to her feet.

“Okay, big guy, how about you come home with me and we’ll get you dry, does that sound good?” She smiled when his tail wagged, as if he actually understood her instead of responding the higher pitch in her voice. “Okay, let's go. And you can keep way any other stalkers I happen to pick up.”

Not bothering with the umbrella as she was already soaked, Rey and the animal walked the last few blocks to her apartment building.

“Just three flight of stairs and another door and we’re set,” she got out through clattering teeth. The dog pressed up against her side. “You’re sweet trying keep me warm but you’re probably just as cold as I am. I’ll get us fixed up as soon as we get inside.”

She was shaking so back by the time they finally reached her door it was a tryal to get the key in the lock but she managed. The apartment opened up into the living room, the space just big enough fo the couch to fit comfortably and everything else to squeeze in around. The lights were off inside but the key holder on the wall said one of her two roommates were home.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered to the dog closing and locking the door, leaning the closed umbrella against the wall and hanging up her own keys. “Our lease says we can’t have animals.”

The dog whined softly once in reply but followed her as she led them into the bathroom. The fluorescents turned everything slightly orange as she shut the both of them inside. Zeroing in on the shower her first goal was turning the faucets all the way to hot.

“Okay, buddy, in you go.” He needed no second promoting hopping into the stall and laying under the hot water with a deep sigh. “Yeah, I bet that feels good.”

With numb fingers she picked at her own clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile on the floor.

“Hey, boy,” she said easing a foot under his rug like bulk, “scoot over some.”

He glanced up at her and nearly brained himself on the tub spout when he scrambled to his feet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get warm, too.” She moaned as she stepped into the hot spray. The dog tensed, pressing his face deeper to the seam of the tiled wall.

After a long minute just standing there with the water thawing her out she set about her shower ritual, running shampoo and conditioner through her shoulder length hair before grabbing her body wash and turning on the dog who had remained motionless the corner the whole time.

“I hope the scent isn’t too strong for your nose but we’re also going to need something to cover up that wet dog smell.”

She squirted a great glob of the pink gel in her hands. He flinched at the first touch of her hand and she tried soothing him with kind gibberish as she ran the soap through his long fur. It took some finagling to get him all washed, as it almost seemed as he refused to look directly at her as she crouched before him in the tub, but finally the water ran clean.

“Okay, boy,” Rey said around a huge yawn as she shut off the water. “Lets get dried off then it’s time for bed.”

She stepped out snagging the towel from the bar on the wall and wrapping it around herself, not wanting to give up her warmth now that she had it back. She picked up her wet clothes and hung them over the shower rod to, hopefully, dry by morning. Grabbing a second towel she called for her shower mate who stepped dantaily over the high lip of the tub, seemingly fine to look at her now that she was covered.

“You so funny,” she cooed raking the towel over him, carefully patting around his eyes. Still too wet for her liking she pulled her seldom used hair dryer. Hoping not to scare him she was extra affectionate as she turned it on. Not that she had to worry, he loved it. Turning his face into the heat and sitting contently as she ran they dryer all over his body. She found that he had a cute little white half-sock on his left hind foot. He seemed disappointed when she finally shut the dryer off.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “but I need to go to bed.” She look him over with a frown. “Though your probable hunger, aren't you?” He perked up at that. “Okay,” she sighed. “Let me get some clothes on first.”

He followed behind her as she scurried on bare feet into her room across the hall. She quickly unbound the towel from around herself tossing her head down to wrapper her hair up in it. Diving into her dresser she pulled out the first things her hands grabbed; panties, sweatpants, an oversize sleep shirt, and her thickest pair of clean socks.

The dog was busy studying the ceiling when she turned back around. Shaking her head at herself for assigning gentlemanly behaviors to a animal she let the way into the way to the kitchen.

“I need to go shopping,” she grumbled half bent, shuffling things around in the fridge. Giving up on finding anything premade she grabbed out the half carton of eggs, the last tablespoon of foil wrapped butter, and took it to the stove.

Kicking the burner on high she tossed in half the pad of butter letting it partially melt before cracking in four eggs. Grabbing a fork from the drawer she gave them a scramble in the pan. Dash of salt, hint of pepper, a cursory flip and on a plate. Giving the eggs a change too cool, she didn’t want the dog to burn his tongue, Rey made herself some as well.

Finished she set his on the ground and opened the fridge for some salsa to go with hers. About to dig in when the dog let out a whine and pawed at her leg.

“What?” He looked at the salsa then back at her. Frowning, she picked up the jar she had set on the couter. “You want some?” He yip softly, licking his jowls as he dance in place. “It’s spicy, I don’t know if dogs can do spicy.” It was mild, she didn’t really like spice herself, but she was pretty sure the rule applied to dogs. He yipped again, insistant. “Fine, but I’m not making you anymore if you can’t eat it.”

The sounds of a beast feeding filled the small kitchen. Rey shook her head, forking up a bite of her own eggs. “First dinner date in six month and it’s will a dog.”

Metal ringing against ceramic dragged Rey from sleep. She rolled over to see at her roomate through bleary eyes as actually-to-god sunlight poured in through her crackerbox size window.

“You know we’re not aloud to have pets,” Paige said scooping another spoonful of mini wheats to her mouth.

“It’s just for one night,” Rey said trying to blink the sleep away.

“Don’t let Rose see him,” Paige warned. Rose was Paige’s four-year-younger sister that was in the inbetween stages of moving in with her boyfriend. Meaning most of her stuff was still here and she paid her third of the rent but she spent most of her time over there.

Rey nodded understanding. Growing up Rose had always wanted a pet but Paige had to put her foot down, barely able to make ends meet with just the two of them after their parents death.

“I took him on my run this morning to do his business,” Paige continued, “and fed him a can of tuna. Side note you’re, out of tuna.”

“Thanks,” Rey croaked stretching. She glanced down when her feet hit a large weight. The dog blinked at her, head lounging on his dinner-plate paws. If she had though he was large last night he was huge in the light of day. Curled as he was on her full sized mattress his tail still thumbed her upper arm in greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

“He’s weird,” Paige said staring at the animal. “I had to bribe him with going outside before he’d leave you and I swear he glared at me when I tied a couple of scarves around him for a leash. But he kept pace with me fine and didn’t try to break free even though he could.”

Rey rubbed shoulder with her foot through the blanket. His tail thumbed again.

“Also, the wet dog towel you left handing in the bathroom?” Paige spoke around downing the last of the milk in her bowl. “Not cool.”

“I’ll do laundry,” Rey promised.

Paige grunted bending down to scratch between the dog’s ears. “Goodbye, mutt. It was nice having a running buddy.”

Rey stood in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee, trying to figure out what her next steps would be getting him home. Paige had skipped out to work. Rose probably won't be home til late to get ready for school the next day and Rey didn’t have work until five. She could probably take him to the pound but she didn’t like the idea of him being in a cage. And what if his owner never found him?

She peeked over the counter to look at the dog as he munched on the defrosted lunch meat she had found in the back of the freezer. “You wouldn’t by chance be half homing pigeon would you, that way you can just lead me to your home?” she asked.

He glance up and Rey got the distinct impression of a yes before he stood and stretched and headed towards the front of the apartment. She came around the corner to see him waiting patiently at the door. “Well, okay. Let me go get on some shoes.”

Taking a leaf from Paige’s book Rey wrapped a scarf around his neck in an artistic take on a collar tying another on to it for a leash.

“Don’t you look handsome,” she said ruffling his scruff, the grey of the scarf setting off the near blue black of his fur.

“So once we’re out on the street, I’m going to give you an hour to find home, then we’ll need to figure out another plan.” She smiled ryle, “I should probably stop talking to you like you can understand me. I’ll be getting enough strange looks from leading around a hundred and fifty pound dog with a scarf.”

He gave her cheek a lick.

“Aww, your sweet.” She gave him another pat standing. “Let's go see if we can find who you belong to.”

Once they hit street level the dog was a like a man on a mission. He didn’t pull or try to get out of the haphazard lead rope but he did keep a steady pace that Rey had to nearly trot to keep up with. The ground was still wet and the air held the hit of a bite but the sun was shining brightly.

“I thought Paige said she ran with you today,” Rey panted fifteen minutes later. “Her route is like five miles. How do you have so much energy still?”

He gave no reply, even though Rey was half expecting one, diligent on his path. That was another thing, there was no backtracking, no hesitancy it was almost as if he actually knew where he was going. At ten minutes to his hour cut off he stopped across from a little cafe.

“Here?” Rey demanded trying to hide her disappointment. What did she expect? She had allowed a dog to lead her on a merry-goose chase across town. She sighed rubbing her face. “Guess we’ll just have to think of something else.”

Checking both ways for traffic the dog made for the door. Rey pulled back on the scarf. “We can’t go in there. It’s a restaurant, they don’t allow pets.”

He persisted forward. The knot came undone and she nearly stumbled at the unexpected slack. Instead of running off as would be normal, he gave what could only be described as an eye roll as he took the ‘leash’ in his mouth and dragged her to the front doors. She was too surprised to do anything else except let him.

As they crossed the street a waiter taking a couple's order on the outside patio looked up in surprised. “Solo?”

“You know him?” Rey asked, the dog sitting at her feet.

“Yes, well you know, his … owner? Yeah, his owner is a ..buddy of mine. That’s his dog ...Kkkyylo.”

“Didn’t you just call him ‘Solo’?” Rey asked.

“My friend's name’s Solo. The dog’s name Kylo.” He hurriedly turned back to his customers, “let me get this to the kitchen for you and I’ll be right back with your coffees.” He gestured for Rey to follow him inside.

“Can Kylo come in too?” She showed him the scarf, “I don’t have a proper leash for him and I’d hate for him to get lost again when he’s so close to being home.”

He looked down at the dog and flinched. “Yeah he can definitely come in. I’ll give his … owner a call. If you want to grab a table?”

“Yeah, sure. Take your time,” she reassured as he smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. Kylo followed her as she grabbed one of the side tables by the big bay window.

“What was your master thinking,” Rey asked him as she shed her coat, “naming you something as nonsensical as ‘Kylo’.” She ran a hand down his neck, “though I probably shouldn’t be saying that to you, it’s not like you named yourself. Kylo is a wonderful name for such a wonderful dog.” He laid head on her thigh. “I know, I’m sorry. I wont make fun of you anymore.”

The same waiter as before passed her with two lattes in hand. “I got a hold of someone, they’ll be by to pick him up in less then half an hour. If you can’t wait you can just leave him with me and I’ll see that he gets back.”

“No, I’ll wait.” She grinned up at him sheepishly, “I need to be the one to make sure he gets home.”

“I get it.” The man glance down at Kylo then away with a smile. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

“No, that’s,” she started but he was already out the door, “okay.”

Rey sighed, it wasn’t as if a sandwich would break the bank. And she was hunger after all that walking. And she did get paid tomorrow. With a shrug she flipped open a menu left on an empty neighboring table.

“Does your owner come here often?” she found herself asking Kylo. “What does he usually get?”

She wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not when he nosed at the turkey club.

When the waiter, Paul was his name, came back round she ordered the sandwitch with the chicken noodle soup. She fed the strips of bacon to Kylo as they waited for whoever was going to pick him up to show.

A newer silver SUV style car pulled up to the curb outside the cafe. A woman draped in an elegant black shawl stepped out, her hair expertly coiffured. She set her sunglasses atop her hair as she entered the eatery eyes immediately lasering in on Kylo before flicking up to Rey as she stood.

“I’m Leia Organa,” the woman offered her hand.

“Rey Johnston,” answered shaking it once, trying to remember why that name sounded familiar. “I thought Paul said his owner was a man.”

“My son.” Leia said succinctly her eyes glaring down Kylo. “I told him to be careful when … walking his dog.”

Rey set a protective hand on Kylo’s head. “Yes, your son should have been more careful but its not Kylo’s fault he got lost, he’s just a dog.”

“Kylo?” Leia asked confused. The dog woofed softly at his name. “Right, Kylo.”

“And your son should really get him identification tags. If he wasn’t so smart we would have never found you.”

“I will definitely be having words with my son,” Leia said fastening hard eyes on Kylo. Taking a calming breath she turned back to Rey. “I’m sorry of all inconvenience this has caused you,” she reached in her purse slipping out several bills from her wallet holding them out to her, “please take this for your troubles with my thanks.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Rey said with a smile folding her hands in her pockets. “But if you can ensure that something like this doesn’t happen again that’s all the thanks I need. Kylo is a really special dog, I would hate for something bad to happen to him.”

“As would I,” Leia set the money on the table. “Thank you for taking care of him. Come B...Kylo, it’s time to go home.” Leia nodded her head regaly to Rey before turning to the door. Kylo pressed himself against Rey’s leg before following the woman out.

Rey watched out the front window, trying not to feel depressed as the car pulled way.

“It was less than a day,” she scolded herself. She was usually better with this kind of thing, it was the name reason she hadn't given Kylo a name in the intrume, she knew he would be leaving and she didn’t want to make a connection. And here she was sniveling over a dog.

She let out a gusty sigh, eye’s catching on the money out of the corner of her eye. Leia really shouldn’t have given her anything, it was her son’s dog to begin with and secondly Rey hadn't been looking for a reward. Absently she counted it, blinked, then counted it again more thoroughly.

Five hundred dollars.

She looked up with the half baked thought of running after the long gone car to give the money back. Who the heck just drops five hundred dollars in some random person’s hands. Shaking her head she walked up to the coffee bar.

“Paul?” The waiter looked up from adding a dusting of cinnamon to a drink. “You said you were friends with that woman’s son, right?”

He raised an eyebrow, “yes?”

“Can you give him something to return to her the next time you see him?”

“I don’t see him all that often,” he hedged frothing milk for a second drink and not getting eye contact.

“You can probable send it to her office,” the nice woman manning the Cash register said as she rang up Rey’s lunch.

“Her office,” she questioned handing over her bank card for payment.

“Yeah, the City Hall.” The woman said with a smile giving her the receipt to sign. “That was Mayor Organa.”

Rey went to work that night with the five hundred dollars in a marked envelope just waiting for a stamp. A stamp she wasn’t sure if she was going to put on it, thinking of the horrors of having some much untraceable cash lost in the mail. But it would be presumptuous to show up at the Mayor’s place of work, wouldn’t it?

“Rey,” her shift manager called over the pounding techno beat, “we need more glasses!”

Nodding her head to show she heard, Rey grabbed the bin of Dirties and carried it in the back. Returning with a loaded tray of Cleans she saw a man scanning behind the bar. His eyes immediately locked on her as she stepped through the swinging door, a charming smile on his lips. He was good looking; tall with dark hair just a bit longer than average and an aquiline nose.

Setting her burden down she half turned to ask over her shoulder as she stacked cups, ”can I get you something to drink?”

“No.” For a second it was as if his voice cut straight through all the noise of the loud bar. “I’ve come to return something.” His large hands set a bundle of charcoal material on the bar.

Recognising the material she nearly snorted in derision. He seemed a bit old to be having his mother step in to fix is mistakes but then again some people just never grew up, she’d served enough drinks to them to know the kind. “You must be Solo.”

“Ben,” he introduced, leaning on the bar as he offered his hand. Rey knew it would have been rude not to take it though she disengaged quickly. “I wanted to come and thank you,” his full lips twitched, “in person.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed turning her back on him tension in the line of her shoulders.

“You’re angry,” he questioned, “why.”

She slammed the last glass down tucking the tray under arm as she pivoted on him. “Do you have any idea how badly it could have gone with Kylo last night? He had no form on identification, no way to get home. He could have been hit by a car or taken to the pound or worse and nobody would have ever know.”

“Yes,” the smile on his lips died, eyes turning haunted. “Things would have gone a lot worse if you didn’t see him when you did.” Rey was surprised by the seriousness in his voice. But it was gone quickly replace with that same charming smile.  “So what do you do when your not working or out rescuing stray dogs?”

“Kylo’s not a stray,” she snapped. She bit her lip wishing she could have bitten her tongue before speaking. She quickly began cutting lime wedges for drink garnish.

“What do you mean?” Ben asked after a pause.

“Kylo was lost,” she emphasize, eyes glued on the cutting board. “He is not a stray. There’s a differences.”

“And what is that difference, Rey?”  Her head shot up at his intimate tone. Again it felt like his words surrounded her, cutting out the other sounds.

“‘Stray’ means your not wanted, ‘lost’ means somebody cares enough to look for you,” she found herself answering without really thinking. Annoyed with herself her tone turned caustic, “And how do you know my name?”

He sat back as if she had physically snapped at him instead of just verbally. “My, uh, mother. She must have mentioned it when she was dropping off Kylo.”

“Yeah, your mother Mayor Oranga. I can’t believe you didn’t even care enough to come pick him up yourself,” she shook her head.

Remembering that afternoon and Leia made her remember the envelope she had in her bag. Rey flagged down her manager from across the bar, tapping her wrist twice then mining cracking something in half. The other woman nodded turning back to her own customer.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back.” Rey glared over her shoulder at Kylo’s owner before as she turned away. She returned in under a minute with the money filled envelope which she handed over the bar to the man. “Can you see that your mother gets this? She forgot it when she picked up your dog. And keep the scarf, it looks better on Kylo then it ever did on me.”

Curiously he drew the paper under his nose as if scenting it. There was an amused curl to his lips when his eyes flashed up to hers. “My mother is not a forgetful person,” he said sliding the envelope back across the lacord finish wood. “I’m sure whatever this is, she intended for you to have it.”

Forcefully Rey set her fingers on the opposite edge and pushed it back to him, eye’s hard. “I don’t let others make up for someone else’s mistake.”

“How about you let me make up for it.” That curle turned into a full blown grin. “Dinner?”

Her eye’s raked over him. If she had met him in any other way, in any other place, she would have said yes.

When she got back on after her break he was gone. Tucked next to her cutting board was the envelope with a newly inked seven digit number on its corner.

“Is there something I can help you with, miss?” the secretary asked in a chipper voice with a kind smile.

“I, uh, have a letter. For Le-- Mrs. Ora-- the Mayor?” Rey stuttered wanting the tasteful beige carpet to swallow her.

“If you’ll give me just a second I’ll check if she’s in.”

“No, that’s okay. I could just leave--” the woman was already up and though the frosted glass door that lead to what Rey assumed was back offices.

Fidgeting awkwardly with the envelope Rey resigned herself with waiting. Catching the ten-thirty bus into the center of town she had been half hoping to catched Leia when she was out on lunch, wanting only to drop off the money and then move on to do her grocery shopping. She wanted to make Paige dinner for being so cool with the Kylo fiasco. She was thinking spaghetti and then they could take the leftovers for lunch--

Rey nearly jumped out of her skin when the secretary returned. “Leia will see you now.”

Leia Organa was seated behind her chrome and glass desk paperwork spread before her. She look just as regal today as she had yesterday, the gold beaded jacket adding a seasonal flare to her wardrobe. She frowned slightly behind the glasses perched on the edge of her nose. That quickly cleared when she recognised who had walked through her door.

“Aw, Ms. Johnston. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just want to make sure you got this,” Rey said walking up to the desk and laying the envelope down before scurrying back to her place by the door. “I also wanted to ask how Kylo was.”

“He’s fine,” Leia answered absently running her fingers over the several scratch marks that blackened the bottom corner. “Is this my son’s phone number?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rey winced. She knew she should have put it in a new envelope but she had gotten that one from work and hadn’t wanted to ask for a replacement. “He stopped by my place of business last night. I tried giving it to him to give to you but he wouldn’t do it.”

“That sounds like him,” Leia sighed. She waved the envelope infront of her before setting it on the edge of the desk. “But that doesn't change the fact that I gave this to you for helping my son.”

“I helped Kylo and him getting back home is all the thanks I want.” Rey nodded her head, only just stopping herself from actually bowing. “Sorry for taking up your time. Have a nice day.” Before Leia could think of stopping her she turned and bolted.

Rey didn’t like being around politicians. Something about all that artifice made her skin crawl. It always felt like they were three steps ahead and lying through their teeth about it. And as cordial as Leia seemed Rey hadn't missed the pinching of the older woman’s lips when she had recognised the random sequence of digits or that her first instinct had been to throw money at Rey for her services.

Nodding to the security guard on duty as she steps through the glass front doors Rey is distracted enough that she runs right into someone trying to enter. A starbucks cup goes flying, spilling its contents on the concrete.

“I’m so sorry,” she starts mortified.

“Rey?”

She looks up. Of course it was Kylo’s neglectful owner looking like a poster child for Menswear Monthly. His glasses and the professional looking laptop case on his shoulder made the look more human instead of airbrushed but Rey still wished she could just disappear. She’d taken some care with her appearance but she still was only planning on going to the grocery store.

He seems just as surprised to see her as she was. “What are you doing here?”

She tried not to flinch at the shock in his voice still feeling a bit raw from her appointment with the mayor. “I came to see your mother.” She frowned, “but if you were going to see her today anyway you could have saved me the trip.”

“You returned the money?”

Rey’s hand’s went cold with the knowledge that he new his mother had paid her. “Yes,” she bit out.

“You didn’t have to,” he said softly closing the space between them.

“Yes, I did.” She took a deep breath tried to shake her defensive anger. “Look, I’m sorry for your coffee, let me spot you for another one.”

He held up a hand, “it was mostly gone anyway.” He got a sly look in his eye, ”though if you really want to make it up to me, you can accept my invitation to dinner.”

“I’m not doing this.” She dug in her pocket and counted out five ones, grabbing his hand and slapping them in it. “Buy your next coffee on me. I’m sorry I crashed into you.”

She turned and walked away knowing it was just her furtive imagination that made her think he said, “I’m not.”

Halloween was busy at the club, something about alcohol and costumes seemed to draw the weird out of people. Last year, a month into the job, Rey had dressed to the nines as a forest spirit, spending days making her costume from thrift store finds and random things she had at the apartment. She had walked home defeated with her broken paper mache antlers smelling of a medley of spilt drinks and one woman’s throw up.

This year Rey new better. Her minimum hassle costume consisted of a black tank top and short-shorts that she already owned and a tail and headband set she had picked up from the dollar store.

“It’s crazy tonight, must be the full moon,” one of the servers, Sasha, said coming up to the bar for a new round of drinks. She cast concerned eyes over Rey, “you do have a ride home tonight, right?”

Rey smiled over at her, touched, in the midst of making Frankenstein’s Monster a haunted martini. “I only live a few blocks up, I’ll be fine.”

“North or south?” A cheesy dracula, already two of his three sheets to the wind, asked from perch at the bar. “I’ll be more than happy to walk a pretty girl home.”

Sasha and her shared a look as Rey loaded the tray with a dozen shot glasses, filling them with tonight’s cotton candy colored special. They were cheap to make, tasted disgusting, and were selling like hot cakes.

“Thanks,” Rey gave her customer service smile, already use to this song and dance, “but I already got a boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” the man slurred drunkully.

Rey chose to ignore him as Sasha took up her tray to wade back in the fray. Instead she turned to get the order of the third ‘Jake from State Farm’ she’d seen that night.

The rest of the night was pretty much a blur of progressively drunker people. She had started early and didn’t have closing so it was one-thirty when Rey stepped out of the back doors of the club. Just like she had predicted she had a whole tray of those cotton candy shots tipped on her when a zombie cheerleader and an awesome Princess Mononoke’s San had been started making out a bit aggressively. So instead of doning her coat, she was carrying it and freezing her butt off.

“Hey pretty girl, need someone to warm you up.”

“Your place or mine, kitty cat?”

She ignored the group drunken fools standing outside the front of the club smoking cigarettes and kept walking, way too tired to deal with their bull shit. She did, however, turn when they screamed.

One man was in the middle of the sidewalk on his ass. A large hulking mass radiating menice stood over the the terrified man. His friends stood frozen against the wall not knowing what to do. The dog made a step forward, a silent snarl shaking his body. This wasn’t good.

“Kylo, come.” The animal went rigid at the command. Slowly its great head turned away from its prey to eye her over a massive black shoulder. Rey’s eyes narrowed, she was having none of that, “I said come.”

Not waiting for him she turned and continued up the sidewalk. After a tense second she heard his nails on the cement as he stalked to her side. Not looking down she laid a hand on his warm head, icy fingers sinking into thick fur.

“Yo bitch! I was just trying to be nice, you didn’t have to sic your dog on me!” One of them men yelled, out of danger their drunk brains turned back on.

Kylo hesitated at her side as if he understood. She kept walking keeping her hand in his fur and he kept pace so as not to loose contract with her.

It took half way to getting home for Rey to lose the tension keeping her body going. She would have collapsed to the concrete it an early rain hadn’t wettened the ground, she didn’t want a wet but on top over everything else. So she locked her legs taking several deep breaths and letting them ghost around her as she let them out slowly. Kylo whined.

“I’m alright, boy,” she reassured rubbing tiredly at her face, it was just the adrenaline crash that was making her eyes tear up. She looked over to him and force a smile, “Paige is going to be so pissed at me when she sees you.”

He bumped up against her leg warming the chilled skin.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it. But, as Sensei says, its better to walk away instead of escalate things.” She patted him on the head. ”You never acted aggressive before, should I be scared of you?” she wondered aloud.

He licked her fingers, burying his muzzle in her palm and looking up at her with big puppy dog eyes.

She smiled, for real this time, and gave his chin a good scratch. “Let’s go home.”

[takingcourage]

Of Queens and Corgis

Pairing: Liam x MC 

Word Count: 1,104

Summary: A very good dog does a very bad thing. 

Note: There’s really no plot here. This is just a lot of fluff inspired by my cat’s recent streak of mischief. If civilian cats get into trouble, I’m certain royal dogs do as well. 

Keep the dog, he’d said. It will endear you to the press, he’d said. “That traitor,” Eliza whispered under her breath. Maybe someday she would run out of reasons to curse Justin. For now, she had that backstabbing former press secretary to thank for the state of her living room floor.

“Henry,” she called evenly, suppressing the frustration she felt at the mess in front of her. Almost immediately, she heard the click of claws on kitchen tile as the dog travelled toward the living room. “Henry, what happened here, buddy?”

The corgi bounded through the doorway, but stopped short when he saw Eliza standing over his handiwork. The queen’s decorative ceramic planter had been overturned, and clumps of potting soil outlined its trajectory as it had rolled across the hardwood floor. Worst of all, the straggly plant it had once contained had been torn from its home and sat languidly under the coffee table.

“What happened, Henry?” she asked again, regarding the dog seriously. Henry looked attentively at the floor. No matter how much she coaxed, he would not make eye contact. At least he has a conscience, Eliza mused as she leaned down to turn the pot upright.

It wasn’t the dog’s fault -- not really. For the past several months, she’d done so well to make sure that the plant was on the end table and out of the reach of his tiny legs. He never could have reached it if she hadn’t set the plant on the floor just minutes before. She’d been dusting in the living room and had heard the dryer stop before she’d come to the end of the task. In the interest of rescuing her clothes before they wrinkled, she’d left the plant on the floor: a perfect invitation.

Eliza examined the tangled roots before gingerly depositing the flower in the soil that remained in the planter. She would finish repotting it later. At the moment, her primary concern was cleaning up the excess dirt before the corgi could scatter it any further.

“Henry, sit,” she commanded. The obedient dog complied eagerly, though he still refused to meet her gaze. “Stay,” she called out as she ventured to find the broom and dustpan. She returned several moments later with the necessary items and found that he had continued to do as instructed. “Good job, Henry,” she praised, unable to resist patting the top of his head. He offered a toothy smile in return, his tongue rolling out as he finally took a look at her.

Unfortunately, the situation declined rapidly once Eliza began sweeping. Henry ambled over, eager to acquaint himself with the dirt that was about to be carried off to the trash. “No, Henry,” she admonished, ceasing her work. “Sit.”

He obeyed for a moment before the temptation became too great and then made an attempt to tackle the head of the broom. Eliza was on the verge of scooping him up and shutting him in the nearby bathroom when she heard Liam coming through their front door.

The small dog ran to greet Liam at the door, tail shaking in his excitement. Eliza took advantage of the opportunity to brush the first pile of soil from the floor to the dustpan. From the entryway, she heard Liam’s accustomed greeting. “Henry! How is my good boy?”

“Don’t tell him he’s a good boy -- he’s been naughty!” she announced, dumping the contents of the pan into the trash can she’d brought from the kitchen.

Liam caught her around the waist before she could turn back to the mess and kissed her soundly. “And what has the naughty dog done?” He questioned, his amusement evident in his tone. On taking a closer look at his surroundings, he ventured cautiously, “Your poinsettia?”

She gestured to the pitiful stalk in the planter. “I’m going to try to save it, but I’m not sure it’s worthwhile. It wasn’t exactly flourishing even before he ravaged it.”

“We can take it to the palace gardeners,” Liam suggested. “They may be able to salvage it.”

Eliza wrinkled her nose in response.

“Ah, of course. I know better.” “I want to prove to myself that I can keep more than just philodendrons alive. And, if I’m honest, I want to go back to the kids at that preschool next Christmas with pictures to show that I took care of it. It was so sweet of them to give it to me.”

“And sweet of you to keep it instead of throwing it out after the holiday season passed. If nothing else, you’ve given it your best attempt.”

Eliza knew that he was right. Tending plants had never been one of her strengths, much to her grandmother’s dismay. Maintaining the miniature poinsettia had been a labor of love.

“But I’m not giving up on it yet,” she promised with a smile. “I’m getting this floor clean before I do anything else with -- Henry!” The dog had returned to the scene of his earlier crime, seeing his owner’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to roll through the remaining dirt.

“Here, Henry,” Liam commanded, tapping his thigh for emphasis. “Let’s take you outside. You need to run off some energy.” He latched on the dog’s leash and led him back toward their front door. 

“Thank you,” Eliza called over her shoulder as she retrieved the broom from its place against the wall.

By the time her boys returned some ten minutes later, Eliza had finished cleaning the floor and was digging into a new bag of potting soil to replace what had been lost. Other than a couple of mangled leaves, the poinsettia didn’t look much worse for the experience. Provided that the trauma had not been too great, she expected that the plant should soon return to the status quo.

She heard Liam pour some dry food into the dog’s bowl before he met her in the dining room. “He really is a good dog...most of the time,” he reflected, sitting across from her at the table.

“I don’t know what I’d do without him.” Eliza considered how grateful she always was to see the dog at the end of a long day -- especially on those evenings when Liam was held in meetings until all hours of the night. He’d been her companion through eighteen months of trials, yet he had never failed to bring a smile to her face. 

Looking back, perhaps Henry was the one good thing Justin had done for her. That ridiculous dog had found his way into her heart and he wasn’t leaving it any time soon.