#tags: bright white pool hallway

[orqheuss]

The sun does not weep for Icarus PART 4 FINALE

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST) Can be read as platonic, implied Ominis/Anne and Sebastian

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary:

The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful.  *** It was time. Time to go to Azkaban; time to greet their best friend for the final time. Even with all their preparing, all their planning so their scheme would be pulled off perfectly, were they truly ready for this?

Word count: 9.9k

Tags: graphic depictions of child abuse, assisted suicide, emetophobia, major character death

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

For this final chapter, I am recommending the songs "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" by The Oh Hellos, "I Know the End" by Pheobe Bridgers, "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens, and "Je te laisserai des mots" by Patrick Watson.

Chapter 4: I Am Not There, I Did Not Die

Light danced across the Transfiguration courtyard as the sun reached its lowest point in the sky, winking at the fast approaching night before tucking itself into the thick, white clouds for its nightly slumber. Shadows stretched across the stone floors, catching briefly on the statue that rested in the center atop a grand fountain. The woman in the sculpture was gaunt in form, small and malnourished; if she wasn’t made of stone she would surely blow away with a particularly strong breeze. Long hair flowed from her head and drooped down her shoulders, resting just below her hips, its edges frayed and sticking up in different directions like she hadn’t taken care of it in some time. She wore traditional wizard robes, a long beautiful dress with an intricately decorated cloak draped over her shoulders. The cloth seemed to fall from her body and pool at the ground like it was no longer form fitting; her bony collarbones peaked through the depressed fabric. Long, lithe fingers covered her face in anguish. Only the apples of her cheeks and her mouth were visible, her lips twisted into a sorrowful wail as silver painted tear tracks streaked downwards from her covered eyes. The statue was meant to be a symbol of heartbreak— the lack of care for oneself when something you loved was long gone from your life. Standing in her shadow were two students, hoods pulled over their faces to shield their watchful eyes from any onlookers milling about the castle, astutely unaware that they were resting in the shadow of their future. The tallest of the two craned his neck towards the overcroft walkway diagonal to them, listening carefully for any sign of movement. All that was heard was the skuttle of tiny animal paws against the cracked concrete; likely a cat, he mused. Nodding his head to his partner in confirmation, the duo sprinted across the large courtyard, careful to stay in the shadows and away from the bright rays of the setting sun. They had to be as discreet as possible— any wrong move and their entire operation would come crashing down around them like the end of the world itself. The pair of students made their way along the darkened walls of the Transfiguration courtyard, slinking through the exit on the other side and pausing behind one of the many stone braziers lining the walkway, carefully monitoring the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway adjacent. It was around dinner time, so their peers would either be in the Great Hall or making their way there from each of the four common rooms. The only sound that could be heard was the cool wind outside blowing through the arches lining the walkway and the steady breaths of the two fifth years. Small puffs of fog bellowed out of their chapped lips before they were gently carried away by the chilled wind of winter. A shiver ran down their already taut spines, each tense with anticipation and unease. The duo gave one final scan of the hall, double and triple checking for any sign of life, before bolting towards the far corner where the secret entrance of the Undercroft lay. The smaller of the two quickly unlocked the mechanism and squeezed through the shallow doorway before ushering their companion through the entrance and down the stairs. The gunmetal gate whined at their return to the secret fortress in the underbelly of the school. Once safely inside, the pair shucked the hoods from their heads, panting slightly in perturbation, before turning to face the other head on. 

It was time. 

From under his robes, Ominis pulled out the invisibility cloak. It had taken slightly longer than anticipated to retrieve from Diagon Alley, a full week instead of a matter of days, leaving them six days to get to Azkaban and find their friend. The iridescent fabric caught the light of the floating candles near the ceiling and glimmered a multitude of colors, small flecks of rainbows dancing on the walls around them. It was just big enough to shield one of them from the eyes of the guards, the other would be disguised as someone else under a polyjuice potion. Ominis would be the one taking the potion, as he knew the mannerisms of the person they chose as the best fit, while he would be holding on to his friend under the cloak so they could lead him without his wand. The blinking light would surely give him away in the vast prison. He may not be as famous as the rest of his family, but he was at least known enough for others to spot his disability. 

The two sat on the conjured couches at the center of the room, each taking one loveseat and placing the different parts of their plan onto the table before them. The invisibility cloak draped over the wood like a beautiful tablecloth, reminding the sighted fifth year of the place settings around Christmas. Atop rested three vials, one containing the putrid green polyjuice potion, one containing the golden, lustrous hue of felix felicis, and one containing a new concoction that they had created. 

The two fifth years had snuck into the potions classroom the night before, testing out the invisibility cloak and how well it would work to their needs. In a mortar and pestle they crushed the small purple nightshade berries with its stems and leaves, which were just as if not more deadly than the fruit, together into a thick paste before dumping it into a small cauldron heated by an incendio charm. The plant brewed for an hour, distilling down to a fine syrup that was easy to drink. The fifth year had the idea to add some sugar to the pot in order to make it more palpable— something Ominis dryly laughed at. They were sweetening poison so it went down easier, what a stupidly caring thing to do. 

The final vial was filled with their poison, the liquid inside swirling with shades of plum and red wine— little seeds of the berry still floating in it. The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful. 

Ominis stared unseeing into the open space above the table, his eyes glazed over in deep, destitute contemplation. His hands were pressed together in a prayer shape, pointer fingers just slightly touching his lips and his thumbs resting under his chin; his elbows rested on his knees, his body hunching over like a statue at rest. Vibrations rocked through the couch under him and shook the table from his rapidly bouncing leg; nervous energy convulsing in his veins and ricocheting out of his body like a bullet in a chamber. The boy prepared himself for what he had to do— who he was about to turn into. He may not know faces, but he knew body language and speaking patterns, and this particular one haunted his nightmares more often than he had a peaceful night's rest. The vial of hair resting in his cloak pocket burned against his skin like one thousand suns. He had to sneak into his family home to get it, somewhere he hadn’t been in a very long time. There was no one that he hated more in this world than his family, and he was about to become one of them. 

His friend stretched their arm across the table, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. They knew what he was about to do would be inordinately hard for him— to become someone he hated more than anything else in the world weighed heavily on his heart and sent panicked jitters through his limbs. His fight or flight would be kicking in at that moment if it hadn’t fizzled out long ago at the hands of the family that was meant to care for him. 

He was just a child when his family first began their heinous torture— no more than the age of five when they first wanted him to wield dark magic against those who “wronged” them. His magic had barely shown itself, only little bursts of scattered sparks sprinkling from his fingertips had appeared at that point. He was a fairly late bloomer in the Gaunt household, which of course was blamed on his physical “defect,” as they so often put it. He was lesser than them in their eyes, not truly carrying the Gaunt name if he could not do everything that they did. Instead of strong, intimidating, and regal, he was nothing but a weak child— a stain on their good family name. The first time they had ever tortured him was when he was four, a tiny thing made of all bones and sharp angles even then. His mother had received his marks in the mail from the private magic school they sent him to; every Gaunt had to attend and keep up the family image. He had struggled with school when he was younger, unable to do things as easily as his peers without the gift of sight. He didn’t have his wand yet, so in layman's terms he was quite literally flying blind. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would get terrible marks on his tests, both academic and skill based, but his mother was furious. She had shouted at him for hours in their large family room before his father came home. Ominis had always questioned the name of the space— his family never spent time together, even at dinner, so why would they have a room dedicated to something they most definitely weren’t? The question truly solidified in his mind that day when his father walked through the door. If his mother was furious, his father was absolutely seething. 

The older Gaunt had never cared for his son, not since the announcement of his disability by the au pair taking care of his mother and helping her through the birth. As the youngest in his family of four siblings, he was already more of a nuisance than anything. Even his name, Ominis, did not match with the rest of the family; each of his siblings had a name starting with M, Marvolo, Morphina, and Metis, and he was ostracized before he even knew about the cruelties of the world— the cruelties of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families of the wizarding world. 

His father had entered the family room that day, an aura of daunting domineerance flowing from his person and permeating the air with the scent of his signature cologne and the pure, unfiltered rage that always seemed to follow him. He remembered the sound of his mother thrusting his terrible marks at his father, explaining exactly what his professor had said to her and his performance in class. They didn’t care that he was genuinely trying his best, all they saw was a disgusting failure— a black spot on their pristine family tree. His father had joined in the belittling then, spittle flying at him and littering his son’s face from the close proximity of his face to the young boy’s. Ominis determinedly willed himself to not cry, something a young boy of his age would have normally been expected to do. In his family, tears were seen as a sign of weakness— any shift in demeanor that wasn’t deemed “appropriate” was. His struggles were for naught, unfortunately, as in horror he felt a tear leak down his cheek and gather at the corner of his mouth. Everything seemed to pause, the space around him getting eerily silent. For a moment he thought that his parents had left the room, but he knew that they would want him to know that they were abandoning him there. They would want him to feel the sting of their absence. That was until he felt the sharp sting of the back of a hand connect against his cheek; the ring his father always wore with the Gaunt insignia adorning it carving into his face and drawing a small bubbling of blood to the surface of his ghastly pale skin. He had sat in shock for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do— how he was supposed to act . He had never heard his parents strike his siblings, the territory was entirely unheard of to the young boy. More tears pooled in his eyes against his will, and he fought valiantly to keep them tucked away behind his lashes. His lip wobbled with desperately contained cries, his teeth digging into the flesh to stop its incessant movement. But, just because he may not be able to see doesn’t mean that the rest of his family was blind. His father tracked the boy’s expressions, infuriated at the weak will of his youngest son. He would give him something to truly cry about. At that moment, Ominis felt the violent pain of the cruciatus curse for the first time. His tiny body crashed to the ground as he writhed in anguish, demented, childish screams clawing their way out of his throat as he struggled to breath around the incapacitating agony. His father had continued to scold the child, kicking him in the stomach and sending him heaving onto his side as he continued to spew nonsense about blood purity, the image of the family, and his role in their future. He remembered biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, pushing himself to silence his constant wails so he could avoid a worse punishment. Once he was released from the curse, only then did his mother and father leave— one last word about his disappointment on the family name hissing from their lips like a threatened black mamba. They had forced him to clean up his own blood from the pristine carpet that night. 

Now, after so many years of avoiding the man, the reflection of Erebus Gaunt, his father, stood under the candlelight of the Undercroft. Ominis could feel the strength of his father’s shoulders resting atop his arms, the tautness of his neck and straight back that only came from years of training. His hands were the thing that unnerved him the most; they were so much larger than his, seeming to fill the entire space with their intimidating size. He refused to speak, the very idea of hearing his father’s voice come out of his throat sent tremors from the top of his spine to the bottom of his toes. 

His friend stood just behind him in the reflection, looking at the boy in the man’s body in barely hidden disdain. Ominis had confided in them about the torture he underwent from his kin, and they wanted nothing more than to hex that insufferable Gaunt family tree into the next century. Alas, there would be other moments for such violence. As if they could see the thoughts spiraling in his mind, they spoke resolutely over his shoulder.

“You may as well say something now so you don’t startle yourself later. You can make him say anything you want, at least, so if there’s anything you want to get off your chest I would do it now.” 

Ominis sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, thinking about what foul words he could spew from the normally regal man’s mouth. He could make him say whatever he wanted, whatever he desired most. Ideas filled his mind, each speaking over the other like a batch of rowdy bar patrons. Maybe an “I love you?” He had never heard that one before, at least not from his father. A simple “I’m proud of you, son?” No, he knew neither would sound genuine, nor did he want to hear the man say either of those to his face. If his father said those words to him, he was doing something incredibly wrong with his life. Instead, what he settled on was,

“I’m a huge fucking twat.” 

His friend barked a startled laugh, letting it titter off naturally and smacking him gently on the back in pride. “There you go, absolutely brilliant as always.” 

Ominis enjoyed their laugh. It seemed to fill the room with a little bit of sunshine, covering its normally dark and dreary existence for just a moment. He had to find things about his friends that he could latch onto— things that someone with sight would normally not notice. Instead of faces, he recognized voices, steps, heartbeats, scents, anything that he could hear or smell. His new friend sounded like sunshine after a storm, each word from them causing a small smile to creep at the corners of his mouth unconsciously. They smelled like the morning dew, and a little bit like gunpowder— like they had been around fireworks for a little too long. He found comfort in them. 

Ominis turned from the broken mirror leaning on the Undercroft wall and faced his partner in crime head on. His stomach was alight with nerves, butterflies roughly smacking into the lining of his gut and sending flutters of tension into his throat. With a steady, minutely calming breath, he steeled himself for what was to come. 

With a nod of his stoic head, the two students gathered the rest of their materials and set off into the great unknown. 

The turbulent sea struck the side of their small boat as they approached the far away island. Azkaban’s looming shape towered over the waves, cascading foreboding shadows over the surf and sending a bone-chilling shiver up the spines of the two young magic users. Ominis could sense the danger nearby— feel the dread seeping into his soul from the plethora of dementors flying above their heads. Even this far from their horrifying forms, he could faintly hear the sounds of his worst nightmares plaguing his mind— Anne collapsing to the floor in agony for the first time in front of him, breaking a glass in her hand and nearly smacking into the corner of the coffee table; the sound of Sebastian’s cries, tucked away in bed with a hand over his mouth to muffle his sorrow the night before he was cast out of Hogwarts; the shallow breathing of his newest friend as they lied in a hospital bed, the smell of blood still clinging to their clothes after a particularly nasty bout of ashwinders took them by surprise, and the fear that he had felt about if they were going to survive or not. Ominis pushed it all away to the best of his ability, trying to get into the headspace of his arsehole of a father before they reached the coast of the prison. He prepared for the foul things he needed to say— the grotesque things he needed to do in order to get into the fortresses walls. 

His hands shook around his wand at the re-emergence of his worst memory: the first time he ever cast the cruciatus curse on a muggle. The little girl couldn’t have been much older than he was. His older brother, Marvolo, had taken her off of the streets, laughing to his family later that night about how he had tricked her with a sugar-sweet voice and the promise of a nice warm fire for the night. He could remember her soft whimpers as he approached, the fear that permeated the air around her and mingling with the salty scent of her tears. His father had leaned down and hissed into his ear, promising him that if he didn’t do this and prove himself to the family that he would suffer a fate worse than the girl at the hands of his entire family— extended and all. He shuddered to think about what that punishment could have been, even to this day. His hand shook around his fathers wand, thrust into his chest not long before that and still burning with the residual heat of his previous spell, as he leveled it as best he could towards the girl. His mother had grasped his wrist harshly, twisting his arm in annoyance and pointing it directly at the little girl’s chest. He remembered the numbing pain in his chest, the fear in his mind at what his family would do to him if he failed. He wanted nothing more than to apologize to the little muggle; someone so frightened and unaware of why they were there and what was about to happen to them. If his parents weren’t there, he liked to think that he would have— maybe he and the young girl could have even been friends if he so wished it. In another world, another timeline, perhaps. The spell ripped its way through his wand arm and flew from the tip of his borrowed weapon, smacking into the girl and sending a torrential downpour of pain down her feeble body. He remembered her screams more than anything, the pleas of her tiny voice begging for mercy and for the pain to stop . Her wails filled his mind and haunted his dreams for weeks after that. 

Ominis threw his head over the side of the boat, dry heaving at the bile rising in his throat and threatening to expel his dinner into the salty depths below, like he did that night— the moon illuminating his sickly pale face as he vomited into his mother’s flower garden all those years ago. 

The two students reached the desolate island right as the moon reached its highest point in the sky. The terrain was incredibly uneven, leaving Ominis to already need to reach his hand out and grasp at the invisible cloak covering his friend for stability. As the pair approached the front entrance, the young Gaunt tried to morph his facial expression into one of his fathers. He had never felt the man's face, never wanted to really, so it was a guessing game at that point. He settled for a neutral scowl, his eyebrows slightly pinched together at the bridge of his nose in a look of constant annoyance. A Gaunt always believed that they were better than everyone. 

Under the low lamplight, a guard came into focus. Ominis could hear his heartbeat, fairly strong and steady for someone surrounded by the worst creatures ever discovered in the wizarding world— likely not a good thing. His friend quietly whispered his description to the boy, and he wracked his mind for any inclination that he had met the man before. His father had many people that worked at the Ministry in the palm of his hand— he had to if he wanted to continue to get away with his blatant use of dark magic. The description did not seem familiar to him, but everything clicked into place when a whispered name came from his left. 

“Yaxley.” 

The name rang a bell in his mind; he had never met the man, but he had heard his father talking to him in his study before. Not that he was ever invited around his fathers friends in the first place— too much of a disappointment to the Gaunt name, he supposed. He could hear the man stand from his post, the illuminated tip of his wand casting over in the direction of his approaching form. He straightened his shoulders, switching into the persona he took on whenever he was forced to attend a Gala with his family, and confidently walked up to the guard. 

“Halt! Who goes there?” The guard barked, an obvious, overconfident professionalism about him. 

“Come now, Yaxley. Surely we can skip such formalities among friends, can’t we?” 

The voice still felt strange dancing across his tongue, like someone had crawled into his mouth and was speaking for him from behind his teeth. He held back a shiver at the gusting cold winds spiraling around the island and tried to take on a laissez faire attitude, his face relaxing slightly as to seem calm and collected. 

The prison guard laughed in astonishment, stepping forward and smacking Ominis lightly on the arm. “Erebus! What are you doing here? Surely you wouldn’t make the journey all the way out here just to see me.” 

Ominis pretended to sigh in indignation, the crease in his eyebrow returning and his scowl growing deeper. 

“Unfortunately not. I’m here to see the Sallow boy before his date with the dementors.” 

There was a pregnant pause. Ominis could feel the trepidation streaming off of Yaxley, the moral dilemma of helping out a friend and doing his duty as a Ministry worker. Curiosity got the better of the two, and the guard inquired his reasoning for the visit. 

Ominis thought on his feet, quickly coming up with a believable lie. “The cretin was a friend of my youngest— somehow made him softer, if that is even possible. Sallow had him gallivanting with a disgusting mudblood, of all things, doing Merlin knows what around the campus grounds instead of studying and making good of the Gaunt name. I would like to give him my two cents while he’s still conscious enough to hear them.” 

It felt like he had swallowed a stone around the wizard slur, the mass in his throat pushing the degrading word down further and making it come out slightly stuttered. Ominis held his breath, hoping that the guard didn’t notice. 

A sound of hesitation came from the man before him, “I don’t know if I can do that, Erebus. He’s in the east wing— lockdown. No one’s supposed to go in or out.” 

The Gaunt boy leaned towards the guard, a demanding, insistent presence next to the meek man. A commanding aura filled the space around them, dripping from his intimidating stare and eroding the stones below like acid. His face morphed into a sharp smile, his fathers pearly white teeth shining in the moonlight and stretching the skin around his mouth like a snare drum. Ominis truly felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing. When he spoke, his words were laced with sovereign-like ire— like his drawbridge of canines and molars were the only thing separating the world from his fury. 

“Yaxley, my dear friend. I invited you into my home; we broke bread together. I am inclined to ignore this slight against me this once, but it would do you well to remember the kinds of people who are in my debt.” He leaned forwards slightly more, nose nearly touching nose, “How is that family of yours doing? Maybe I should send one of my… other friends to pay them a visit. They are a lot less forgiving than I.” 

Ominis could feel the fear shed off of the man before him in waves. He leaned back out of Yaxley’s space, cringing lightly at the smell of sweat coming from the guard and straightening his waistcoat. 

“Now, what did you say his prisoner number was, again? I promise to make the trip quick and painless.” 

Yaxley shrunk backwards, hands shaking around the lock adorning the large archway of the prison and stuttering out the Elder Futhark runes of Sebastian’s Azkaban identity, “ᛣᛟ263.” 

The large doorway unlatched from the ground with a loud click, slowly rising into the sky like a portal to another plain of existence. Ominis could feel each creak of the gate resonate through his bones as he prepared himself for the horrors within the prison. With one final clang, the gate disappeared into the archway above, only its prongs poking through the top like a demented fork. Without another glance at the cowering prison guard, Ominis and his invisible friend entered the famed monument by the sea and began their search for their doomed friend. Sebastian Sallow was on borrowed time.  

Before the pair stood walls upon walls of cells, each one filled with the most dangerous people known to all of wizard kind. Wails of grief, regret, and woe filled their ears and nearly sent them to their knees— the volume only getting louder as the sound waves echoed off the cathedral style ceilings. His friend took Ominis’ hand once they were in the clear and were now leading him through the maze of tortured souls, each one in a worse state than the last. Dark wizards lined the bays, some lying on their sides and clutching at their heads as they screamed in fear; their worst memories filling their minds on a constant loop. Some were pacing their tiny square cell, muttering to themselves and twitching like someone was flicking them every so often directly on the ear. Ominis had never heard anything like the sounds of Azkaban. It was like the dagger-shaped building harnessed the howls of the condemned and amplified it tenfold, floating it towards the very top of the building and sending it out through the skylight looming above their heads. He kept his head high and shoulders back as he walked the dreary halls, passing each guard with barely an acknowledgement to avoid suspicion. To anyone else, he was just a very important man making a quick visit, nothing more, nothing less. The two students made their way towards the east wing of the prison, creeping carefully up the decaying spiral staircase at the center of the large tower and stopping on the second floor. Once reaching the top, it was like they had suddenly stepped out of a whirling tornado into the still air of the eye of the storm. The hallways were eerily silent, not one cry to be heard. It was like someone had cast a silencing charm on the entire wing— nothing could be heard outside of its ominous silence. He could sense each person in their little, crate sized rooms, all looking exactly the same: their bodies curled against themselves, arms resting atop of their bent knees, and their faces either turned towards the wall or tucked into their chest. They had reached dementor alley, the land where no one ever returned the same as they once were. Every person on the floor had given up, either accepting their fate or simply pretending like they were already dead. Ominis couldn’t help but feel sorry for the people— their fate aligned with something worse than death: the destruction of their very soul. They were lost, deep in the chasms of their own minds without a safety rope in sight to pull them out. 

The boy felt a tug at his cloak, his friend alerting him of the blockade before them. Ominis flicked his wand slightly out of his sleeve, activating the location charm and looking closely at what was in their way. Directly in front of them was another guard, leaning against one of the pillars between two cells. His face was turned away from the pair, so far unaware of their presence. His friend tugged at him again, whispering as quietly as possible. 

“That’s Sebastian’s cell— 263.” 

Ominis’ heart dropped slightly in his chest, a lump of anxiety quickly forming in his throat. 

Shit.

They had to get around the guard somehow. He quickly scanned his wand around the floor below his feet, searching for something that he could use as a distraction. A spell would certainly alert the other man in the hall, and as much as he would like to think it, he wasn’t nearly good enough at wandless magic yet to do something to that caliber— an accio here and there, sure, but not something large enough to draw the attention away from the pair of magic wielders. The duo crept closer, steps gentle and precise like walking on a thin sheet of ice above the freezing cold waters of a frozen lake, before quickly skidding behind the nearest column. 

Ominis could feel the polyjuice potion beginning to wear off— they had to act fast. He began to panic slightly, images of himself in one of the terrible Azkaban prison uniforms, locked behind heavy bars in a tiny room barely big enough for him to lie across the floor. If they got caught, they would get two years of imprisonment, at least . The thought alone made Ominis want to chug the poison hiding in his robes just to save himself the trouble. 

The fifth year next to him quickly drew their wand, prodding the boy in his stomach to stop his incessant breathing. Now was not the time for panicking. They leaned around the curve of the pillar, checking both directions before leaning close to the thin boy’s ear, whispering their quickly concocted plan. 

“You aren’t going to like what I’m about to say, but it’s the only option we’ve got.” They took a deep breath, “We need to use the imperius curse. I know how you feel about that kind of magic, so I am willing to cast it, but we need to act fast. You’re beginning to look like yourself again.” 

Ominis winced at the ferocity of their words, shocked but also somewhat resigned to the idea. It was the best plan they currently had, and their goal was so close they could reach out and brush their fingers against the cold steel of the prison bars. His mind briefly flashed back to the day in Slytherin’s Scriptorium; their friend had barely known him at the time and yet still took the cruciatus curse so he didn’t have to go near it, nor hear his closest friend under the torturous effects of the deadly spell. They were so much stronger than he was, and he felt like he owed it to them to do this. He couldn’t let them step out from under the cloak; one wrong move, one prison guard turning around a corner at the worst time, and everything would go up in flames. Ominis could do this, he had to. 

The young Gaunt sighed deeply out of his nose, the crease between his eyebrows beginning to feel permanent. He owed the person next to him, just the same as he owed Anne. He couldn’t turn back now, even with the devilish smirk of dark magic looming above his head like a macabre marionette puppeteer. He shook out his shoulders, swishing the rest of his wand out of his sleeve and raising it up to his chest. A dauntless visage crossed his features, his jaw was clenched and his eyes steely. Only those closest to him would notice the slight shake of his hands, the slight stutter of his breathing. 

Some would say that being brave is just another word for being afraid. Ominis thought those people could go shove it. 

The invisible student placed a hand on his arm, their warmth seeping through his belled sleeve and easing his shivers slightly. No words needed to be said, they knew what he was preparing himself to do. 

They both stepped back into the dimly lit hallway, making their way to the cell holding their closest friend until his untimely death and the man that guarded the entrance. They only had one shot at this, so they had to make it absolutely perfect. Stopping just shy of the room, the blond raised his wand and leveled it at the chest of the innocent man— unaware of their quest and the heavy weight of grief resting on their conjoined shoulders. He mentally tallied how many years he would be sentenced to Azkaban for what he was about to do, the number sending stronger tremors through his arm and shaking the clear image he had in his mind from the locator charm. His friend stood just over his shoulder; their heart crumpling in their chest at the sight of the once resolute young wizard dissolving before their very eyes. They gently ran their hand down his arm, pressing their calming heat throughout his limb before carefully wrapping their fingers around his wrist and holding him steady. 

Ominis blinked at the soft touch, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath in, completely filling his lungs, before exhaling through his nose like a sleeping dragon. 

They would do this together, just like how everything started in the first place. 

In a hushed whisper, Ominis cast his first unforgivable curse in years. Imperio.” 

From the tip of his wand flowed a soft, cerulean haze. The tendrils crept towards the prison guard, gently curling around and entering through any opening it could find— his nose, his mouth, his ears, his eyes— and lulling him into a sweet, peaceful oblivion. The glow of his irises cast a soft shadow on the young wizard before him, watching the eyes of his attacker make the final shift from an iridescent blue, the Gaunt family color, to a muted, milky grey without a care in the world. Ominis stood straighter, the hand of his friend falling from his wrist moving to lightly hold on to his bicep, and spoke in the most monotone voice he could muster to the human puppet.

“Open the door and stand guard outside of cell 263. Do not let anyone inside or near the room until we have left and are out of sight.” 

The guard nodded his head, unlocking the cage and standing to the side for the two students to enter. 

The new fifth year moved to enter the room, already slightly moving the cloak from their head and searching for the Sallow boy on the other side. Ominis grabbed at their shoulder, quick as a viper strike, and stood petrified with haunting fear. His eyes were wide in his skull, finally morphing back into his body, and his chest stuttered under the weight of his breaths. He didn’t know what lay on the other side of the old, creaking gate, and he was terrified of what he would see. Was Sebastian truly there? Was there any semblance of his friend remaining to save, or was he already gone? The dead eyes of the once exuberant, jocund male Sallow twin would hurt him worse than his death would. If he wasn’t there anymore, everything they had done for him, and for Anne, would be for naught. 

A young, first year Ominis shook behind his eyes, locked inside his own mind as he desperately banged against the space inside his temple and begged his limbs to move— to do something. He didn’t understand why his body wasn’t running to his best friend and throwing everything, every emotion he had, at him. Sebastian was hurt, he was dying, so why was he doing nothing? The childish boy that still rested behind his eyes after all these years, unaware of how truly terrible the world could be outside of the four walls of the Gaunt manor, sobbed for his friend, his brother, and the terror he must be facing, but his body did nothing. The disconnect between his two sides felt like standing at the middle of a bridge overlooking a colossus chasm— to the left a pack of hungry cannibals stood ready to tear the flesh from his bones, while to the right stood his entire family in all its villainous, inbred glory, with their wands alight with red lightning raised directly at his heart. 

Just as the boy was prepared to tuck his tail between his legs and turn towards a life of lineage and pureblood pedigree, a croaking, scream damaged, but still so young sounding voice broke through the diamond-crusted walls surrounding his last iota of hope and stopped his faltering heart in his chest. 

“Ominis?” 

Ominis turned tail and ran towards the cannibals. 

Was he running towards something he should have fled from? Or should he have turned on his heel and run away long ago? Only time would tell, and time was a malicious bitch. 

The sound of creaking metal swinging open filled the wretchedly silent hallway and alerted the arrival of the two young wizards to the long lost third member of their group. Sebastian sat tucked away in the farthest corner from the door, bare of everything except the thin material of the striped prison jumpsuit. Skin seemed to hang from his bones like a well cooked rotisserie chicken, making him look even more gaunt than his longtime companion. Black circles filled all inches of space under his lower eyelids making his face look similar to a skeleton, and his cheeks had begun to sink into his face leaving stark lines of bone stretching from his ears to his pointed chin. The only thing the same on the malnourished boy were his eyes— still a brilliant brown and shining like amber pools of honey were injected directly into the irises. Ominis could feel the soft warmth of his gaze across the room, and nearly wept in melancholic happiness. He was still alive, still breathing. Sebastian. His Sebastian. 

Their new friend quickly cast the muffling charm just before the two boys flung themselves at the other, teetering on their feet and clutching at the cloth decorating each of their shoulders like the end of the world was knocking at their door and all they could do was sit back and let it take them. Sobs wracked the taller of the two, his bony hands clutching at the lapels of his brother and hugging him with every last bit of strength he had left. Ominis had one hand buried in Sebastian’s hair, grease and grime covering the once silken tresses, and the other pressing the boy as close to his heart as he could get, like if they moved any closer they would become the same person. He hadn’t expected this reaction when he had set off towards the island earlier that day, but nothing could have prepared him for the pure, relieved joy that filled his chest at the sound of the freckled boy’s voice. Tears clung to his eyelashes and spilled into the dry neck of his closest friend, washing the dirt from the patch of skin and wetting the collar of his uniform. He felt a third presence join the fray, and both boys gladly welcomed their newest friend into the embrace. The trio held each other for a few moments, time ticking by like sand through an hourglass, and grieved for all they had lost in their grand journey of life. 

Sebastian was the first to leave the pile of limbs, taking each of his friends' faces into his shaking hands and looking at them like they put the stars themselves in the sky. He had so many questions for them: why did they come? How did they get there? How was Anne? How were the both of them holding up after everything? But all that came from his mouth was,

“Ominis, why are you wearing your father’s robes?” 

The lithe boy chuckled softly, his hand coming up and pressing against the back of Sebastian’s resting on his cheek, leaning minutely into the comforting touch. He explained everything about their journey, bar their reasoning for now, beginning at the arrival of the Daily Prophet two weeks ago and ending at his intimidation of the front gate guardsman. Sebastian listened enraptured, fascinated and, quite frankly, so incredibly flattered at the lengths that his friends would go through to see him one last time. Tears welled in his eyes yet again at the heroic journey of the duo, quickly wiping them away with the palms of his hands before pulling them both into a hug once again. 

He pulled back for a second time, a tearful smile adorning his features and making him look just the same as he did in the wide halls of Hogwarts. His eyes flickered back and forth over his two companions, the main question burning in his mind leaving his lips. 

“Why are you here?” He stuttered at the forlorn looks crossing their faces, “Not that I don’t want to see you! But, why now?” 

The pair remained silent, sharing a badly hidden glance of worry. Sebastian’s smile slowly fell from his lips, his hands falling from their shoulders and resting back at his side. He cradled his right arm against his chest, his left hand coming up to grasp at his right wrist before he began to pace around the small space. 

“I know you didn’t come to break me out. You know that I belong here just as much as I do. So, why this mission? Why the need for secrecy?” 

Ominis cleared his throat around the lump forming there. All thoughts in his brain flew out of his ears like the frost breezing across the grass on a winter morning. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a single, white Chrysanthemum— a few of its petals missing from the bundle of sprigs and its stem beginning to droop but still holding on to life with everything it had, and placed it gently into the outstretched hands of the boy before him. Sebastian stuttered slightly at the gift, looking confused to the new fifth year he had befriended what felt like so long ago. They looked away from his burning stare, gazing at the ground as tears welled in their eyes once again. The Sallow boy began to panic, thoughts swimming in his mind about what something as small as a flower could mean. He remembered the little garden his sister had at their cottage, tucked away in the far corner by the gate and far away from the chickens. He remembered her favorite flowers and their meaning— how each color coordinated with a message of sorts. Orange, if he recalled, meant happiness, red meant love and passion, and white meant…goodbye. 

His breathing stilled in his chest, his heart ceasing to beat at the thought of what the message presented to him could mean. He did not want to believe it, didn’t even want to think about who could have sent them the flower, what they could be trying to tell him. 

He turned towards the other boy again, distress shedding from him like autumn leaves in the fall, and desperately implored him to explain further. 

“Ominis, what does this mean? Please tell me that this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” 

The young Gaunt refused to meet his gaze, his overcast-colored eyes looking just over his shoulder and filling with silvery tears. 

“No. No, please, Merlin, no! Ominis please, tell me it's not true— it can’t be!” 

Sebastian choked on the air rapidly filling his lungs, one hand clutching at his chest and dropping the flower to the dirt covered ground. The other shakily made its way over his mouth, covering his woebegone expression and muffling his soft cries. His legs gave out under him, sending him stumbling into the wall behind and sinking down to his knees. The boy curled around himself, his hands now reaching to grab and pull at the hair at the base of his skull and lowering his forehead towards the cold ground. Loud wails flew from his already damaged throat, garbled strings of apologies to his dearly departed sister breaking through the earth shattering pain every so often. His friends sank to the ground at either side of the sobbing boy, running their hands along his spine and pressing their temples against his shoulder blades; sobs wracking their bodies as they grieved along with the last remaining Sallow. They slowly brought him out of his hunched over posture, gently placing him between the both of them with his back resting against the stone wall. Sebastian’s head was tucked under Ominis’ chin, the smaller boy stroking at his long gone curls and sending sweet shushes in their stead. His new friend had their arms around the freckled boy’s waist, their face against his shoulder while they pressed soft, fluttering kisses to his exposed skin. They could feel his heart shattering in his chest, each shard breaking off in pairs before stabbing their sharp edges into some other organ or patch of skin. Sebastian sobbed for his sister, for the life that she could have lived if he wasn’t so selfish. He lamented his own choices, his stubborn and headstrong nature. Never once did he ask his sister what she wanted, what she needed him to do for her in her time of need. All he cared about was his desire to not lose her, and that was exactly what had happened in the end. He was the last of his name, the last in his family line, and all he could do was wait for the inevitable downward strike of death's blade when it was his time to join them once again in the afterlife. 

In that moment, Sebastian Sallow finally gave up. 

Once his tears subsided enough, he leaned back from the comfort of his friends and retreated into himself— his dead eyes looking at the wall across from him in numbing acceptance. He had become like the others on his row, their dead stares and startling silence seemed to take over his body like a ghost. In a voice of resignation, he spoke to the two sitting next to him.

“So, what now?” A single tear made its way down his cheek, gathering at the corner of his mouth. He made no move to wipe it away. “Why else have you come?” 

Ominis reached into his cloak once again, grasping at the small vial resting there and placing it into Sebastian’s open palm. The boy slowly looked down at his hand, regarding the tiny glass jar of swirling purple liquid with little interest. He leaned his head slightly in the direction of the other boy, indignation lacing his tone.

“Enough of the silence— I deserve at least that much. What is this that you’ve given me?” 

The young wizard cleared his throat of the tears still lingering there, resting his hand over the lone Sallow twin’s and encapsulating the little sample between their palms. 

“Anne had one last wish, before she—” He cleared his throat again, stuttering around the final words. “She asked us to save you in the only way she knew how— the only way that would guarantee that you both would see each other again.” 

He looked over at his friend to continue, his voice lodging itself just under his jaw and refusing to exit the comfort of his soft palate. 

The fifth year ran their fingers through Sebastian’s hair once again, bringing their hand back and resting it on his upper arm. “In that vial is a dose of muggle poison— we brewed it ourselves. It is in your hands now; you can either take the poison and be free from this all, or you can wait a few more days for the dementors kiss. We won’t make this decision— we can’t do that for you.” 

Sebastian considered their words, rolling them around in his mind like a morose game of dice. His friend hummed in hesitation, the next words leaving their mouth against their better judgment and filling the fresh silence of the room. 

“Please know, Sebastian, that this is likely the only way for you to see Anne, to see us again. The dementor will take your soul, and you will be nothing but a shell of a body and a barely beating heart.” They shut their eyes tightly, nails digging into their palms as if to relieve the pain building in their chest, “I don’t know what afterlife you believe in, if one at all, but we will be right here for you when you make your choice.” 

Silence filled the tiny room once again, every ounce of happiness that once filled the space now sucked out with a giant black hole of despair. The three friends sat side by side, each with their hands in their laps, legs out in front of them, and head leaned against the wall behind them. Thoughts swirled through each of their minds— their subconscious trying to fill the silence that only the end of the world could bring. Sebastian muled his options around in his head, tossing back and forth his two fates. Some sick part of his brain wished that it would have been a harder decision, but he knew his choice long before the quiet fell across the cell. 

He would travel to the ends of the earth for his sister, swim through the rivers of Tartarus if it meant seeing her again. 

The young wizard, suddenly looking much older than he ever was, than he ever would live to be, closed his hand around the potion vial and uncorked the stopper; its soft pop pirouetted around the room and invited the sickly sweet scent of the berries to dance. Sebastian closed his eyes, a pair of twin tears falling from his lids and splashing onto the ground below, and whispered to his friends— his tiny family. 

“Will it hurt?” 

Ominis bit his lip to muffle his sobs, tears streaking down his face and collecting in the silk of his collared shirt. The other fifth year sniffled, before giving the scared, death-bound boy a small smile that didn’t quite meet their eyes. 

“It’ll be like falling asleep.” 

Sebastian nodded his head, looking down once again at the wine-colored elixir. He swallowed around the heart beating its way into his throat, before facing forward once again and lifting the vial closer to his trembling lips. 

In a final, meager voice, he whispered to his best friends, “Will you stay with me?” 

Ominis grabbed at the hand closest to him, holding it against his chest in a strong grip and pressing a final, feather light kiss to the boy’s knuckles. He leaned into Sebastian’s side, tucking himself under his chin and against his chest, right over where his heart beat steadily, and nodded his head. 

The student on the other side of the boy placed their hand on his shoulder once again, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on the side of his forehead. They leaned their temple against where they had just touched, tears softly cascading from their eyes, and whispered against his skin. 

“Until the very end.” 

Sebastian leaned softly against his friends, cherishing their closeness for a moment more, before bringing the tiny, deadly thing to his lips and drinking down every last drop. 

There the three wizards rested once again, tucked together like a small group of sleeping owls in a roost, until the skin of their dearly beloved friend grew cold and his heart beat no more. 

Under the glow of the rising sun, its light glittering across the top of the beautiful blue sea and sending small shimmers of sea-foam green against the side of their boat, rested two students. Both gazed across the vast ocean, feeling the gentle touch of a new day’s warmth spread over their frozen forms and slowly begin to thaw their comatose limbs. Their hearts would remain like tiny glaciers in their chests, each waiting for the other to take a pick and start chipping away at the layers of frozen earth. 

In a mere moment, across the tides and back on the large, lonely island, the prison guards would begin their morning rounds once again. Tucked away in the far corner of the monument lied a cell, barely enough room to stretch from one side to the other comfortably. Inside, they would find the body of their dear friend, Sebastian Sallow, the very last of his bloodline. It would look like he was simply asleep, his soft brown eyelashes just slightly ghosting across his cheekbones in an expression of peace. Against his chest would rest a small, white Chrysanthemum— a tiny, frail thing. Its petals littered the ground near his head, scattered like an incandescent halo. Four petals remained attached to the stem, one for each of them— a silent promise to find each other once again in the next life. 

The news of his death would spread around the school like a forest fire. The Daily Prophet would tell the world that it was from a broken heart— the news of his sister's death being just too much for him to take. No one would bat an eye; they knew how loyal he was to her. No one would come looking for the pair of students, tucked away from prying eyes in their secret hideaway in the underbelly of the school. There they would stay until they got too hungry, too thirsty; until the world would tell them to continue on living around the hole in their heart. 

They both lost something that day— be that a piece of themselves, or a piece of something they loved, or maybe even a piece of something that they had long forgotten about, something tucked away deep in the toy chests of their minds only to be found again years down the line with a thin layer of dust coating the surface. 

For now, though, the two would look across the horizon and let themselves mourn the loss of their dear friend. 

They did not fear the future. They knew that they would be there for the other, no matter what would come their way— no matter the terrors that lied in the twisting clouds above. 

And, maybe, a good few years down the line at least, they would be reunited with their family once again. 

Atop of the small, lonely hill to the east of Feldcroft rested an old sycamore tree. The sun shone down on the earth and warmed the ground below, spreading its life as far as the eye can see. Not one cloud could be found in the sky, no dreary weather making its way over the horizon to end the glorious day. 

Resting under the soft shade of the tree were two children, both with a set of mousey brown hair falling from their heads and a littering of freckles sprinkling across their cheeks and nose. They laughed together in the summer sun, basking in the gentle cushion of the soft grass below, and pointing out shapes that the shadows of the leaves above made on their clothes and skin. 

Down the hill from the pair stood two more forms, one slightly smaller than the other, and the other slightly skinnier. Blond hair fell across the opalescent eyes of the scrawny one, his hand coming up to push it out of the way and shield his face from the light above. The other, new to the land and wanting to take everything in, spun slowly in their spot before spotting their friends just slightly out of eyesight. They called to them, their voice filled with happiness and laughter, and received a happy welcome in return. 

The two twins made their way down to their newly arrived friends, bringing each one into a long overdue hug before dragging them up the gentle slope of the earth to their tree. Pure, unadulterated joy spilled from their souls and wrapped each other in a blissful comfort— happy to finally be home at last. 

There was no pain, no suffering, no death in their little paradise. Everything stayed just the way it was, and that was how they liked it.

AN: This is my absolute favorite thing that I have ever written. I poured my whole heart into this one. It started off just as a one-shot but someone requested more and I thought "hell, why not?"

I sobbed like a baby writing this final chapter. Sorry for the emotional turmoil I've caused you

***

like what you read? here's more!

[darklyndivinely]

Four | Fall from Grace | L.M.

Fandom - Obey Me!

Pairings - Lucifer x gn!Diavolo's sibling!reader, Barbatos x reader

Warnings - Mentions of blood.

Wordcount - 500+

A/N - I've gotten used to writing in second person. If there are errors, please do tell me. To be tagged, fill out the form or comment. Enjoy!

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‘...there is no regret in my heart; I want you to know that. Sadness perhaps, but regret, never.’

The Castle Grounds were weeping tears of silver ichor; tears that carved a path through asunder soil and uprooted flowerbeds on their way to your feet. Deep craters pocked the broken face beneath, ruin upon its surface greeting you like a dark apparition on a lonely night. Your eyes were fixated on the crater where once Barb’s beloved beds of Devil Flowers and Chrysanthemums had stood. There was a faint ring in your ears, the eerie twinkle of a wind chime wishing farewell, breaths bubbling up in spurts.

Barbatos’ hand intertwined with yours and tugged you away from the desolation of your home. It should be me who should be comforting him. And yet he took the lead, understanding your silence.

The hallways were lit with warm yellow lights; somber in their flickering, they reflected the dirty blood streaking across the orange marble floors. The living room was brighter, a glowing beacon among a raging sea of misery. 

The fallen angels were huddled in a rackety group on the couches. There was blood pooled at their feet, seeping into the cushions and the carpet beneath. Diavolo was leant against the threshold of the door that lead to the kitchens. There were bright spots of ichor staining his knees and sleeves. His eyes were hooded, tired, watching the angels with a dull face. You wrapped him in a hug, sensing something brewing within a curled emotion like a cornered animal. You didn’t probe. The sight of the Castle grounds had left you just as tired.

It took a while for you to be able to look at the mourning family head-on. Their grief was too palpable, resting on the edges of your senses like a crouched assassin. You couldn’t let it get to you. You wouldn’t survive its assault. So you twined your fingers through Barbatos and Dia’s, calming yourself with the thought of the ones who were here. Don’t be afraid.

A family of seven, Barbatos had said. True enough, you caught a glimpse of a tiny, straw-haired demon with curled horns and a drooping tail. The pink-haired and the white-haired one held him in their arms. They ran their fingers through his hair or down his face. Sometimes they would still and merely stare at him with wet eyes.

Then Lucifer stepped up. He looked the most torn up among his family. His armour hung by inches in certain places, scuffed and dirtied. He took the little demon in his arms, examining him with moist, unreadable eyes and pulled him in for an embrace. Back when he had first visited Devildom under a diplomatic banner, his countenance had been haughty and arrogant, that of a mighty angel. It had been difficult to endure. But here, in this moment, standing on the very soil he had once looked down upon, he seemed a different creature. Less angel, lesser demon, something else. Broken, hurting... fallen.

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Taglist: @lilactaro @yourkazunana

[webcoreparadise]

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-OT7

It's not easy dating a member of the mafia-let alone seven of them at once. And honestly, living life constantly on edge is starting to drain you-wondering who will get hurt next, who will disappear on what mission, or god forbid won't come home at all. But, luckily, the same seven men who keep you perpetually worried, are also the same seven men who always manage to take those worries way.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Angst, Fluff, Bts imagines, Bts reactions, Bts scenarios, OT7, Poly!BTS, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Kim Seokjin, Min yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon jungkook, Mafia AU

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: Unconditionally

"You promised! You promised me you wouldn't get hurt!"

Namjoon's hands close around your upper arms, his broad chest and shoulders blocking your view of the injured man who struggles to hold himself upright between two of his brothers, his expression stern as his eyebrows draw down over dark eyes.

"(Y/N), why don't you take a walk-" He starts to say, tone low and serious, before you interrupt him with another shriek of your own.

"Take a walk? Are you serious, Namjoon?" Your words are harsh and angry as they spit past your lips, and you wrench your arms from his grasp, his fingers reluctantly peeling away from your skin as you focus back on the other men in the room with a dagger laced glare. "I can't just pretend this didn't happen! Look at Jungkook!"

You wave a fierce hand in the direction of said boy, growing paler by the moment, slouched between Yoongi and Hoseok, dark crimson dotting the edge of his rib cage through the fine, white material of his dress shirt.

You feel the anger start to fade, and the bitter feeling of tears begin to choke your throat as Jungkook manages a weak smile in your direction.

"Really, noona. I'm fine. It's just a-" He stops to take in a hissing breath, as the older men holding him up jostle him slightly while readjusting his weight. "It's just a scratch." He finishes lamely, voice nothing more than a whisper now.

Namjoon glances over his shoulder to Jungkook, and seeing the state he's in, gives a curt nod to the older men. "Get him outta here. The doctor's waiting for you."

You resist the urge to reach out and touch Jungkook gently as the men half carry, half drag his weakened body past you and out the door of the study, but only because you're worried about hurting him.

Yoongi-Jungkook's left arm slung around his shoulders-grunts with the effort of carrying the heavy boy, eyes dark, and barely gives you a nod as they pass you, while Hoseok-glancing across Jungkook's body to you-manages half of his normally bright smile, as if to reassure you, before they disappear from the room.

There is silence in the room, the only sound the departing footsteps, and then Jin, leaning against Namjoon's large, wooden desk on the other side of the room, lets out a heavy sigh and reaches up to push long fingers through tangled brown hair as he glances at the leader, still standing in front of you.

"Namjoon, I'm sorry. When we heard Jungkook was in trouble we tried to get back to his position as quickly as we could-" Jin's words drop off, and he glances at the other two men still left in the room, silently watching their leader with guarded expressions.

Namjoon takes in a sharp breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, stepping away from you to cross the room and stand behind his desk, palms planted flat on the oak in front of him, as he stares down at nothing, before he says firmly, "We'll discuss what went wrong tomorrow. For now-" He glances up, and the dark, warning hint of his eyes has you feeling like he's sucked the breath from your lungs. "Get out. I have some phone calls to make."

The remaining men all nod and bow their heads respectfully, Jin ghosting past you with a brief hand on your shoulder, before he leaves the study.

Taehyung and Jimin appear on either side of you, and though Jimin's large, dark eyes hold a hint of worry to them, he offers you the start of a soft smile, before his fingers close around your wrist and pull you toward the exit.

"Come on, baby girl. Let's leave Namjoon alone for now."

You allow him to pull you from the study and into the dim quiet of the hallway-darkened by the night outside-before you can manage to take a breath and feel like you are no longer drowning.

Well, not as much as before.

Taehyung's long arm slips around your waist, and a look of surprise flashes across his handsome features, as he pulls both you-and consequently Jimin-to a stop in the hall.

"You're trembling, sweetheart." He cocks his head, expression grave, eyes dark and unreadable. "Did seeing Jungkookie really get you that worked up?"

"Of course it did." You snap back, trying to soften your tone slightly, as you bite your lip and think over your next words carefully, Jimin's fingers still looped around your wrist, Taehyung's arm idly hanging from your waist. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt."

Jimin's eyes are soft as he pulls you to him and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. "We tried, baby girl. We really did." You feel his gaze drift to that of Taehyung's over the top of your head, and you can feel the worry tense his body once more as he admits, "Kookie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time this go around."

The reminder of Jungkook-shirt crimson with blood, wide doe eyes narrowed with pain, lips sucked between his teeth-sends your body into another shivering fit, muscles tense and aching from the emotional trembling.

Jimin, still standing close to you, must feel the sudden violent shaking of your body where it comes into contact with your own, because his fingers tighten around your wrist and when you look up at him, his normally full lips are pressed into a thin line of worry.

Taehyung reads the two of you like an open book.

"C'mon, sweetheart." He says gently as he starts to pull you down the hallway once more. "Let's get you into bed."

******

You disappear beneath the covers, and you don't come back out.

You cannot see Jungkook-he's still with the doctor and apparently resting-and the thought of doing anything other than burrowing beneath your blankets sounds mentally and emotionally exhausting when you can think of nothing but holding back your tears while you worry for the youngest boy.

It's dark now-the deeper dark of the middle of the night-and you can tell by the soft glow outside the blankets that someone has turned on the lamps in your room.

The men have tried to leave you alone, but you know they've been flitting in and out of the room silently, checking on you periodically as they too wait and worry in silence.

"She's really upset, hyung."

Your ears perk as you hear Jimin's voice from just the other side of your cracked door, followed by a heavy sigh, and then Namjoon's deeper tone responding quietly.

"Has she eaten anything?"

You can almost imagine Jimin shaking his head. "No. She won't talk to any of us." There is a pause, and then, "What do we do?"

You pull the blanket to your chest as you wait for Namjoon's reply, and you can picture the way his brow furrows in thought when he's thinking over his words carefully. Finally he states firmly, seriously, "Get Yoongi-hyung."

There is no more conversation as the sound of footsteps fade down the hallway, and you are left alone once more, and once more, as soon as you know they no longer watch over you, your muscles-of their own accord-begin to tremble.

You reach up and swipe at your eyes with the backs of your hands as the hot tears press more insistently, breath coming in panicked, emotional gasps, filling up the cocoon you have made beneath the blankets with hot, moist air.

You feel like you're suffocating, and not because of the heavy layer of blankets over your head.

The door creaks and the pad of heavy footsteps sound, coming in a pointed direction toward the bed, and then the corner of the blanket lifts, just enough for you to get a brief glimpse of the lamplight, before the glow is swallowed up in the mass of a dark body sliding beneath the sheets beside you.

"You need to eat, you know." Yoongi mumbles gruffly as he pulls the blanket over his head, successfully trapping the two of you once more in the cave you have created.

You can barely make out the almond shape of his dark eyes and the line of the bandanna pushing back his bangs in the dim, warm atmosphere of the blanket cocoon, before he slides closer to you and pulls you against his chest, arms encircling your frame.

Instantly, the smell of his cologne in your nose makes you feel a little less crazy than you had a few moments before.

But the tears are still pooling at the corners of your eyes, and the damn trembling in your body still persists, even as you bury your face into the strong planes of Yoongi's chest.

"I can't." You whisper back, and your words choke in your throat, as if they're stuck there, held back by clogged tears. You shake your head against him. "I'm too worried."

"About Jungkook?" Yoongi asks, and when you nod, he scoffs, but in a gentle, nonjudgmental way. A way that is just purely Yoongi. "He'll be fine. He's young, unlike most of us, and his body can take a beating. This is nothing. You'll see."

His words trigger the waterfall you have been holding back and suddenly, your chest is tight, as tears cascade down your face, dampening the material of Yoongi's shirtfront.

"You promised me." You cry out, fingers twisting into his shirt, as you bite down hard on your bottom lip and taste copper, trying to quell the shaking of your body, which is now verging on violent. "You promised me that none of you would get hurt. I can't, Yoongi. I can't lose any of you." Your breath is coming in hard gasps, and you feel like you're drowning again. The thought of losing them-any of them-is like a hot knife in the middle of your chest. "I don't want to live without any of you."

Yoongi's long fingers splay out across your back, as he tucks you beneath his chin, the length of his body curled to yours, and the warmth and solidity of his muscles against your own seems to calm the trembling-if just a bit.

"Hey, baby, stop, okay?" He murmurs out, breath warm as it washes across the top of your head, lips a cool contrast as they press to the edge of your forehead. "Stop."

One of his hands comes up to the back of your head, pressing your cheek more firmly against his chest, moving evenly with his breaths, before he asks softly, "Can you hear my heartbeat?"

You force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths and listen, and the sound of his heartbeat-loud and steady and rhythmic-beneath your ear, has your own heart calming slightly as you nod against him.

Yoongi's chin rests on the top of your head, as you listen to his heart, and the shivering subsides even more, the tears drying on your cheeks. "Good. Just focus on that." His long fingers move to stroke down your back, over and over, in a comforting pattern.

Your eyes grow heavy as you realize you cannot do anything for Jungkook now. Maybe, if you sleep, they will let you see him first thing in the morning.

And so, listening to the steady pound of Yoongi's heart, you allow yourself to give into the darkness of sleep.

*******

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi is no longer beside you, but Hoseok is sitting in the armchair beside your bed, reading something that looks eerily similar to a Jane Austen novel.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He greets when he sees you awake, setting aside his book to jump up and give you one of his radiant smiles. You note, briefly, that his hair is tousled as if he-unlike you-didn't sleep the night before.

"Hobi." You breathe out, sitting up so suddenly your head spins, the blankets still clutched to your chest. "Can I-"

"Yes. You can see Jungkookie." He grins, finishing your sentence, eyes bright, as if he knew what you'd want to ask as soon as your eyes opened. "Namjoon's with him now."

You are out of the bed before your feet can catch up with what your brain is doing, and Hoseok catches you as you almost stumble into him.

"Okay, okay. Slow down there. Jungkook isn't going anywhere." He laughs, and takes you by the arm, dragging you from the room behind him, and even though his words state patience, the way his body bounces as he walks indicates he's just as excited as you are.

The walk down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the house-and consequently Jungkook's room-seems to take an eternity.

Hoseok opens the door after a soft knock, and you instantly feel the breath whoosh back into your lungs, a sigh of relief leaving your lips, as you see Jungkook sitting up-propped among pillows-in the middle of the large bed.

He's still pale, but he's alive.

"Dammit, Jungkook." You exclaim breathily, unable to breathe properly with the weight of relief that is now sitting heavily on your chest as you rush toward him and take his face in your hands, inspecting him sternly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm fine, noona." The younger boy manages a weak chuckle, as you continue to keep his face firmly between your palms, not wiling to let go of him, the feeling of warmth, breathing flesh making up for the agonizing twenty four hours of uncertainty before.

Jungkook grimaces slightly as your fingers dig a little bit too deep into his skin. "Really." He reaches up to pry your hands from his cheeks, lacing your fingers between his own, as you finally let yourself sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. He tilts his head and his large doe eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. "I'm sorry I worried you. The hyungs said you were pretty upset."

"Upset is an understatement." You chide back, your fingers stroking across the smooth skin that covers his knuckles, as you glance over to Hoseok, who stands beside Namjoon's tall frame silhouetted by the window. You direct your gaze back to Jungkook, and your face softens slightly, as you free a hand to reach up and push long dark curls back from his forehead. "The thought of losing you-any of you-is enough to turn me into someone insane."

Jungkook leans into your touch, like a cat looking for affection, and manages another smile in your direction, though his big eyes have gone more serious and less jovial now. "I know, (Y/N). I'm really sorry."

"Jungkookie." Hoseok breaks the silent tension between the two of you with a bright smile that rivals sunshine as he plops down in the chair beside the bed and you wonder briefly, how many times the boys switched their vigil over their wounded brother last night. "What do you wanna eat? I'll have the kitchen make you anything you want. On the house." He winks at the younger man playfully.

You stand, as the two men begin discussing their breakfast orders, and wander to the large window to stand beside Namjoon, who has been silent since you entered, eyes brooding as he stares out at the length of garden and courtyards below you framed by the glass.

It is a rainy and gloomy sort of morning, the sky blocked out with plump, gray clouds, the window pane streaked and distorted with patterns of cold water, and your warm breath fogs the glass as you sigh, the outside world reflecting the somber feeling that has blanketed the house ever since last night.

Your eyes are drawn to Namjoon as he makes a subtle movement in the edge of your vision, reaching up to rub at one of his shoulders with idle, distracted fingers, as he continues to stare down at the courtyard in deep, solemn thought.

You remember that one. You remember it clearly. And even now, it sends a cold shiver down your spine to bring back the memory.

The mission that had gone wrong, the frantic, unhinged, uncharacteristic panic of the other six men as they had dragged their unconscious leader-bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the shoulder-into the foyer, dripping with rain and defeat.

The way Jungkook had cried as you'd held him and the other boys close as the doctor whisked away the still barely breathing Namjoon, the way the crimson streak of fresh blood had looked so stark and bright against the black and white tiles at your feet, the absolute cold feeling of terror settling into the pit of your stomach as trembling had overcome your body.

No, that time-and all the other times-would never go away. Ever. The memories were here to stay.

Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand over Namjoon's fingers where they still massage the sore tissue beneath his shirt, and he startles slightly, as if just now realizing you're standing beside him, as you jerk him abruptly from his thoughts.

He glances down at your fingers covering his own. "It still aches when it rains." He offers quietly, as if this is an explanation, and because you know him, it is.

"I know." You say simply, as you move to wrap your arms around his narrow waist and rest your chin on one of his broad, firm shoulders, following his distant gaze back out to the rain chilled landscape before you.

And you do know, because you know all of them-inside and out. Absolutely, incredibly, deeply.

And in just the same way, they all know you. Completely, essentially, openly.

And you wouldn't change it. Not any of it.

Because the same seven men who make you go feral with worry-day and night-are also the only seven men who can soothe those fears beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Wholly, unconditionally, perfectly.

[the-anxiety-ridden-writer]

knives on my body, blood on my hands

Chapter One: The House At The End of The Street, The Cabin Buried in the Woods

THE CLOCK HAS BARELY TICKED PAST NINE O’CLOCK when the last light flickers off. Ink black shadows swell in the thin backstreets whilst gray storm clouds obscure any light coming from the shining moon.

The old town plunges into darkness and hidden within it, a little girl revels in it. Tilts her head back and let’s the beginnings of the storm wash over her, as if the rain water that begins to seep into her very being can wash away the red that has stained her soul.

(It can’t, the blood on her hands will transcend lifetimes)

A bright clash of lightning brings her out of her thoughts. She melts into the shadows and continues on her way, making her way down the street with eerie silent footsteps.

Perhaps a lesser man would have stumbled down the street, unable to walk the burrard street without tripping over himself. But the little girl moves with a silent grace in her step, weaving around the bumps and cracks even when she can barely see the boots on her feet.

The training of her handlers, years spent in the Hydra and The Red Room overcoming her. She could walk the streets - could walk a path around the world and still carry the deadly grace and efficiency that they had beaten into given her.

Besides, the little girl was just The Asset to her handlers, Hydra’s own personal Angel Smerti. She was no man, much less one of low value.

The house at the end of the street is quiet when she enters it. The screams of the lightning hide the soft whine of the window when she opens it and the creak of the wooden floorboards when she lands on them.

The Asset squints her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness and trail over the bookshelf lined walls. She stepped towards the oak desk, lifting one of the files scattered on the surface. She let her eyes scan the pages within before setting it down, letting the words winter soldier, car crash, two victims and serum mull over in her head before filtering it away for later, a loud clatter pulling her attention to the doorway.

A poison slick dagger is already soaring through the air and embedding itself in the figure before she can fully get a good look at them. The figure - a frail, old man with thinning white hair - stumbles back from the force of the knife, dark eyes widening in fear as the Asset stalks over to him.

She gives him quick once over, letting her eyes roam over the man as his muscles begin to tense up until he can’t move at all, until he is nothing but a mere puppet that the Asset can pull all the strings of. A puppet that the Asset can cut all the strings off of.

She carefully ignores how those last thoughts bring a small sense of dread and horror that pools in her stomach. Turn her head to the voice telling her ‘what’s one more body to add to the pile?’ And the voice asking her ‘just how monstrous have you become?’

(too much, far too much for someone her age)

The man finds his voice, previously lost in a sea of gasps and whimpers, “Please.” he begs, eyes wide, a wrinkled hand pressed to the dagger buried within his stomach.

“Please don’t ki-“ the Asset cuts him off, yanking the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. It doesn’t take long for the old man to leave these mortal planes, drifting off to be judged by an otherworldly being that can distinguish a saint and a sinner and never the between. To the otherworldly being that thinks he has any right to judge the actions of a human being trying to survive.

No, Death has never discriminated between the saints and the sinners.

‘And neither shall I’ the Asset thinks, ripping her dagger from his throat to slip back into the many holsters that cover her clothing.

She lugs the old man into the study, manhandling his body into the smooth leather chair, resting his head upon the oak desk, staining the folders with his blood. She stepped back, observing her work with a critical eye. It almost looked like the poor man had fallen asleep at his desk, if you - you know - ignore the blood.

The Asset eyed the scented candles perched atop one of the bookshelves, promptly labeled Cinnamon Sugar! Warm Spring Sunshine! and Peach! The Asset raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to mind.

An idea that would end in the echoing cries of firetruck sirens throughout the quaint street, the horrified muttering of neighbors and the ashes of an old man's study.

•☽○☾•

IT’S DAWN by the time the Asset makes her way back to where her handler—a sleazy, middle aged man that she hadn’t taken the time to remember his name—is currently based.

The sky is a disarray of colors, the sun spilling a cup of bright yellows and exotic oranges over the previously dark canvas. The Asset finds herself staring up at it, and feels a deep longing begin to stir. For the sky ran everywhere. It ran through the deepest of forests and the driest of deserts and over the endless waves of the ocean. The sky ran everywhere, demanding to be seen and heard and free and the Asset found herself envying it.

Truth be told, there used to be a fire in the Assets soul, before she was called Asset and went by the name that had been sewn into a velvet blanket by a woman that may have cared. It would burn through her veins, close to her heart and on days when her trainers would be harder on her than the rest for her heritage or when one of the girls - a pretty blond who went by Rowena - would make a cruel remark about the shape of her eyes, she’d let the fire consume her, let it burn through her and come out of her mouth, searing into them, until Rowena wept ugly tears into her hands and the trainers unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks before demanding an apology. The Asset can’t remember if the girl with her name sewn into a blanket had ever apologized, had never wanted to dwell too much on those memories.

(she hadn’t, the girl took all the pain and torture with her head held high. she refused to apologize for the fire in her soul. )

The Asset shook those thoughts away as the cabin her handler—Ivan Vanko—had holed himself up in came into sight. Just the sight of it, and the thought of facing Ivan had her straightening her posture, wiping any sign of weariness and schooling her face until there were no cracks in her porcelain mask, nothing for Ivan to dig into to expose all her thoughts.

There’s no noise when she enters, the door shutting silently behind her. She tenses, tilting her head to the side before pulling out one of her knives. Moving down the hall, she keeps her senses sharp, With no idea who she’s up against, she waits, muscles wound tight and her mouth a hard line, eyes darting around the slim hallway walls. She doesn’t have to wait long.

A hand thrusts out of the first doorway to her right, a strong pull has her flying through the air and losing the grip on her knife. Pain erupted in her shoulder but she didn't give it the time of day. Instead she rolls to her feet, springing up and throwing every ounce of her strength into the flying kick that sends her assailant slamming into the wall with a yell of pain.

The Asset lets herself breathe, if only for a second. Her eyes assess her assailant — a well dressed man with balding hair — cataloging every weakness she can find, from the way he favors his right side to the fading bruise on his right temple, while he lay recovering.

This time, when he lunged for her, she is ready.

She side steps his attack, digging her knee into his injured side, and sends a sharp elbow into his already bruised face. A loud crack echoes in the room, and when he stumbles back, a scream of pain that can only come from deep within himself, a small twisted part of her is pleased to see his nose is far from the correct position.

Adrenaline thumps through herself, a synchronized sympathy that plays in tempo with her heart. When both he and his little friend that had been waiting, watching in the shadows of the room lunge at her, she already knows who the victor of this battle will be.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where their dance begins. Or rather, her dance begins.

She dodges his friend's attack, turning and arching her leg in the air, slamming it into assailant number two — a short woman who was barely taller than The Asset — side. It leaves her stumbling back, groaning as she falls like a corpse into the glass table in the center of the room.

The Asset grunts as strong arms encircle her, lifting her up, up, up. She grunts, moving her arm up and once again digging her elbow in his face. It connects with his eye this time, the action leaving him stumbling back, clutching his hand to his eye. The Asset doesn’t give him time to recover, doesn’t have enough sympathy, enough empathy, enough mercy in the body that has been crafted with the fists and guns and needles of the men and women who have used her, trained her, killed her.

It’s why the dagger slips so easily out of its concealed holster and into the man's chest. A cry of agony is silenced with the arc of her leg, her foot connecting with his Adam's apple. He toppled over, hands held to his chest as if he can relieve the pain that she has brought to his body.

She stared him down, the soft creak of wood under her foot echoed like screams around the room. She plants one foot on his chest, pressing down as she pulls the dagger from his chest, baring her teeth behind her ninja-esque mask as he screams.

She leaves the man there, bleeding, beaten, broken and goes to find her handler.

AN: I don’t know what this is, but it’s dumb. I’m also dumb tho and I’m thinking of adding on.

Special thanks to @unmaskedagain , @nightlychaotic and @nobodyfamousposts for introducing me to maribat. I love all of your maribat posts.

Tag list: @avengerthewarrior , @nightlychaotic

[mediocre--writing]

there’s a blanket at the harrington house. it’s a bright red, matted, too short for any person to actually sleep under without their calves and feet hanging out.

despite its age and so the matting, it’s the softest blanket in the house. but it sits in the linen closet at the end of the upstairs hallway under the other unused blankets that only ever get pulled out when a bad snow storm knocks out electricity or something.

something like billy hargrove running from his house in the middle of a blizzard. literally running. like through the snow. with only a jean jacket to guard him from the wind and cold.

it’s winter break and tensions have been rising in the hargrove-mayfield house and nobody has been allowed to leave, “family bonding” or some shit.

but family bonding never worked when you’re forced to sit in a room and pretend to care about the people you’re with.

billy cared for max and tried to have an opening in his heart for susan, but, damn, if his dad don’t make him want to slam his head into a concrete slab.

so he was trudging his way to loch nora, which, surprisingly, was only a mile or so through the woods and down a few neighborhood roads.

with the cold, however, it feels more like trudging across the continent of antarctica blindfolded. billy’s pretty sure he got turned around once or twice, but once he saw the massive harrington house, he knew he had made it.

his small victory was diminished when, much to his disappointment, all the lights were off. and there were no cars in the driveway.

and it was then that billy remembered what his last conversation with steve was about:

“i’m flying out this thursday to meet my folks in florida. they bought me a ticket so we can spend christmas on the beach together,”

and he was so excited about it too! how could billy have forgotten? well, maybe he forgot when he was trying to expel all thoughts of steve out of his head because he didn’t want to develop ‘feelings’ since they were ‘just sleeping together.’

(too late, shitbrains, you’ve been head over heels in love with steve since the day you met him!)

but billy doesn’t want to go home. and he has, literally, no other friends, and wouldn’t dare going back to his caustic household, so he fumbles around in the dirt of a potted plant next to the door, grabbing for the little plastic bag that held a spare key to the front door.

walking inside it was like a heatwave came over billy, and he could feel the tingling in his fingers when they began to thaw.

he shedded his thin jacket in favor of getting rid of the wet slush sticking to it and walked to the thermostat, cranking it up high as it could go, just for a little bit, until he was warm.

in the mean time, billy looked around the house, most of which he didn’t see much of, since it was mainly just him and steve in steve’s bedroom.

the kitchen was big, the fridge was full, and so was the pantry; billy would have to cook something for himself later.

around the ground floor, there was an extra bedroom that looked untouched and it’s drawers were empty, aside from a few filled with old pictures (which billy would definitely look through later).

there was a closet and another door that led to the basement, but there was a chill just standing at the door and billy didn’t care for that. the master suite was at the back of the house, but billy felt kinda weird going into steve’s parent’s stuff.

going upstairs, billy passed the first door on his right, steve’s room, which he had been inside enough to know like the back of his hand. beside that, there was another guest bedroom and a large bathroom.

at the end of the hallway, however, there was a small closet, and when billy opened it, there were blankets. everywhere.

there were fuzzy ones and more decorative ones. ones with patterns and ones with fringe. ones that looked handknitted and others that still had the tag on them.

at the bottom of the closet, there sat a red blanket. matted with love over the years but softer than any of the other blankets.

lifting the blanket up, billy could smell steve on it. his cologne or hair products, maybe a mix of the two. it was familiar.

the smell was calming. billy felt at home.

so he grabbed the soft red blanket and grabbed another white one (it really was fucking cold) and made his way into steve’s bedroom.

he noticed how clean the room was, assumed steve must have straightened it up before he left, maybe in the far hope that his parents would fly back with him.

but billy dug under the tucked in comforter and sheets, laying the red blanket as the bottom layer and throwing the white one on top, cuddling himself in as he rubbed his face on the pillow (which also smelled just like steve).

the scratches and bruises on his arms and cheeks didn’t even ache as he got cuddly and warm, almost disappeared as his mind was filled with the thoughts of being so comforted by steve, when steve wasn’t even there.

billy woke that morning to the small red blanket twisted around his torso, the other blankets still covering the rest of his body. it was one of the, if not the, best sleep he’d ever had without having steve directly next to him.

it was the power of the soft, small red blanket and the magical relaxation steve’s room had on him, lulling him into a true comfort.

pulling himself away from the warm cocoon of blankets, the red blanket still draped across his shoulders, billy looked out the window where you could see the back patio and pool, all layered with snow as a few flurries still came down.

it was soft, peaceful, and billy felt like he could fall asleep standing up watching the snow, even with the rough material of his jeans still rubbing at his legs.

that is, until the phone rang.

billy’s eyes immediately darted over to steve’s bedside table where the phone and answering machine were blinking.

billy, cautiously, picked up the phone and answered:

“harrington household,”

“excuse me!?”

it was steve. steve was on the other line. billy’s mouth opened like a fish and he looked around the room, as if that would actually give him something to say.

“hello!” steve spoke again, “who are you?”

“... it’s billy,”

“why are you in my house?”

“why did you call your house if you knew nobody was here?”

“i was going to leave a reminder on the answering machine for when i got home,” steve said quickly, “now why are you in my house?”

“there was a blizzard,” billy mumbled.

“ok? but why are you in my house? i told you i wasn’t going to be back until tuesday,”

“i—i, uh,” billy felt like a scolded child being reprimanded by a parent. “my house—i didn’t want to be there,”

“why?”

steve, for as much as he acted like it, was far from oblivious. he knew about something going on with billy and his father, anyone could tell if they bothered to look, most just chose not to look. steve, honestly, just wanted to see if billy would admit it.

“stress, you know, around the holidays,” billy chuckled, giving the most vague reason and attempting to brush it off.

“so you went to my house?”

“i forgot you weren’t here and i know where you keep the key—“

“you know where the key is!?”

“so i let myself in. i didn’t do anything, just took a few blankets from the closet and slept in your room, promise. i didn’t do anything bad or, or weird,”

“i believe you,” there was a lull of silence. billy felt holding growing restless and steve head was pinging with questions. “with blankets did you take?”

“uhhhh... just a white one and a soft red one,”

“the red one at the bottom of the closet? it’s kinda matted and a bit short?”

billy mumbled a ‘yeah’ and steve grinned from the other side of the line, “that’s the one i always sleep with when it gets super cold, too,”

billy smiled at steve’s confession and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, taking a deep breath, inhaling steve’s smell.

“well, i’ll leave now,”

“no!”

billy’s eyebrows furrowed at steve’s exclamation. “no?”

“i mean, nobody is there, so i guess it didn’t really matter if you stay there for a bit, right? plus, with the blizzard and everything, you probably shouldn’t be driving,”

“i walked,”

“what?”

“i didn’t drive, i walked,”

“i’ll yell at you for that later,” steve said as if he needed a reminder, “anyway, you’re welcome to stay for the next few days, billy,”

“thank you,” billy sounded bashful. like he was embarrassed to be caught but grateful nonetheless.

“of course. now don’t pick up the phone when i call again because i need to leave a message on the machine,”

“ok, pretty boy,”

and while billy was content with living in steve’s room for a while, living in his smell and in his space, steve couldn’t wait to sleep with the soft red blanket once billy left.

it would smell like billy’s cologne in no time.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 10

I’m sorry its taken me so long to update. I haven't had much time to write lately due to....well, life. But here we are and its long, so hopefully that makes up for the length. 

Side note- the Norwegian used is from Google translate so....

Warnings: swearing, mild sexual content, Lothbrok family dynamics (yes, its a warning), threats of violence

Words: 15,700 (yep, my longest chapter yet. I packed ALOT into this beast)

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @ecarroll1978 @breezykpop @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Series Masterlist

"Where are we going? I thought we were going to your flat?" 

 Gyda slyly smiled at Kari, sitting in the passenger seat of her bright yellow Porsche. "Change of plans."

 Kari stared at her friend. "I'm scared to ask."

 "Torvi asked for female reinforcement. So, we are going to keep her company."

 "Ok…. But where is that?" 

 "At the brothers' house." The blonde answered nonchalantly as she made a quick right-hand turn. "It's tradition. Kind of a last family summer party before it's too cold to swim anymore. They have a pool in their backyard."

 Kari felt her stomach drop. Ivar had told her he lived with his three other brothers. Gyda had her own flat while Bjorn and Torvi owned a house nearby. Whenever she tried to ask Ivar about his home, he would shrug off the question or ignore it completely. Eventually she just stopped asking. Curiosity certainly reared its head when she wondered what his home was like. For how much money meant nothing to him, she guessed it was massive and expensive. Maybe he knew she would not fit in and that was why he never brought her? Even through his speeches of wanting her to be his girlfriend, he knew she would not fit into his lifestyle. Why else would he keep her away? It was a valid truth that she had come to terms with. Even if she found herself secretly desperate to ease into his life, she never would. 

 "Of course, they do…." Kari rolled her eyes at the notion that obviously, there was a pool in their backyard. It fit the stereotype in her mind. Then she thought about what Gyda just said. "Wait. Do you have a swimsuit with you?"

 Gyda raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at her while keeping her eyes on the road. "Don't worry, I've got you covered. Torvi brought an extra of hers for you."

 "You had this planned, didn't you? We never were going to your flat, were we?"

 "I don't kiss and tell."

 "Yes, you do. There was that guy you hooked up with two weeks ago that kept sending you dick pics after."

 "That guy was way too proud of his dick. I mean it wasn't even that big."

 "I don't want to hear this again." Kari groaned, tugging on her diamond earring. She enjoyed Gyda but she had learned far more about the woman's sex life than she had any desire to know. 

 "Okay, fine. And yes, Torvi and I planned this. Ivar doesn't know you're coming."

 "Why?"

 Gyda smirked. "Because he's been so secretive and only Hvitserk has seen you two together. Besides, the rest of the brothers want to meet you. We may be at each other's throats most of the time but we do care for one another."

 The brunette let her friend's words sink in. Hvitserk had mentioned the others wanting to meet her, but she had not fully believed it. Sure, she wanted to meet them and was curious after hearing Ivar talk about them, but why would they be interested in her? She glanced down at her clothes, the capri leggings and tank top that were practically a signature look for her. For once, she wished she dressed nicer regularly. "I wish you had said something before."

 "You wouldn't have come then. You'd have created some excuse why you couldn't come." Gyda pointed out the obviously painful truth without remorse. 

 Kari slouched in the passenger seat, butterflies doing somersaults in her belly. Slowly, she pulled her ponytail down, letting her hair hang loose past her shoulders, running her hand through it absent-mindedly in hopes it looked decent. 

 At a red light, Gyda looked over at her with a bright smile. "It'll be fun." 

 "I don't know…. isn’t it supposed to be just family?"

 "Ubbe sometimes brings his girlfriend but yeah, it's usually just family."

 There was another long silence before Kari spoke again, unable to fully conceal her nerves. "You should drop me off and just go. I don't want to intrude."

 "You're not. I'm bringing you because there is always way too much testosterone." Gyda groaned, then reached over and swatted Kari's leg. "What are you so worried about?"

 "What if they don't like me?" She whispered. The weight of her confession hung over her like a dark cloud. 

 "What?"

 She kept her gaze out the window. "The…. the others. What if they don't like me?"

 Gyda laughed. "Kari, don't worry. They will love you. I promise. And if they say anything fucking stupid, I'll slap them or Ivar will stab them. See? Simple."

 A smile grew on Kari's face. "That shouldn't make me feel better…. but for some reason it does." Maybe she had already spent too much time with various Lothbroks if the idea of people resorting to violence made her feel better. 

 "You aren't alone, if anything we'll steal Torvi and Asa away and have a girls' party."

 "Asa? That's her daughter, right?"

 "Right, and Hali is her son. I swear that boy is going to be a miniature version of Bjorn."

 "I've never been around kids much." 

 Gyda chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "They are great, Asa is a sweetie who prefers to cuddle in someone's lap. It's Hali who is a bit wild but all his uncles love to play with him. He'll probably be swimming in the pool the whole time anyway."

 Still staring out the window, Kari thought about everything Gyda had said. Of course, she was still nervous about just showing up to a family event unannounced, even if she was sort of being kidnapped by Gyda. Some of her nerves faded away with the knowledge that Gyda and Torvi both wanted her there. She really would not be alone. She had friends. She had people that wanted to spend time with her. Hopefully Ivar would be pleased to see her. His potential reaction was the only real wrinkle in her fluctuating confidence. 

 "Okay. I can do this." She said aloud, wondering if she was trying to fully convince herself. 

 "Good, cause we're almost there."

 Kari stared out the window as they approached a gated community. Gyda showed her ID to a guard who chatted with her like they were old friends. As the yellow Porsche drove by the houses in the community, Kari just stared in awe. She had seen houses, mansions was a better term, like these before but it always amazed her that people lived in them. What did they do with all that space? All of the homes were set back from the road so Kari only caught glimpses of them but it was enough to remind her how out of her element she was. 

 Finally, they pulled up a long driveway to a massive two-story house. It was white with an insane number of windows, and a huge garage attached on the left side. On the right side looked like an expansive addition that made Kari wonder why they needed more space. The roof was made of some slate gray tiles, with a balcony above the front door and ivy draping elegantly over the corners. There were various sized potted plants and shrubbery around the front of the house and leading down the sides. Several European beech trees were strategically placed in the front yard to block most of the view from the road in an attempt at privacy. Whoever the grounds keeper was, for surely they had one, needed a raise. 

 Kari could only gape for a long moment, unable to move as she took in the immaculate, beautiful house. To think this was where Ivar lived and he always came over to her tiny townhouse. It was a struggle to tamper down the post embarrassment. 

 Gyda started talking as she parked in front of the house. The only other vehicle in sight was a silver four-door Audi, that Kari recognized as Torvi's. "Aslaug chose the house for them. When she isn't traveling for work or staying at their family home in Norway, this is where she stays. So, she insisted on this place. Something about the natural sunlight and old aesthetic blending with the new vibe. Or some other shit. I can't remember."

 "Huh." Kari said as she followed the blonde out of the car. She noticed there was no mention of the father, Ragnar, and wondered where he stayed but knew it was none of her business so she kept her question to herself. Maybe Ivar would explain it to her. 

 Gyda opened the solid, wood front door, waltzing in like she had done this a million times. Kari took two steps in and froze. The vaulted ceiling in the foyer was enough to stare at but it was the large chandelier that caused her to stare. The way it caught the afternoon light through the many windows and gently cast it about was truly gorgeous. This view was worth owning the house for itself, in her opinion. 

 A tugging on her arm made Kari squeak as she found herself suddenly being dragged along like a ragdoll. 

 "You can stare later, Torvi is waiting for us." Gyda stated, a large purse over her shoulder and her heeled boots clicking on the shiny, wood floor with each step. 

 Kari caught glimpses of other rooms as they passed down the long, straight hallway. A living room with a TV that took up most of the wall it was on. A kitchen that would make any celebrity chef drool. Pictures and awards displayed along the walls in the hallway that were obviously put up by their mother.  

 The two finally stepped out into a room with glass walls, where the pool and expansive backyard lay before them. Most likely what used to be a porch before being enclosed. Still being pulled along, Kari followed Gyda through a side door onto the stamped concrete that surrounded the pool and lounge area. A pool in a rectangle shape dominated the area, a diving board on the far end. A quick glance around showed a jacuzzi on the other side, closer to the house, the water bubbling like a cauldron. There was a large grill, several short tables and lounge chairs spread over the stamped concrete. At the far end was an adult size statue of the Buddha with two flowering pots on either side of him and some kind of cheap, plastic crown on his head. 

 The backyard was several acres wide and at least that many in length. Trees and large shrubs blocked the views of the neighbor's properties and made the place feel almost like a hidden oasis. Further down in a corner was a lovely gazebo with a cobbled stone path leading to it and gardens decorating the way. 

 "Gyda! What took you so long?!" A distinctly male voice called out. 

 "I had to pick up a package." She called back, pulling Kari into full view of the others. 

 The brunette gave a small, self-conscious smile at the many pairs of eyes that she could feel land on her. Before she could really get a good look at who was around, a shout of her name startled her. 

 "Kari!" Hvitserk jumped up from his lounge chair, wearing only dark green swim trunks, and walked over to her with a beaming smile. 

 "Hey…. OH!" She started to greet him only to be swallowed into a hug and spun in a circle. Unable to deny him, she hugged him back and laughed. It was funny since last time she saw him, he was in business attire, coming to check on her per Ivar's instructions. Now she could not help but notice his toned body. His form reminded her more of a runner, while she was used to seeing Ivar's muscular torso. A couple tattoos on Hvitserk caught her eye and she wondered if all the brothers had them. 

 When he finally set her back on her feet, he kept his hands on her shoulders, green eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "I didn't know you were coming here."

 "Yeah, I didn't know either until Gyda told me on the way."

 He chuckled, glancing over her head to his half-sister. "Yeah, not surprising."

 "Uh huh. Watch yourself, boy. I could still beat your ass if I wanted too." Gyda quipped. 

 "Maybe fifteen years ago. You don't have a chance now."

 "Keep telling yourself that, Hvitty." She teased, then yelled at Torvi. "You got it?"

 As soon as Kari was released by Hvitserk, she could sense a pair of sharp, blue eyes boring into her. Skin prickling under the sensation, she hesitantly looked up and immediately met Ivar's intense gaze right away, as if subconsciously her mind already knew where he was without having to search for him. 

 Reclined back on a cushioned, lounge beach chair, he wore loose black sweatpants, instead of swim trunks, under his leg braces, but without a shirt. His tattoos were a stark contrast on his skin and shamelessly on full display. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace them again. It was his penetrating gaze though, the lack of emotion on his handsome face, that made her wonder if being here was a bad idea. 

 Before she could make a run for it, Gyda grabbed her arm as if sensing her desire to flee. "C'mon, let's get changed."

 With one last glance at Ivar, she followed behind Gyda and Torvi, who had joined them, back into the massive house. They headed to the kitchen and Gyda pointed out a bathroom across the way. 

 Placing the beach bag on the kitchen counter, Torvi dug in it for a moment before murmuring a quiet "here it is" and handed Kari something. "Here. I bought this forever ago but never wore it. Bjorn said he didn't like the colors."

 Kari took it, guessing it was the promised swimsuit, and peeked down at the two pieces of clothing in her hands. "Um…. where’s the rest of it?"

 Laughing, Gyda rolled her eyes. "Get in there and change or I'll do it for you."

 With a concerned look between the swimsuit in her hands and the two blondes staring at her expectantly, Kari finally conceded defeat and stepped into the bathroom. It was only a half bath, with a toilet and sink, but it was still roomy and felt fancy somehow. The mirror above the sink was large and there was a small, pretty flowering plant on the counter that upon inspection, turned out to be real. 

 Quickly, she changed out of her leggings and tank top and into the swimsuit, figuring it was best that way, like ripping off a band-aid. Plus, if she stopped moving, her nerves would get the better of her and she would somehow find a way to sneak home. Even if she had to crawl through a window. A smile grew on her face remembering Hvitserk's enthusiasm to see her. That had honestly surprised her but she found she did not mind. Hvitserk seemed like a good guy and the little bit of time they had spent together, she felt comfortable with him. He was funny and caring. 

 Then Ivar's blank face came to mind and all of her excitement slipped away like water down a drain. There had been no acknowledgement, not even the hint of a smile, only a hard stare that made her anxious and self-conscious.  

 Taking a deep breath, she tried to remind herself what Gyda said. At least the two Lothbrok women wanted her here, and apparently Hvitserk was happy to see her. That was what she needed to focus on and not Ivar's reaction.

 Once done changing, she finally took stock of what Torvi had leant her and gasped.  

 "Oh no. No, no, no. Hell no."

 She stared down at the wide-band bikini. The top and bottom both had alternating white and light pink stripes, strangely reminding her of cotton candy. The design was certainly something she would never pick out for herself but she did not hate it. The real problem was the way half her ass cheeks hung out of the bottoms and more of her breasts saw the light of day than they ever had before. Never had she been so exposed. Even swimsuits she bought in the past were never this revealing. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on her fuller hips and thighs, fully exposed. Faint whispers that sounded like her mother's taunts echoed in the recesses of her mind as she stared at herself. There was no way she could go out in this. She would rather wear her leggings and tank top than have anyone see her wearing this. They would all laugh at her. 

 "Kari? You done yet?" Torvi called through the door. 

 "I'm…. I’m not coming out in this!" 

 "Let us see it first!" Gyda shot back. 

 "But…." Kari tried once again, unsuccessfully, to tuck her breasts into the bikini top. "It's padded!" 

 "Open this door, Kari." Gyda demanded, suddenly sounding closer. 

 She took one more look at herself, feeling the embarrassed tears welling in her eyes. With a deep breath, knowing she could not escape Gyda just yet, she opened the door. Immediately her blue-green eyes scanned to make sure it was only Gyda and Torvi in the kitchen before she further opened the door so they could see. 

 "Shit, Kari, you look great." Gyda said after giving a wolf whistle. 

 "Half of my butt is hanging out and most of my boobs. I can't wear this out there." She said, almost panicking now. 

 "No, they aren't, you're overexaggerating."

 "Kari," Torvi said kindly, drawing the brunette's frenzied attention, "you're more curvy than I am and let's be honest, your ass and tits are bigger than mine. I'd kill to have a body like yours. You look beautiful. But if you're uncomfortable, I think I have a cover you can wear over it."

 "Please." She replied softly, hating how she sounded like a fearful child.  

 Torvi smiled at her. "I'll be right back."

 Swiftly, Kari stepped back into the bathroom before Gyda could say anything. Her nerves felt alight and not in a good way. Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her Pinterest, anything to distract herself from this nightmare. If it was just Gyda and Torvi seeing her in this, she might have been uncomfortable but she could tolerate it. Even with Ivar she might have shied away some but he always made her feel so desirable that she doubted her nerves would have lasted long. It was the thought of prancing around in this in front of the other brothers, men she had never met, that made her stomach twist into knots and her breathing quicken painfully. 

 Finally, a gentle knock on the door and a quiet, "It's me," had Kari open it to take the cover from Torvi. It was a solid white oversized V-neck cover with a simple pattern around the neckline. Without wasting a moment, she slipped it on over the bikini, immediately feeling better. The hem of the cover touched the tops of her thighs, higher than she would have liked, but it was better than before. 

 She looked up, running her hands over the cover. "Thank you." 

 Torvi smiled softly with understanding. "I understand. I don't wear swimsuits that show my stomach anymore. Stretch marks." She shrugged casually, moving back to slip onto an island stool. 

 Kari trailed behind her with her bundle of clothes and purse. Without a word, Gyda slipped into the bathroom to change, leaving the other two waiting for her. It was now that Kari really took note of Torvi's swimsuit; it was a classy black and white one piece with thin crisscross straps across the back. The blonde could easily wear a bikini and look amazing in it, but it made Kari feel marginally better that she was not the only one self-conscious about her body. Perhaps that was why Torvi shared about her stretch marks?

 "Is it…." Kari started then stopped, leaning against the black marble countertop. Surveying the grand kitchen for a second, hoping to gather her thoughts, she took a deep breath before continuing. "Is it okay that I'm here? Gyda said this is a family event and I don't want to intrude."

 Torvi turned to face her fully, green eyes gazing at her before she shrugged again. "Normally we try to keep it just family, Ubbe sometimes brings Margrethe, but I doubt anyone will be upset you're here. Honestly, the brothers keep asking about you, so now maybe they will finally shut up and stop teasing Ivar."

 Kari fiddled with the hem of the swimsuit cover. "He didn't seem happy to see me."

 "Ivar?" At Kari's nod, Torvi snorted. "I don't think it's you he's upset with. He's a very private person, as I'm sure you know. If I took a guess, I'd say he was keeping you hidden."

 "But why?"

 "Look, I've known the Lothbroks for about ten years and during that time, I've seen Ivar go through some ups and downs…. well, as much as he lets anyone see. I mostly heard it from Bjorn. Point is, he's allowing you into his inner circle. Hell, you're probably at the center of his inner circle. I saw how he acted with you at the yoga studio. You mean something to him. It's no secret he wants you to be his girlfriend. Maybe he is worried that you'll meet his family and decide we're too much or that you find one of his brothers more attractive or easier to deal with? He pretends to be super confident but it wouldn't be the first time that a woman chose one of the others over him."

 Every time Kari heard that, her heart broke once again for Ivar. How many times had he been overlooked because of his legs? Or his harsh demeanor? Something that she was beginning to realize was just to protect himself, to keep others at arm's length. It made her want to hug him and never let him go, to remind him he was more than just his disability. That he was worth being cared about by more than just family. 

 Kari must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she realized. Suddenly she was drawn out of her inner musings by Gyda coming out of the bathroom, having changed into a plant print cutout tankini. Of course, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine cover. There had to be something in the Lothbrok blood for everyone to be this damn attractive. 

 "Are we ready?" She asked, her large bag in hand, presumably with her clothes in it. "Kari, you can put your stuff in here for now."

 Torvi touched Kari's shoulder. "Don't worry. If anything, you are here to keep me and Gyda company, okay?"

 Kari smiled, finding herself reassured and grateful for the two women. "Thanks." She slipped her clothes and shoes into Gyda's bottomless bag. They stashed their bags in the glass room and then headed back out into the backyard. 

 Soon as they stepped out, a little girl came running over. Torvi swept her up into her arms gracefully. She turned to Kari with the little blonde girl on her hip. "This is Asa. How old are you, Asa?"

 The little girl stared at her mom before shyly tucking her face into the crook of Torvi's neck, while her blue eyes stayed on Kari. After a moment, she held up two fingers. 

 "You're two?" Kari asked. When the little girl shyly nodded, Kari's smile widened. "I wish I was that old. It's nice to meet you, Asa. I'm Kari."

 Torvi pressed a quick kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "Did daddy let you play in the pool yet?"

 Asa shook her head. 

 "Alright, let's go kick his butt. He did promise, didn't he?"

 That made the little girl giggle and Kari could feel her heart melting slightly. She was just too cute and most likely spoiled by all her uncles. Even her swimsuit was a purple halter top and green bottom with a little skirt that was very The Little Mermaid-esque.  

 A happy scream followed by a splash drew Kari's gaze to the pool. A young boy resurfaced laughing loudly. Bjorn, she recognized, was in the pool also, but turned to look up at Torvi as she approached with Asa on her hip. 

 "Let's go sit down." Gyda slipped her arm through Kari's and pulled her along to where there was a grouping of lounge chairs. Ivar, Hvitserk and a curly-haired blond reclined with beers in hand. 

 Kari could feel Ivar's gaze tracing over her form as she approached, like fingers trailing over her skin leaving a fire in its wake. She sneaked a peek at him, only to find his ardent gaze on her. She blushed and kept her eyes downward. At least he did not look impassive anymore, but she still felt hesitant. 

 "Hey boys. What are we drinking this time?" Gyda questioned. 

 Hvitserk turned the beer bottle to show the label. 

 "Ew. I don't why you drink that shit. I'm going to get some wine. Kari, you want some?"

 "Ah, sure." She murmured.

 "Good. You boys be nice to my friend, especially you Ivar." With that Gyda walked back towards the house but not before giving Kari a subtle wink.

 "Take a seat, Kari." Hvitserk gestured to an open chair next to him. 

 For a split second she considered slinking into the seat, anything for the attention to be taken off her, but realized that was not what she actually wanted. It had been two days since she had seen Ivar and the last time they hung out, it was when he returned from his trip to Italy. He had picked her up the next day to take her out to eat but he ended up spending the majority of the time on his phone, yelling into it in a foreign language and seeming on the verge of throwing his phone or punching a wall. She ended up ordering take-out for them that they ate at her townhouse but he was too wired to really relax and left soon after. The next two days he had been busy with work so they could only text. The one time they managed to Face-Time, she could not help but notice his bruised knuckles and when she asked him about them, he said he did some boxing to release stress. 

 With butterflies doing somersaults in her belly, she took a step closer to stand near Ivar's lounge chair. Tugging on the hem of her cover as she quietly spoke. "Hey, Ivar. Can I sit with you?"

 "Oh, you're acknowledging me now?" He snapped, never removing his severe blue eyes off of her.  

 She blinked owlishly, surprised by his sharp tone. Her stomach dropped to her feet and she could feel an embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks. "Yeah, I'm sorry." She whispered, dropping her chin, unable to meet his eyes anymore. This was all a mistake, she knew it. This only sealed her poor decision. 

 Shifting to look back at the house, she wondered if she should find Gyda and beg to drive her back home, or if she should find the closest bus stop. Before she could take a step away, a calloused hand snatched hers in a firm grip. Startled, she looked down to see Ivar holding her hand. Her eyes jumped up to stare at him in shock, confused by his conflicting actions. In those vivid, expressive eyes she could easily read the regret in them. Without her conscious decision, her heart softened. 

 "Sit." He said quietly, what most likely meant to come out commanding but sounded more as a plea. She nodded and allowed him to guide her onto the wide lounge chair next to him. 

 A furious blush warmed her cheeks when Ivar wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her into his side and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. What she assumed was his nonverbal apology. 

 "Hey, this is Sigurd." Hvitserk said, gesturing to the unknown blond sitting with them. "I don't think you've met him yet. Ubbe had to take a call, so you'll meet him later."

 "Hi, it's nice to meet you." She said, looking at the other Lothbrok. He had light blond, curly hair in frazzled braids and brown eyes. At first glance she would not have guessed he was one of the brothers, but she figured genetics were always weird. He had a lean body similar to Hvitserk with a tribal tattoo sleeve and a Thor's hammer necklace laying on his bare chest like the other brothers wore.

 He silently raised his beer bottle at her, still stretched out in his chair like a lazy cat in the sun. 

 Thoughtfully she peered up at Ivar, keeping her voice low. "I'm sorry, I didn't know Gyda was bringing me here otherwise I'd have told you. She literally didn't tell me until we were pulling up."

 "It's fine." He murmured evenly, but Kari got the feeling that was not how he truly felt. 

 "Do….do you want me to leave?"

 He sighed, his grip around her tightening for a moment, before he seemed to relax. "No. I'm glad you're here. It won't be boring…." a wolfish grin grew as he slid his hand up her exposed thigh sensually, ".... especially if you take off this cover and let me see what's underneath." 

 "No!" She squeaked, grabbing his roving hand before it could migrate further. 

 He chuckled. "Come on, kitten…. just a peek?"

 "Ivar, no."

 "Why not?"

 "Its…. it’s scandalous."

 Hvitserk raised his hand, a devious smirk on his face. "I want to see."

 She covered her face with her hands, embarrassment flooding her. "Oh gods, this was such a bad idea." Then she had to rapidly grasp Ivar's hand as it slipped under the swimsuit cover to caress her hip and trace her bikini bottom. "Ivar…."

 "Fine." He slipped his hand back out but splayed it over her exposed thigh. "You can show me later."

 Thankfully, Gyda reappeared with a glass of white wine in each hand and another blond male in tow who carried the wine bottle. He had short, cropped hair and a muscular body that spoke of many hours in the gym. Kari wondered if this was the brother that Ivar regularly worked out with. 

 "Why are you sitting with Ivar? I brought you here! I'm even bringing you wine!" Gyda teased, handing a glass to Kari. 

 "You also dragged me here unknowingly. Wine is the least you could do." Kari said without thinking, making the others laugh. 

 "You know damn well you're happy to be here." Gyda winked then took the open lounge chair next to her. "Right, I'm guessing you've been introduced to Sigurd." She flicked a hand in the curly-haired Lothbrok's direction followed by vaguely gesturing to the last unknown brother. "Now this pain in my ass, over here, is Ubbe. Ubbe, this is Kari."

 Sitting between Hvitserk and Gyda, Ubbe rolled his blue eyes but leaned forward to shake Kari's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

 "Yeah, likewise."

 Ubbe sat back with an impish glint in his eyes. "So, you're Ivar's girl?"

 "Um…. we’re just..." She started, unsure what to say to his family. 

 Ivar broke in, his single word answer almost coming out in a growl. "Yes."

 She whipped her head to look at him, only for him to stare her down as if waiting to see if she could refute his claim. Logically, she knew she should say something, argue that they were only friends. Yet any rebuttal died on her tongue under his fierce gaze. Instead she chose to sip on her wine generously.  

 "Right." Ubbe finally said, watching the two with an amused look. 

 Sigurd scoffed loudly before taking a swig of his beer. 

 "Something you want to say, Sig?" Ivar turned narrowed eyes at his brother.

 The curly-haired brother smirked, seeming to debate saying anything. Finally, he sat up and his gaze zeroed in on Kari. "How much does he pay you to fuck him?"

 The reaction from those around was instantaneous. Next to her, Ivar tensed, ready to spring up and fight his brother. A sharp reprimand of "Sigurd!" came from both Gyda and Ubbe while Hvitserk pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 Something rose up inside Kari though. She understood enough to know about the animosity between Sigurd and Ivar. His comment felt more like a cruel jab at Ivar than her. She was just the pathway to try and cause torment between the brothers. But if no one else was going to stand up and defend the dark-haired Lothbrok, she would. 

 So instead of taking his words personally, she just smiled sweetly at Sigurd, placing a hand on Ivar's thigh as she responded. "He doesn't. I'm happy to do it for free. Besides, he has something you never will."

 "And what's that?"

 "A cock big enough to pleasure someone….is that why you go through girlfriends so quickly?"

 The rising tension evaporated in a flash. Gyda snorted so hard she almost dropped her wine glass. Hvitserk threw his head back laughing while Ubbe tried to cover his smile with his hand. Kari was sure her eyes were comically wide as what she said without thinking sunk in. Her face flushed and she pressed her face against Ivar's shoulder. Sure, she had meant to defend Ivar but she had not meant to be so crass. The statement seemed to fly out of her mouth before her brain could catch up. 

 Next to her, Ivar laughed as he nuzzled her. She squirmed under his onslaught but also at realizing she just insulted one of Ivar's brothers. Even if it was the one he liked least of all. For a fleeting moment, the idea she had just made herself an enemy crossed her mind. 

 When she sneaked a peek, Sigurd quickly drained the rest of his beer and walked away murmuring something about getting another one. 

 "I think you'll fit in, Kari." Ubbe stated, still trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. 

 Kari was unsure of that. She quickly took a large sip of the wine to settle her fraying nerves. What had she been thinking? It hurt to hear Ivar's brother being so blatantly cruel to him and if this was a regular occurrence, no wonder Ivar wanted to spend most of their time at her place. 

 "I didn't realize you liked my cock so much, kattungen." Ivar whispered salaciously into her ear, drawing her back to the present. His tongue flicked her earlobe, making her jolt. "I think I'll have to give you a reward later."

 She shivered at his tone, her core clenching without resistance. It was unfair how just at his husky tone alone, her body betrayed her desire. But they were in public though, in front of his family no less, so she willfully attempted to cool the heat warming her veins. With a smile, she tried to nudge him away from her but he was too strong, only tightening his grip on her and laying a quick kiss to her neck. 

 "I can't believe I said that." She whispered, hoping only he heard her. 

 He smirked, an unmistakable fire in his eyes. "It was sexy as fuck."

 Thankfully, Torvi came over to join the group, a welcome distraction for Kari as she was sure the fire in Ivar's gaze was enough to set her ablaze and further stoke her own heat. 

 Torvi settled into Sigurd's now absent spot. "What did I miss?" 

 "Kari said Ivar's cock is bigger than Sigurd's." Hvitserk stated smugly. 

 Torvi stared at Kari with a tilt of her head and an amused grin. "Really? And how did we get on the subject of dicks already?"

 Some of the group laughed as Kari covered her face once again, mortified that she was the center of attention because of what she thoughtlessly said. She had the sneaking suspicion none of them would ever let her live this down. 

 "Alright, enough. Come on, it's girl time now." Gyda grabbed Kari's hand and dragged her to her feet, much to Ivar's obvious chagrin. She scoffed, meeting her half-brother's gaze. "I'll give her back later."

 The three women wandered over to some open chairs further down from the guys and closer to the Buddha statue. Gyda carried the wine bottle and her glass while Kari carefully held her own glass. Torvi snatched a beer from a nearby cooler as they meandered over. Gyda settled on a single, lounge chair adjacent to a cushioned two-person seat which the other two sat on. 

 "Alright, we have a very serious matter to discuss. Your answer may or may not break our friendship." Gyda started, leaning forward as she pointed a single finger at the brunette. 

 Kari found herself straightening in her seat, hand clutching her wine glass tighter. 

 Eyes intent, Gyda's voice dropped conspiringly. "Who is sexier: Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes?"

 Shock rendered Kari momentarily speechless. At Gyda's serious tone, she had imagined a topic that would involve confessing a secret, not…. not a movie franchise. "Um…. Bucky." She hesitantly answered. 

 "Yes!!" Gyda shouted, throwing her arms up and almost spilling her wine. "I knew I liked you! Ivar, she is mine now!"

 Kari laughed at her enthusiasm; all concern having vanished instantly. "I take it you like him too?"

 "Hell yeah. I would willingly choke on his cock or he could pound my pussy to pulp and I wouldn't complain either way."

 Torvi shook her head, a hint of a smile tilting the corners of her lips up. "Something's wrong with you."

 "You prefer Steve?" Kari inquired, once she recovered from choking on air at Gyda's blunt statement. Her friend always had a way of surprising her, and giving her second-hand embarrassment.

 Torvi shrugged. "A tall, handsome blond. That's my kind of man."

 Peeking over at Bjorn who was still playing in the pool with both kids, Kari hummed thoughtfully. "Huh. Makes sense."

 "No wonder you are with Ivar if you prefer Bucky Barnes."

 "But we aren't…. together." Kari fixed her eyes on her wine, knowing her answer sounded lame even to her own ears. 

 Gyda patted her leg. "You keep telling yourself that."

 "We're just friends."

 "No, you aren't."

 "Kari, it's fine." Torvi shot Gyda a look. "It's between you two, it's not really our business."

 "She's our friend!" Gyda whined, throwing herself back in her seat dramatically. 

 "And she will let us know if something changes. Including telling us if Ivar does something stupid and we need to kick his ass."

 Kari giggled as Torvi tapped her beer bottle against her wine glass. "I promise. Hvitserk already made me swear too."

 "Good. So is Ivar really that good in bed?" 

 "Gyda!" Kari exclaimed but laughed at how shameless her friend was. 

 Torvi thankfully changed the topic of conversation to Ubbe's birthday coming up next month. Asa wandered over, wrapped in a green and brown towel with long ears sticking out that made her look like baby Yoda. When Sigurd eventually appeared, Hali dragged him to the pool where they jumped in together. Not long after, Hvitserk joined them, doing a cannon-ball with the splash almost hitting the ladies. 

 Kari chatted with Torvi and Gyda for some time, enjoying herself immensely. The topics varied, but she never felt unincluded. More than once, she glanced over, only to find Ivar's gaze already on her. After the third time, he tipped his head to the side and patted the spot next to him. A not-so subtle invitation or demand, depending on how you looked at it. 

 A smile teased her lips and she nodded. She started to rise, with her second glass of wine in hand, when the sound of a loud "shit" from Gyda distracted her. 

 "What is she doing here?" Torvi quietly asked with an undertone of frustration. 

 Curious, Kari followed their gazes towards the door leading into the glassed-in porch. She was met with the sight of two blondes emerging in matching, white swimsuits that barely seemed to cover anything. Both strutted as if they were on a runway, while chatting with one another. 

 "Kari, go sit with Ivar." Gyda encouraged, snatching her hand and leading her back without a moment's hesitation towards where Ivar and Ubbe were still sitting. The wine was left forgotten on the side table. 

 "What's going on?" Kari asked in a hushed tone. 

 "Drama. I can't believe that bitch brought her. What was she thinking?"

 "Gyda?"

 She clicked her tongue but hurriedly whispered back. "That's Ivar's ex."

 Surprise made Kari almost stumble but she managed to catch herself at the last second. Further explanations had to wait because they came upon the brothers at the same time the two blondes did. Soon as Kari was close enough, Ivar held out his hand, a sweet gesture, but she could see the tension and anger in the set of his shoulders and the thin line of his lips. Silently, he guided her to sit between his spread legs, arms banding around her waist and pulling her indecently close. For once though, she did not complain. 

 "Hey, baby." One of the blondes said in a sickly-sweet voice as she pressed a kiss to Ubbe's cheek. "Sorry we're late."

 "It's fine." Ubbe slowly answered as he shifted his gaze to the other blonde. "I didn't know you were bringing someone."

 "This is supposed to be family only." Gyda snapped, having dropped into her seat next to Ivar and Kari. 

 The blonde, who stood next to Ubbe still, narrowed her eyes at Kari. "Then why is she here?" 

 "That's Ivar's girlfriend." Ubbe answered.

 "Uh, hi, I'm Kari." She decided to speak up, hoping introductions would somehow break the rising tension. At her words, Ivar momentarily dropped his head to kiss her shoulder. Unsure if his actions were encouraging or reprimanding, she laid her hands over his, which were still wrapped around her. 

 "Hmmm…. Margrethe." She replied flatly, with a pinched look, as if talking to Kari was beneath her. "I'm Ubbe's fiancé."

 The other blonde smiled pleasantly as she looked Kari in the eye. "I'm Freydis. It's lovely to meet you."

 "Yeah, nice to meet you too." Kari managed to say around the suddenly tightened grip around her waist. She would be a liar if she said she was not intimidated by Freydis. While both women were beautiful, something that seemed required to be in the presence of the Lothbrok family, Freydis was a step beyond that. With her doll-like features, lovely blue eyes and flawless skin, she was gorgeous. Kari could feel all her own insecurities screaming at her in the presence of Ivar's ex. How the youngest Lothbrok went from someone as stunning as Freydis to as girl-next-door as Kari, she had no idea….and it made her uncomfortable. 

 "What the fuck is she doing here?" Ivar demanded, ignoring Freydis' presence completely.  

 Margrethe rolled her eyes as her hand slowly stroked across Ubbe's shoulders. "I get bored and wanted to spend time with my best friend, so fuck off." She turned her head to look at Freydis beside her. "Come on, let's get something to drink." 

 After a quick kiss to Ubbe, the two headed back towards the house but not before Freydis glanced back at Ivar and Kari one last time. 

 Once they were far enough away, Gyda rounded on Ubbe, not even bothering to contain her ire. "Fiancé? Really, Ubbe?" She sneered. 

 "Hell no. I haven't proposed. I damn well don't plan to and she knows it."

 "Why are you still with her? She's a greedy bitch."

 "Gyda, I know you don't like her but she's still my girlfriend."

 "Who the fuck knows why." 

 Ubbe turned his attention to Ivar. "I swear I didn't know she was bringing Freydis. I'd have told her not to come then."

 "As long as she stays the fuck away from me, I don't give a shit." The dark-haired Lothbrok growled at his older brother. 

 The residual tension in the air was painful to abide in. It felt like a caged animal, pacing, waiting, ready for the moment to unleash a terrorizing attack. 

 "Hey, I have a question." Kari blurted out, unable to take the way the tension made her skin feel like it was being sunburned. Once Gyda and Ubbe shifted to watch her, she posed her question. "Ah, well, I've been wondering for a while but why don't you guys have bodyguards or something?"

 Ivar snorted, brushing her hair over her shoulder to press his face into the crook of her neck, making her squirm although he did not relent his position. 

 It was Ubbe that answered with a wide grin. "Eh, we don't need them. We can handle ourselves."

 "But you guys have drivers, isn't the next step to have bodyguards?"

 "You worried for us?" Ivar whispered, nipping at her skin, only to soothe the spot with his tongue. 

 "I'm serious."

 "Let's just say we know how to protect ourselves. Besides, no one is stupid enough to come after us." Ubbe concluded, raising his beer in a mock salute.

 Gyda snickered. "This is why I stay out of the family business."

 "You've no issue spending Father's money though." Ubbe retorted in a jovial way. 

 She shrugged and sent Kari a playful wink. 

 A minute later, Bjorn, Torvi and Asa came over, taking open seats with Asa sitting in Torvi's lap. Even though Kari had met Bjorn before, it still shocked her to see how much larger he was compared to the other brothers, both in size and physique. Now sitting next to Torvi, he appeared larger. With his long, braided ponytail and shaved sides, a short beard and sharp, blue eyes, he seemed quite formidable. Kari wondered briefly if that helped with the family business. 

 "See Kari there, she is the one who teaches yoga." Torvi softly said to Asa. 

 Asa peeked over at Kari, shyly smiling, still wrapped in her towel but with a juice box in hand. 

 "I bet if you ask nicely, she might show you something." Torvi said then looked up at Kari. "Lately she loves watching me do yoga at home. It's cute when she tries to do it with me."

 Bjorn chuckled, slinging an arm over the back of his wife's chair. "And usually falls down onto her face."

 "Hey, she's trying!" Torvi defended, elbowing Bjorn in the side.

 Looking at the little girl across the circle of seats, Kari smiled. "Want me to show you something I've been working on? I'm not very good at it though, so if I fall over, you can laugh at me. I'll be laughing at myself too."

 Asa nodded fervently, eyes wide in anticipation. 

 "What do you say?" Torvi tapped her daughter's nose. 

 Asa looked up at her mom then back to Kari. "Please." Even though it came out sounding more like "peas".

 "Sure. I need to stretch some first." Kari stood up and immediately had to slap Ivar's hand away that prowled down the curve of her ass. She tried to glare at him over her shoulder, only to be met with a mock innocence. Overly aware of the eyes on her, she chose a spot nearby in the plush, green grass, trying to keep her nerves to a minimum. Carefully, she warmed up her muscles, doing a few simple stretches so as not to hurt herself. Honestly, she was nervous since she never did advanced poses in front of others. It was not that she was unable to, for she did them frequently at home on her own time. It just felt like she was vying for attention or trying to show off when she did advanced poses in view of others. Conflicting memories of her grandmother's encouraging voice fought with her mother's reprimand in her mind as she stretched. 

 "What are you going to do?" Gyda called over, returning from retrieving her wine glass and bottle. 

 The question pulled her from her mind's internal war, bringing her back to the present. "Um, it's called the super soldier."

 "Oooo, I like it already."

 Once stretched, Kari stood frozen for a moment realizing she was going to need to take her cover off to do the pose. 

 "Kari, you look sexy as hell, now take the damn cover off." Gyda called out. 

 Kari hesitated, fears and insecurities rising afresh within her. 

 "Do it or Ivar will get his ass up and help you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

 "I hate you." She mumbled but gave in. Slowly, she walked back over to the circle of chairs, pulling the white cover off and dropped it on the lounge chair Ivar still sat on. Her eyes briefly flickered up only to meet Ivar's smoldering gaze. Instantly, she could feel herself flush. Hoping no one noticed, she moved back to her grassy spot. A loud wolf-whistle came from the direction of the pool, most likely from Hvitserk but Kari ignored it, knowing if she thought about it too much, she would make a run for it. Mentally preparing herself, she pulled her hair back into a bun on the nape of her neck, then faced the group but kept her gaze downward, too scared to look at them. 

 After taking a deep breath, she bent over to lay her hands flat on the grass without bending her knees. Next, she hooked her right shoulder behind her knee and extended her left arm for balance. She took a long, deep breath before continuing onward. Then she lifted her left foot and grabbed it with her right hand, still tucked behind her right leg. After another deep breath, she pulled her left leg up until her knee was pointed towards the sky. She held it there for three breaths before slowly releasing her leg back down and carefully straightening back up. 

 A small round of applause greeted her when she straightened. 

 "Another!"

 "You go, Kari!"

 "Do another one!"

 Blushing furiously at the cheers, she leaned forward into downward facing dog. Carefully, she slid her hands forward until her elbows touched the grass with her ass still in the air. Taking a deep breath and hoping she did not make a fool of herself, she engaged her core and kicked her legs up so she was doing a handstand but still on her elbows. Once she felt stable, she pressed her legs together and slowly bent her knees until they were almost parallel with her forearms on the ground. Feeling the burn in her core and arms, she hoped she could finish the pose without falling on her face. Next, she lowered her legs, knees apart now and big toes touching until her feet touched the top of her head. She could not help the smile that stretched across her face as she held the pose for a couple seconds, making sure to breathe slow. Scorpion pose was one she was still trying to master on her own, let alone in front of others. If anything, this felt like a victory for her. Methodically she unfurled, bringing her legs up and then back to the ground. 

 When she finally stood up, brushing the grass off her forearms, it was to another round of applause.

 "That was amazing!" Torvi said. 

 "I was thinking sexy as fuck!" Hvitserk exclaimed, a smile on his face from where he now stood, leaning against Ubbe's chair. 

 Self-consciously, Kari tugged on her swimsuit, making sure everything was tucked into place, as much as it could be, before pulling her hair out of the bun. She walked back over to the lounge chair quickly and yanked the cover back over her body. 

 "I'm going to wash my hands." She said without meeting anyone's eyes, skirting around the group and heading towards the glassed-in porch. 

 Laughter erupted behind her as she approached the door but she ignored it as she walked inside. She padded through the porch, stomach twisting in knots, and turned into the kitchen. Her feet stuttered to a halt as she noticed Margrethe and Freydis standing there with bottles of something in hand. For a split second she thought about turning and heading to the bathroom but it was too late as the two blondes noticed her intrusion. 

 "Hi, I just need to wash my hands." Kari explained. After a moment's hesitation, she walked around the opposite side of the massive island from them and towards the kitchen sink.

 "So, you're Ivar's girlfriend?" Margrethe stated with a mocking undertone. "I didn't think someone like you was his…. type."

 "Margrethe…." Freydis chided. 

 "What? Look at her. I mean she's got tits and an ass, and I guess she could be pretty but that's it."

 "I'm sorry." Freydis apologized kindly. After a long, awkward pause where the kitchen was silent besides Kari washing her hands, she asked, "How long have you and Ivar been together?"

 "Um, we aren't…. we’re just friends." Kari found herself admitting, as she finished drying her hands and turned around to see them both staring at her. Though Freydis had a gentle smile on her face, Margrethe looked nothing less than the cat that caught the canary and planned on lording it over everyone. 

 "Oh?" 

 "See. Told you, Dis. He is still single." Margrethe smugly said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "He's just playing the game."

 "Game?" Kari muttered aloud. 

 Freydis set her glass down and came around the island to stand in front of Kari. Her blue eyes were bright as they met Kari's. "You seem like a nice girl and clearly the others like you too. So, I'll be honest because I don't want you to get caught up in the Lothbrok drama and get hurt. Okay?"

 "Okay."

 "Ivar and I are getting back together. We're just taking a break right now. Truly, I know we are destined for each other and he agrees. We had a bad fight and needed some space but he loves me just as much as I love him. So, I know he will come back to me when he is ready. I'm so sorry to tell you that you're just the rebound girl. I'm sure he likes you but that's as far as it will ever go. Gyda likes to try and mess with the brothers' love lives so I am sorry if she dragged you into this without telling you the whole truth. It's not your fault. I am sure Gyda lied to you and probably Ivar too. But it's good for you to know now. I don't hold it against you if you've have had sex with him but just know your time with him is limited, okay? How long have you two been 'friends'?"

 "We met last month." Kari whispered, dread and despair a writhing mess of snakes churning in her stomach. Air refused to fill her lungs, leaving her struggling for breath. 

 Freydis sighed. "It probably will be soon then. Just take advantage of the things he purchases for you, so when he leaves, you can have something to sell if you're in a pinch. Yeah?"

 "Ah…. sure."

 "Good. You seem like a nice girl. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this."

 "It's…." Kari choked back a sudden sob. "It's alright. Thank you."

 "Of course, we girls need to look out for each other. Is there anything I can do for you?" She inquired, sounding so genuine in her desire to help, her gaze imploring and lips in a faint, comforting smile. 

 "No…. no. I just need to check my phone. Have you seen Gyda's bag?"

 "I think she left it on the porch." Margrethe helpfully added, never having lost the smug grin on her face as she watched Kari with a hawk-like intensity. 

 "Oh, right. Thank you." Kari shifted back and forth on her feet, body primed to run, to flee before anyone could see the tears that welled pathetically in her eyes. 

 Freydis reached out and squeezed her arm, a brief exchange of understanding, then strutted back around to grab her drink and follow Margrethe to the porch and outside. 

 Once alone, Kari pressed a hand over her mouth to try and stifle the sob that lodged itself in her throat. She knew it. Everything Freydis said made sense. 

 Without a second thought, she rushed around the island and onto the porch, quickly locating Gyda's bag. She scooped her purse and clothes out only to hurry back inside. A quick check of the time and she figured she might be able to catch a bus, but in this gated community, there was no way buses came through so she would end up walking somewhere. Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, she sniffled, trying desperately to hold them back. She looked up the nearest bus stop on her phone, pleased it was only a few blocks away from the gated community. 

 Once positive she knew where she was going, she stared down at her clothes on the counter, wondering if she should change before leaving. It would certainly look odd for her to be walking down the street in the swimsuit cover and sandals in such an upscale neighborhood. Then she thought about any of the Lothbroks finding her trying to leave and pushed the potential oddity of her attire from her mind. It appeared there was a gas station nearby when she found the bus stop, it would be simple to change there quickly. Somehow she could give the swimsuit and cover back to Torvi…. but not today. Right now, she needed to leave. 

 She tried to shove her clothes into her purse, only succeeding by making it look like an over-inflated balloon but it worked. Lastly, she reached to grab her phone off the kitchen counter but froze. Ivar bought it for her. Freydis' words came back to her about taking advantage of the things he bought for her. Bile burned the back of her throat at the idea. She promised herself she would not be one of those girls to him. Slowly, she retracted her hand, forming it into a fist by her side. Ivar could give the phone to Freydis or throw it in the trash for all she cared. Even with the feeling of her heart being ripped in two, she refused to take advantage of him or his money. She was a better person than that. Or so she hoped. 

 Worried someone would come in soon, she tossed her purse over her shoulder and swiftly headed towards the front door. She passed through the hallway she entered in, but the pictures and awards blurred before her eyes as the repressed tears threatened to make an appearance. Hastily, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but knew it was ultimately futile. 

 "Kari?" 

 Her stride never faltered towards her escape, even after hearing Hvitserk call her name from what sounded like the porch. 

 "Kari? Where are you going?" His voice came from behind her, probably standing at the entrance of the hallway now. 

 "I have to go." Kari said, not bothering to turn around, unsure if he could even hear her. She could barely hear footsteps behind her over the sound of her sniffles and ragged breathing. It did not matter since she was close to her escape, just a couple more moments. Her hand touched the handle, just beginning to pull the door open when Hvitserk's hand appeared in her direct line of vision and slammed it closed. Although the sound was muffled, it echoed in her mind like a gunshot. 

 "What's going on?" Hvitserk stood directly behind her, his hand still firmly planted on the door as if to prevent her from even considering leaving without permission again. 

 "It's nothing." She murmured, staring down at her feet. 

 "I seriously doubt that if you are trying to sneak away while crying…. what happened?"

 "Nothing. I just…. I just want to go home."

 "Okay." He shifted to lean his shoulder against the door, ducking his head to try and catch her eyes. "Does this have to do with the yoga stuff?"

 "No. Just…. please, Hvitserk."

 "You need to tell me something. Look, I'll give you a ride, we can leave right now but you have to tell me what happened."

 She swallowed thickly, still refusing to look at him. It was taking all of her willpower to keep the tears at bay. At any moment she felt the tears would come forth with all the power of a hurricane, reducing her to a sniveling mess on the floor, nursing a broken heart. It was all her fault though. How could she have believed someone like Ivar Lothbrok would actually be interested in her for more than just a one-night stand. She was just a challenge for him, someone to pass the time. Then once she gave in, once they finally had sex, he would walk out of her life and back into Freydis' arms and bed…. where he apparently belonged. 

 "Kari?" Hvitserk softly prompted. 

 "It's…. I just have a better understanding now…. of where I stand…. of my purpose here."

 "Your purpose?"

 She sniffed, wiping her wet eyes once again before the tears fell. "I'm just a rebound girl….and that's alright. I get it. But I just want to go home now." 

 "Fuck. Freydis said that, didn't she?"

 "It doesn't matter. Can you please just take me to the bus stop, I can get home from there." She knew she was begging but she did not care anymore. 

 "Kari, give me that." He grabbed her purse from her and tossed it onto a wooden side table. His hands held hers in a manner that was comforting verse restraining. His thumbs rubbed along the back of her hands as he softly spoke. "Look at me, you know it's not like that."

 "It doesn't matter." She shook her head, even as her hands gripped his tighter, the feeling being the only thing keeping her from falling apart at the front door. "I shouldn't have let Gyda bring me here. I should have made her drop me off."

 "Kari…." He began but was interrupted. 

 "Hvitty?" Ivar's loud voice boomed from the kitchen. "You better not be trying to fuck Kari!"

 Kari flinched at the sound. The facade of strength she fought to maintain evaporated like smoke. The tears she had been trying so desperately to withhold slipped free, rolling down her cheeks like a cleansing rain.  

 "Over here!" Hvitserk called back, releasing her hands but not moving away. 

 Ivar's measured gait could be heard coming down the hallway like the footsteps of doom. 

 "What the fuck is going on? You disappear to find Kari and then…." His voice trailed off as he entered the foyer, piercing gaze zeroing in on her tear-stained face. What sense of jovial teasing transformed into enraged fury. When he spoke next, it came out in an animalistic growl that bespoke impending violence. "Who fucking hurt you?"

 "I'm fine." She mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. Her chin rested on her chest, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I just want to go home."

 "Freydis….and I'm betting Margrethe also said something to her." Hvitserk snitched, leaning fully against the door. He watched both Kari and his brother as if ready to intervene at a moment's notice. 

 Ivar snapped, stepping closer. "What did they say?"

 She was unsure who he directed his question to but she still shook her head, refusing to look at either brother. Hearing his wrath, it only made her heart ache more. All of this was a show, it had to be. Why would he truly care? The sound of his heavy gait coming closer brought a fresh wave of silent tears. 

 Moving to her other side, he cupped her cheek. When she resisted looking at him, he shifted his hand to grab the back of her neck, forcing her gaze to meet his. A tempest swirled in his icy blue eyes. "What. Did. They. Say?"

 "Why does it matter?" She questioned, bottom lip trembling as a sob rose from her chest. 

 "Because they hurt you."

 "But I'm no one. I don't matter." She shook her head, pressing a hand over her mouth to contain the cries bound to escape at any moment. "You're just going to get back together with Freydis when you get bored with me."

 His eyes widened as if she had sucker-punched him. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he collected himself, the maelstrom rippling under his skin on the verge of breaking free. "Did they say that?"

 "Freydis said…. she said you two were just taking a break….and I'm the rebound girl."

 "Fuck. Fuck!" Ivar stepped away, running his hands through his loose hair. In an instant, he grabbed the decorative bowl off the entrance table and threw it. The shattering against the wall reverberated in the foyer followed by Ivar's guttural shout. "FUCK!" 

 "Ivar." Hvitserk softly said, warily watching his younger brother. 

 "I'm going to kill her. Fuck! I can't believe she would fucking say that!" Ivar ran his hands through his hair again, looking on the verge of ripping the strands out. The ferocity in his eyes was unmatched as he glanced down the hallway, clearly wanting to go after his ex, then shifted back to Kari, who remained silent and unmoving. "What else did she say?" He barked at her. 

 "You're destined for each other." She confessed after a moment's hesitation. 

 Ivar stormed over to her, devouring the ground beneath his feet as he invaded her space. Standing before her, he cupped her face, eyes imploring her to believe him. "Freydis is a crazy, jealous bitch. She manipulates to get what she wants. Don't believe a word out of her fucking mouth. Fuck! Please, Kari, don't cry. I'm right here, kitten."

 His words seeped into her mind, slipping in through the cracks and delving deep into her soul. His words alone should not have reassured her like they did. Between his pleading eyes and his gentle touch, her few walls surrounding her heart crumbled, unable to fight him. She believed him, even before her mind fully recognized it. 

 She lightly placed her hands on his bare chest, one directly over his heart, feeling the rapid tempo under her fingers. "Promise?" She whispered wetly. "You're not just…. I’m not just a rebound girl?"

 Ivar groaned, pressing his forehead to Kari's. "I swear. I never thought that about you." 

 And she believed him again. The truth falling from his lips resounded in the very core of her being. It made no sense how she knew, but somehow, she did. 

 After a long second, Hvitserk pushed off the door from next to them. "I'm going to head back and keep an eye on them. Kari, if you still want a ride just text me, alright?" 

 "Thank you, Hvitty." She reached out and snagged his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. With a smile, he responded in kind before heading down the hallway towards the backyard. 

 Soon as Hvitserk started walking away, Ivar grabbed her hand and led her in the opposite direction. They hurried through a short hallway to arrive at a closed door. Impatiently, Ivar thrust the door open and pulled her into a room, slamming the door shut behind them. She had a brief moment to scan the new room and notice the two walls with floor to ceiling bookshelves packed full and the couple couches near a large window. 

 Before she could do anything, she shrieked as she found herself suddenly yanked back, her body colliding with the closed door. Immediately Ivar's mouth claimed hers in a hungry, feverish kiss. His body pinned her to the door, hands kneading her hips. It was all she could do to just breathe. Her hands clung to his broad shoulders, desperate to stay above the waves of passion-fueled desire that surged unchecked within her. 

 Ivar withdrew his mouth from hers, but only to place kisses over her cheeks, washing away her tears with his affections. "Don't listen to her. Her and I. We are through. I will never go back to her. She has been sniffing around but that ends tonight. I won't fucking let her talk to you again. I fucking swear it."

 "Ivar…." She whined, tilting her head. An open invitation which he took. 

 He swooped in, continuing to speak between leaving open-mouth kisses on her neck. "It's you. It's you I want. It's you I think about all the time. Fuck, kitten, you have no idea how much I want you. And seeing you do those yoga poses in that swimsuit…. fuck! You looked so goddamn sexy; I got a hard-on just watching." He grabbed her thigh, lifting it up and curling it behind him, pressing himself against her core. At the touch of his hardened length against her, she whimpered. "Do you feel that? That's for you, søte Kari."

 She could not help but roll her hips, grinding against his erection, body automatically seeking friction. 

 "Yes! Fuck." He growled against her neck. "Come here."

 She whined when he released her leg, letting it fall down to the floor. Her breathing was unsteady already, heart hammering away in her chest. A part of her knew she should stop this, open the door behind her and walk out to avoid the temptation. Yet when his hand latched onto hers once again, tugging her towards one of the couches, she followed willingly, unable to deny the sweet sin that was Ivar.

 He dropped onto the couch and settled her into his lap to straddle him. As she settled, he grabbed a handful of the cover over her and yanked it off, tossing it haphazardly onto the floor. Her first instinct was to cover her chest, but as her arms moved to do that, Ivar guided them behind his head. His gaze drunk in the curves of her body, an unashamed starved look in his eyes that made her shudder as it further ignited the fire in her belly. 

 "Kattungen min." He whispered reverently. "Fucking hell, so gorgeous. No one else gets to touch you like I do. Got it? You're mine." He started lavishing her chest and neck with his mouth, alternating between his lips and tongue. 

 She knew she should feel more self-conscious straddling Ivar's lap in only the swimsuit that barely covered all of her assets; but it was as if his touch banished the thoughts away. Instead she felt beautiful and cherished. 

 He palmed one of her breasts and the moan that escaped her was pure wanton. Hands tangled in his long locks as her hips ground harder against his erection in response. His leg braces were only an afterthought that did not impede her actions. 

 "Ivar, please."

 "That's it. Fuck, you're so beautiful. I can't wait to fuck you senseless."

 Suddenly he shifted under her, his hand fumbling between them. Her mind barely took notice as he sucked the skin between her breasts, something that would definitely leave a mark. Next thing she knew, his cock was freed, standing at attention between them. 

 Before she could protest, he spoke up. "I know you're not ready." He slid it under her, pulling her hips back down. At the sensation of his cock rubbing her slit with only the thin barrier of the bikini bottom between them, she threw her head back with a whine. Desire roared through her like a freight train as his cock rubbed against her soaking core. 

 "You like that, kitten?"

 "Yes." She sighed out, head tilted back as she rolled her hips. 

 "Good, my turn." He reached behind her and promptly untied the straps of the bikini top behind her back. 

 "Ivar!" She tried to cover herself but he swatted her hands away. 

 "Trust me."

 Once she relented, he laid a hard kiss to her lips then tugged the top over her head, the band behind her neck without a tie. She desperately wanted to cover herself, now before him feeling on full display. But it was the look on his face that stilled her movements. 

 "Guder. Du er utsøkt. Faen. Den vakreste kvinnen." He murmured with adoration and awe dripping off each word. 

 "What did you say?"

 Instead of answering her, he lowered his face to her chest and captured one of her perky nipples in his mouth. His other hand moved to grab one of her ass cheeks, encouraging her to keep riding him. 

 All breath vanished from her lungs. All thoughts and insecurities fled under his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair, keeping his mouth on her. All she could feel was him. All she wanted to feel was him. Gasps and moans slipped from her as she allowed herself to be overtaken and drawn into an ocean of pleasure. 

 She could feel herself rising higher and higher, riding the wave. Her mind was becoming delirious from fire in her veins and the motion of her hips rocking over his exposed cock. 

 To her surprise, Ivar grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her neck. "That's it, beautiful. Fuck. Let's see what that bendy spine can do." Carefully, he pulled on her hair, not in a painful way but as if to guide her. Willingly submitting herself, she bent her back, following his lead. When her chest was parallel to the ceiling, he stopped pulling, keeping her suspended with her back arched. 

 Ivar groaned loudly, thrusting against her. She met his action, too absorbed in the bliss to care about decency. 

 "All the dirty, fucking things this makes me want to do to you." He licked a scalding line up her sternum, only to swirl his tongue around one of her nipples, making her mewl as she continued to move her hips faster. "Come for me."

 "Yes, yes." She chanted. "Ivar, please."

 "Keep begging, kitten. Let me know how much you want my cock."

 As her climax hit, the tightening coil in her core sprung loose, her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Wave after wave rolled over her. She could feel Ivar grunt and thrust a few more times beneath her before retracing his cock and spurting onto her exposed stomach. After he released her hair, letting her rise back up to face him. Their eyes fixated on one another, chests heaving as they struggled for breath. 

 Gently, she reached out and touched his cheek, a shy smile on her face. Then, when he made no move to pull away, she leaned forward, uncaring of his cum slipping down her stomach, and drew him into a lazy, slow kiss. He responded, lips melding to hers in a way that was full of softness and contentment. After a moment, she felt him reach behind him for the blanket laying on the back of the couch and wipe her stomach off, all the while never abandoning their kiss. 

 Once she was clean, he dropped the blanket to the floor and somehow managed to keep their lips locked as he guided them to lay down on the couch, their bare chests pressed together and his arm under her head, legs tangled. 

 "Do you believe me now?" He eventually asked, leaning back but only far enough so the tips of their noses almost touched. 

 "Mmmm?"

 "That it's you I want. Freydis and anyone else can go fuck themselves for all I care."

 She bit her bottom lip and dropped her gaze. "I don't understand why."

 "What are you talking about?"

 "I mean…. Margrethe said I'm not your…. type."

 He snorted and muttered under his breath, "fucking bitch".

 "But she's right." Kari pressed onward, her hand running up and down his side as if to ground herself. "I mean, I could never compare to Freydis…. or Torvi or Gyda or any of them. They are all beautiful and….and in perfect shape. I'm not. My thighs and butt are too big and I'm maybe pretty but that's it."

 "You're right. You're not my usual type. But those girls, I'd fuck them and then never look their way again. You though, fuck, I can barely take my eyes off you when you're around. And these," he reached down and grabbed a handful of one of her ass cheeks, making her squeak. "I love them. And these thighs, fucking hell, kitten, I want you to suffocate me with them when I finally eat you out."

 She gasped, a bolt of electricity shooting through her at the image. 

 A devilish grin grew on his face, his hand stroking her ass cheek. "You like that idea? My tongue teasing your folds before slipping inside of you. Your thighs wrapped around my head as I feast on your pussy."

 "Ivar." She whined, unable to stop the sudden roll of her hips. 

 "Soon, sweet Kari." He chuckled darkly, ceasing her movement by melding their hips together. "And your tits, gods, they are perfect. I could stare at them all day."

 She giggled even as she flushed under his praise. "I'm sorry for doubting you. I guess, I'm still just surprised you'd…. well, that you want me."

 "You are mine. You're my woman." He stated resolutely, gazing directly into her eyes so she could see how serious he was. 

 "But we aren't dating…."

 "Doesn't fucking matter. You're mine. And one of these days you'll change your mind and stop playing this game of trying to keep me away."

 She sighed, wishing it would be that easy. Before he could continue with that argument, she changed the subject. "You know, I think we exceeded our kiss quota for the day."

 He snorted. "I didn't see you complaining earlier."

 "That's true. Do you think we should head back out?"

 "If I see Freydis or Margrethe right now…." His voice trailed off, but the fury from earlier lingered in the unspoken threat. 

 "I know. We don't have too. I'm okay right here." 

 A grateful smile on his lips, he kissed her quickly then rolled her onto her back and laid his head on her chest. They relaxed like that for several minutes in silence, her hand running through his hair, just enjoying the feeling of complacency and peace between them now after their fight. If you could even call it that. 

 Finally, she spoke up in a hushed tone, a random question coming to mind. "Do you ever get in the pool?"

 "No."

 "Oh." Was all she could say after his sharp, barbed answer. Clearly it was a subject that was not open for discussion. Her mind wandered, wondering what happened to cause such a response from him. An uncomfortable tension hung over them after his response. Something she was not sure if she should try and dissipate or ignore for now. 

 After a minute of continued silence, he kissed her chest, letting his lips linger there as if using the extra time to mentally prepare himself. Before she could tell him it was none of her business, he spoke. His tone was quiet and, in anyone else, almost shaky. 

 "I…. I used to try when I was younger. They'd put me on one of those stupid floating things and pull me around or someone would hold me. Then, when I was about seven…. Sigurd and I got in a big fight earlier that day. He claimed I broke one of his toys. Fucking asshole. I was sitting by the pool, this in our childhood home in Kattegat, I liked to watch things float on the water. Sigurd walked by me and….and pushed me over the edge."

 She gasped. "Oh Ivar…."

 "Ubbe jumped in and pulled my half-drown ass out." He nuzzled against her skin; his tone having lost the insecurity as he reassured her. "I'm alright, Kari."

 She drew his face up and gave him a long kiss, their mouth connecting with a deeper need and alleviation. "Remind me to thank Ubbe when I see him next."

 He rolled his eyes. "Don't. He's never let me forget the fact."

 "Still."

 They laid there for some more time, wrapped up in one another and content in the peaceful stillness. She could not help but think about the memory Ivar shared with her. How far back did that resentment go between the brothers? Had there ever been a time where they cared for one another? And how bad was the animosity between them if one was willing to kill the other, even as children? If her arms tightened around him, neither one mentioned it as they continued to lay there. 

 A loud knock on the door followed by a yell through the door of "are you two done yet?" disturbed their peace. 

 "Hvits, fuck off!" Ivar called back, burrowing his face between her breasts. 

 "Do you have clothes on at least?!"

 "I do!" 

 Kari swatted the back of Ivar's head at his admission. Leaning up slightly, he gave her a cheeky wink before laying his head back down. 

 "Well cover up, I'm coming in!" Hvitserk yelled through the door. 

 "Ivar, get up." Kari softly said, a panic setting in at the brother coming in and seeing them in this suggestive position and her topless. 

 "No." He mumbled. 

 Before she could shove him off, he snatched the throw blanket off the floor and threw it over his head to cover her chest. As she began to protest, the door cautiously opened. In an instant, she tried to spread out the blanket over them as best as she could, keeping the blanket over her chest and spread it somewhat over their torsos. Although how much good it did was questionable. She peered over to see Hvitserk standing in the doorway with an amused look before shaking his head and stepping in, closing the door behind him. 

 "What the fuck do you want?" Ivar asked, muffled by the blanket and his face still pressed against her skin. 

 Kari raised her gaze to the ceiling for a moment then mouthed to Hvitserk, "I'm sorry."

 Hvitserk winked at her before answering. "Bjorn and Torvi want everyone together before they leave. Sounds like they have an announcement or something."

 "Are the bitches still here?"

 "Yeah." Hvitserk sighed. 

 "Then no."

 "I'll go." Kari softly said. "It must be important."

 "No, you aren't." Ivar nipped at the side of her breast, making her squirm. 

 "Well everyone is waiting on you two." Hvitserk pointed out as he watched, clearly entertained if his broad grin said anything. 

 "I'm coming."

 Ivar pulled the blanket back slightly to stare up at her. "Why the fuck do you want to see them?"

 "Is it….is it terrible I want to show Frey…. her that I'm still here. That no matter what they said, that I'm not going anywhere."

 A positively, feral grin spread over his face. He swooped in and pressed a devastating kiss to her mouth, not letting up until she thought she would suffocate from the intensity of it. "Let's go." 

 He started to rise up but when she squeaked and tried to clutch the blanket to her, he froze. 

 "Hvits, leave."

 "You sure I can't stay?" His smirk grew as he caught Kari's eye and watched her flush deepen. 

 "GO!" Ivar bellowed, glaring at his older brother. 

 "Fine. I'll wait out here for you. If you're not out in three minutes, I'm coming back in." Hvitserk stepped outside and closed the door behind him. 

 Ivar carefully slid off of her, standing up beside the couch, the blanket in hand. His predatory, blue eyes remained trained on her form, raking over her body like a sweet he wanted to devour completely. A familiar warmth awakened in her core, even as she shyly glanced away, covering her naked breasts with her hands. 

 "Fuck, you're gorgeous. On second thought, I think we should stay. I need another taste of you and to hear you moaning my name for everyone to fucking hear."

 She squealed, quickly skirting away from him before he could pounce on her. "Ivar, no!" Yet, miraculously, he managed to snag an arm around her waist and drag her back against his chest. 

 "Should we make an announcement of our own?" He asked, running his nose along the shell of her ear, chuckling under his breath when she shivered against him.

 "What do you mean?"

 "That you're my girlfriend. That this just-friends is shit."

 "I…." She balked, eyes wide and heart beating a painful staccato in her chest. “We…. we can't."

 "Why the fuck not?" He grasped her breasts, rolling her peaked nipples between his fingers. 

 She practically swallowed her tongue, biting back the moan lodged in her throat. When she was positive she could control her voice, she replied. "We've talked about this. I'm just…. I’m not ready."

 "But you'll practically let me fuck you?"

 At his harsh snap, she tried to push out of his embrace, unwilling to have this conversation in their current predicament or maybe have the conversation at all. The innate desire to flee rose up in her but she tried to force it down as she squirmed in his arms. He held her firm, not giving up an inch, her body flush against his own. 

 "Ivar!" 

 "What aren't you telling me?" 

 She hated both herself and him in the moment as she ceased her escape attempts. She hated him for continuously pushing her, for ignoring her words and trying to force her where he wanted her to be. Even more though, she hated herself. If she had kept away from him, however unlikely that was, if she did not have to hide, then none of this would matter. If she could be honest, truly honest, he would most likely reject her. And that was why she hated herself most. Because she was selfish and wanted his attention and affection, even knowing if he knew who she truly was, he would walk away. 

 Carefully, she turned her head to meet his stormy eyes. "I promise one day I will. I just…. can we please just enjoy this? What we have? I just need…. time."

 He stared down at her for a long time. She wondered what he read in her face when he finally gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'm telling people you are my girlfriend though."

 "You're unbelievable."

 "I think you like that about me." He matched her smile with his own before letting her go.  

 She quickly found her bikini top, noticing Ivar not-so-subtly adjusting his sweatpants. She slipped it over her head but when she went to tie the straps, a pair of calloused hands covered hers. Without a word, he tied it behind her back. Once done, his hand slowly prowled down her back to lightly smack her ass. 

 "Hey!" She whipped around, only to see a Cheshire grin on his face. 

 "That's my sexy ass."

 "Oh my god. Unbelievable." She muttered to herself as she snatched up the cover and pulled it over. She looked down at the blanket piled on the floor. 

 "Leave it. I'll deal with it later." He took her hand and walked with her towards the door. When they opened it, a still-shirtless Hvitserk stood leaning against the wall across from them. 

 "Took you two long enough. Damn. Almost came in and threw Kari over my shoulder to get you out." 

 Ivar spat something out in their language that made Hvitserk roll his eyes. Before they could move further down the hallway, Hvitserk reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, freezing her in place.  

 "Hey, whatever they said. Just try to ignore it. We all want you here. Hell, all of us would kick them to the damn curb if Ubbe would let us. But Ubbe and Bjorn have already approved of you."

 Ivar scoffed but Hvitserk kept his gaze on hers, letting her know he was serious. 

 "Just know, we're on your side."

 "Thank you, Hvitty." She squeezed his hand, warmth blooming in her chest at his words.  

 "Either one of them tries to talk to her, I'll strangle them." Ivar growled, starting down the hallway, towing Kari behind him. 

 "You can't kill them, Ivar. Mother said murder is wrong."

 Ivar laughed, looking over his shoulder at his brother. "Mother still loves me."

 "Yeah, yeah, we all know you're her favorite."

 "Can you blame her? Look at me. I'm far superior and more interesting than the rest of you."

 "Keep telling yourself that."

 Kari could not help but smile at their teasing, a mock argument that sounded like it had been executed many times before until now it was said out of fondness and mock sibling rivalry. 

 The three walked back outside through the glassed-in porch. On the way, she noticed her purse back next to Gyda's bag and wondered if Hvitserk moved it there for her. Outside, everyone else sat on chairs or lounge chairs that were grouped in a haphazard circle, obviously waiting for the remainder of the group to join.  

 "What took you so long? Thought we'd have to send a search party to find you." Bjorn called out as the three approached. 

 "I got 'em. The library reeks of sex though." Hvitserk said, dodging Kari's swing. 

 Ivar guided her back to the lounge chair they had been sitting in earlier, tucking her into his side with a hand laying possessively on her hip. Hvitserk sat on her other side instead of pulling a new chair over. She tried to ignore Margrethe and Freydis who sat across from them, keeping her eyes trained on her lap, fiddling with the hem of her cover.  

 "Ok, now that we're finally all here." Bjorn said, standing up with Asa in his arms. "We just wanted to tell our family the good news in person."

 "Torvi is pregnant!" Gyda blurted, staring at her sister-in-law in shock. 

 "Fuck! Gyda!" Bjorn groaned. 

 "Daddy said a bad word." Hali looked over at his mother from his spot next to Sigurd. 

 "Yes, he did, thank you, Hali." Torvi replied smiling then addressed the group. "I'm about two months along. So right now, we are only telling family, so please don't share this with anyone else yet."

 "Wow! A third! Congrats!" Ubbe started, others immediately echoing their own congratulations and well-wishes. 

 Kari jumped up and moved to give Torvi a hug after Gyda. "I know we haven't known each other long but I'm so excited for you. You're an amazing mother."

 "Thank you, Kari. Maybe your own time will come soon." She shooting her eyes over to Ivar for a second then meeting Kari's again. 

 "Oh, I don't know." She blushed at the thought. After another brief hug, Kari returned to her seat. 

 "How old are you?" Hvitserk asked suddenly. 

 "Um, I turned twenty-five this summer."

 "Ha! Still the baby of the group." Sigurd laughed, pointing his beer bottle at Ivar.  

 "Hey, nothing is wrong with an older woman. We're in our sexual prime." Gyda defended. 

 "She's not that much older." Ivar retorted, his hand skimming up and down Kari's thigh. "Just a year."

 "And a few months. You're turning twenty-four after the new year." Ubbe helpfully added with a grin. 

 "Fuck off." 

 "Mommy, Uncle Ivar said a bad word now."

 "Yes, he did, Hali. I think it's time for us to go. Say goodbye to everyone." Torvi said. After a round of goodbyes and hugs to all the uncles and aunt, the small family headed back through the house to head to their own home.

 "Did you know Ivar is younger than you?" Hvitserk asked conspiringly, once conversation started around them again. 

 She tilted her head as she looked at him, slowly answering his question. “Yeah…. we talked about this a while ago."

 "Good. Do you want kids?"

 "Hvits, what is this?" Ivar butted in. 

 "Just testing the waters to see how she feels about having my babies. You know they'd be beautiful." Hvitserk chuckled when Ivar glared at him. 

 "Be nice you two or I'm moving." Kari chided. 

 "Yes, mom." Hvitserk said, sneaking a kiss to her cheek before jumping away. He turned around and pointed at her as he walked backwards. "One day you'll have my babies!" 

 She laughed, shaking her head. She could practically feel the smoke coming from Ivar's ears. Before he could burst a vein, she leaned closer to him and laid her head against his shoulder. "He knows I'm yours."

 "He fucking better or I'll beat his ass to remind him." Ivar murmured, nuzzling her temple. 

 She relaxed against him, looking around the backyard. Hvitserk and Ubbe had started some kind of wrestling competition in the pool, both looking like they were trying to drown each other. Gyda and Ivar called insults from their seats. Sigurd was texting on his phone but occasionally looking up and making a comment. At one point he caught her eye and gave her a brief nod, which she smiled back, hoping any animosity between the two of them from her earlier comment was gone. She purposefully ignored the whispering between Margrethe and Freydis, taking a note from Ivar's book and acting as if they did not exist. 

 Looking at the Lothbrok family around her, she smiled at the group, still amazed she found herself in their midst and how welcoming most of them were. For almost two years she had been alone in a new country, thinking that was what she wanted. Now though, she wondered if she had just been missing a group that accepted her without question. 

 She peered up at Ivar, heart swelling with gratitude and affection. Without second guessing herself, she kissed his cheek and leaned back against his shoulder. He hummed, placing his own kiss to the top of her head. 

 She wondered if she should just give up fighting this, whatever this was between them. Maybe it would work out. Maybe everything would not fall apart as soon as the truth fell from her lips. Maybe he could accept her past and who she was. 

 Silently, she shook the thoughts away. It was still too soon to tell and if she was honest, she did not want to lose this. 

 Or lose him. 

[thisisthehardestthing]

18+

GOLD

TENDŌ SATORI X FEM!READER

Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab. This is a loving dedication to my favorite fairytale as a child: Rumpelstiltskin. 9k words of smut, I apologise for it’s length, but it has to mirror Tendo’s big dick energy, y’know. wordcount: 9,300 Warnings: yandere-ish, virgin reader, oral (receiving), fingering (receiving, penetrative sex, one derogatory word (whore), cheating (this is just to be safe). Nothing too wild, but it’s hella dirty. Tags: @joyousandverywarlike​​ I love you wifey, thank you for beta-reading before we both crashed. Thanks for the eternal hype @whats-her-quirk​​ you make my heart sing! @pleasantanathema​​ , @present-mel​​ and @linestrider​​ . I am so, so happy to have met you three xx

> MASTERLIST HERE <

GOLD.

You pace the small space of your house, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath your weight. The King summoned your father three days ago, and by your calculations, he should be back any minute with news. Your eyes are downcast, watching your bare feet shuffle across the floor, the tattered hem of your skirt rustling with each movement. You sigh, smoothing down the white of your apron and catching a glimpse of your reflection in the polished tin on the wall.

Huffing, you turn away and close your eyes, not wanting to see the worry laced in them. You are a pauper, your father a poor miller. There must’ve been a terrible reason for his presence to have been so urgently demanded at the court. The land has been in crisis for a while now; businesses have started shutting down, and you fear that it is now your small family’s turn to be thrown out onto the streets.

The doorknob twists and the heavy door swings open as your father steps across the threshold, removing his grey cap, cheeks sallow. His best clothing no longer looks dapper but rather worn in, lackluster.

“Father! Welcome home,” you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck, bringing him in close to smell the lingering scent of a mare and travel. You can tell something is off from the way he half-hugs you, grip weak around your waist. You pull back, that gnawing fear in your gut itching its way up your spine.

“Pray, tell me, what did the King want? Must we shut down the mill?” you ask, helping him to undress, taking his single-breasted coat from his frail shoulders. Was he this small when he left? He chokes back a sob, clutching his chest with one hand to cup your cheek with the other.

“Oh, daughter, my sweet, beautiful daughter,” he begins, his palm sinking to your shoulder, his voice watery as he continues, “that was his original intent, yes.” You feel the weight of his hand pull you beneath the earth, yet there is some hope in your chest as you suck in a sharp breath.

“And what of now?”

“I’m sorry, my darling, I’m sorry,” your father repeats his words, hanging his head before meeting your stare with a shaken one of his own. His lower lip trembles beneath his thick moustache, and you clutch his hand in a vice, it’s ice cold. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it’s madness.”

“Tell me, please.”

“The King asked me if I had anything worth more than the mill to barter with, to absolve us from not affording the tax, and I replied with you, my daughter. You’re worth more than any precious metal to me.” Tears begin to pool in your fathers eyes, and your hands tighten around his, unsure of where the conversation is heading.

“I had told him that you are the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, however, he cares not for beauty but for material possessions, and without thought I exclaimed that you could spin straw into pure gold,” he says. You gasp, releasing his hand as if made of ice, the cold burning you.

“Father!”

“I am to send you to him by tomorrow evening. You’re to leave on the morrow. I will pray that your beauty is enough for our King to be merciful.”

Merciful? The King is anything but. You feel your world begin to crumble. How are you to spin straw into gold? That is a power only the Fae possess, and you tremble at the thought of what will happen once the King realizes your father has lied.

***

The looming gates of the castle are opulent, brass shining bright in the late afternoon, glinting against a peach and lilac sky. You have ridden on your father's mare through the day and can feel your thighs twitch from the exertion. You’re weary from the hot sun, the travel, and your frantic nerves twist knots in your stomach. Soldiers in fine armor stand to attention, and although they do not move, you can see how the men leer at your features, feel the difference in status crawl over your flesh like spiders.

Although you are wrapped in a dark green cloak, you feel bare beneath their stares, as though they can see the beige shift dress. Clutching its opening tight against your body, you keep your eyes straight ahead to avoid contact with any lingering gazes. You dismount, giving your horse a final stroke before you follow servants into the stone castle.

They walk fast, and you struggle to keep up, taken aback by the marble floor. The stained glass windows litter a rainbow of colours against the white stone, dancing across your skin as you walk through it and into a large hall where King Ushijima is waiting for your arrival. He’s handsome, but the scowl on his features twists your intestines, knotting them intricately. As you move closer, however, his eyebrows begin to relax and lift, his eyes widen, only slightly, taking in your appearance. You keep your head bowed in respect, eyes on the tips of your leather slippers peeking out from beneath the cloak.

The servants excuse themselves, and the doors close. All you hear is the beating of your heart and the drumming of the Kings fingers against the armrest of his throne.

“Lift your chin, girl.”

The King’s voice is gruff, commanding, and you find yourself obeying and straightening up tall so that he can see your face. He huffs, standing up and walking down grey stone steps that seem to glitter in the candle light and the last of the sun. The red of his coat is akin to blood, and it sweeps graciously around his tall frame as he stands over you.

“I thought your father was lying when he said his daughter was the fairest maiden in the Kingdom, yet he has proven me wrong. It gives me hope that the other claims he has made are not false and you may not hang in the morrow after all,” he announces, peering down over his nose at your frame. “Follow me.”

“Your Majesty,” you curtsy, and trail behind the King as he leads you through the high ceiling hallways of the castle, up and up and up the stairs, to a wooden door.

He pushes it open, the weight of the door pulling a groan from the iron hinges and steps aside for you to enter. The smell hits you first, earthy and overpowering, and you see towering piles of straw completely covering the floor and walls. In the center sits a spinning wheel in a pale birch. Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel the colour drain from your face. This must be a dream, a cruel, cruel dream.

“You have until the sun rises to transform all this straw into the finest of gold, or I will have to sentence you for trickery.”

With that, the King shuts the door. You hear the lock turn with a resounding clank. The room is shrouded in darkness and you fall to your knees, sobs uprooting in your chest at the predicament you find yourself in. You tug at the ribbon of your cloak, letting it fall open to the floor as you cry, the tears silver in the light of the full moon shining through the window.

You sob for a while, tremors shaking your body as you curl in on yourself. You barely notice the door open an inch, pale fingers curling around the side before a head with hair the shade of pomegranate peers at your sunken figure.

“Oh, ho ho! What have we here~?” a lilting voice shocks you. Your head snaps up to watch a figure bound into the room. He is tall, waif-like, with heavily lidded eyes. Your breath is snatched away as you gaze upon his hair that seems to stand on end, as though wind travels through the air, but the room is still and the window shut. The door was locked, how did he enter?

“Why are you crying, little girl?” The strange man asks, bending over at the hips with his long fingers reaching out to lift your chin up, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, feeling embarrassed for your weakness, and being called young. You are of proper age at three and twenty.

“I have to spin all the straw into gold before the sun rises or I will be hanged. It’s an impossible task and I’m not sure what to do!” you begin to cry again, the tears streaming down your face and slipping down the nimble fingers that hold your jaw. The stranger tuts, tilting his head as he regards your solemn appearance.

“It’s not impossible. What will you give me if I complete this task for you?” There’s a smirk on his lips, and a glint in his garnet eyes that ensnare you to fall into them.

“I have nothing on me to give, I am a pauper,” you whisper, ashamed of your low class. The hand withdraws and you see him stretch up, a hand on his hips as he waves at your body in a grand gesture, fingers seemingly bending backwards.

“False, you have your beauty, and I am a lover of beautiful things~,” the song in his voice then drops an octave as he asks again, his eyes narrowing as if you’re prey, “so what will you give me in return?” You ponder his words, feeling blood flush your cheeks at being complimented by someone so boldly.

“I can only gift you a kiss,” you finally say, pushing up to stand. He eagerly grabs your arms, tugging you close, against his chest. You smell spice and the green of the forest after a heavy rain, transporting you to a far away land, an escape.

“I accept this trade~.” His lips crash against yours, soft pillows melting into your skin. He tastes like molasses, sweet yet dark. The kiss is bruising and his hands wander across your back and down to your waist, pulling you ever closer, letting you fall drunkenly into the taste that is him. He pulls away too soon and you have to bite the protest from escaping your lips.

Humming an odd tune, the stranger sits down at the spinning wheel, picks up a handful of straw and weaves it into a glittering gold thread. It takes only three turns of the wheel before the bobbin is full and he picks up more straw. Like this, he works throughout the night until all the straw has been transformed into precious metal. You’re still drunk from his touch, mouth agape at his elegant movements, and when you next blink, the work has been completed with plenty of time before the sun is to rise.

Wordlessly, he rises from his seat to tower over you, cupping your face delicately between both palms, he plants a lingering kiss to your forehead. He resumes humming, a devious smirk on his mouth as he saunters out of the room and the door closes behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness.

The sun rises, and the King walks through the door with a purpose, expecting for you to have failed at the test. When he sees the glittering gold in the morning light, his eyes darken and a smile splits his face in half as greed consumes him.

“You can live for another day, but do not think you are liberated yet. I will need you to prove it to me once more as this could be the work of illusionment and fade throughout the day,” King Ushijima booms. Turning on his heel, he strides out the room, ordering you to follow.

He leads you into another stone room, this one larger than the previous, filled with even more straw to the top of the ceiling and you start to feel dread claw up your ribs, piercing your skin. There’s no telling what would happen the following morning.

“Turn all this straw into gold by the morrow and I will let you live,” the King states, and curtly exits to leave you alone with the scraps of your freedom.

You spend the entire day in the room, pacing and crying at the thought of failure. When night falls and casts its shadows, you hear the door click open and a familiar tune carry through the air. The handsome stranger from the night before curves around the door, peering at your frightened yet hopeful body. The moon is brighter tonight, almost full, casting a glow around the room and onto your skin.

“Miller’s daughter, you need not cry~,” he sings, making you freeze at the mention of your father’s profession, but the tears continue to pour down your face. He closes the distance between your bodies with two steps of his long legs. His flaming hair wafts around him as he wipes the salted water from your cheeks.

“What will you give me tonight if I spin this straw into gold?”

He notices your brow furrowing and sees how you swallow down your nerves. It makes him want to chuckle at the depravity of his question. You are so innocent, and so desperate for help.

“You are a maiden, are you not? Unwedded, unbedded?” The stranger asks you and he feels how your cheeks warm beneath his palm, letting his smirk twist into a wide smile. You nod, shifting awkwardly under his hold. He drops his cool hands to your shoulders and his skin is the colour of porcelain in the moon’s light. “Then give me your first sexual death in return.”

You step backwards, bewildered, unsure of his advances. You can’t let a man defile you in a way that is meant for your husband, yet here he is, requesting something so perverse. The memory of his lips against yours, the weight of his palm into your waist, flood your mind and you forget to breathe. The straw seems soft enough, your head swims. The King’s warning echoes in a chill up your spine, so you agree to his offer, which is met with a cunning grin.

Either you weigh less than a feather or he’s strong as an ox when he lifts you by the waist and over his shoulder, the round of your ass in the air, which he playfully taps and elicits a squeal from your tear-swollen lips. He hushes you while spreading a pile of hay with his foot.

“You cannot be too noisy, little girl~” he sings, placing you gently on your back, crouching between your ankles, “we wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”

He seems utterly feral as his deft fingers ghost over your calves to thumb the hem of your simple shift dress. The fire in his eyes burns with impatience as he bunches the fabric up over your knees, to the gentle curve of your thighs where the hem of your breeches end, until it's on your waist. He takes a deep breath, you hold yours, and with your heart beating in your ears, the drawstring of your undergarments comes undone.

You realise he’s humming that strange tune when you shimmy out of your modesty, and the song hitches in his throat when your untouched cunt comes into view. It turns into a low moan and then a whistle, throwing the cotton pants behind him.

“Your sheath is as beautiful as your face, cunning as it calls out to me.” There’s no hint of rhythm in his voice, but rather a deep vibrato as lust takes over and he licks his lips. It makes your heart throb, pounding in your chest and in the delicate skin of your sex.

He lets his strong, long fingers knead the flesh of your thighs, smooth and supple under the glow of the moon, inching them upwards. You bite your bottom lip to keep from sounding out, sure in the fact that a guard may pass at any moment. The wine-haired man shuffles forward, pulling apart your legs until you’re spread for him, accessible. You can feel the blush start from your pubic bone and catch fire all along your body to heat the very top of your head. His intense stare summons your need to shut your knees but he lays down to his stomach, wedging his body so that you are at his whim.

“Has anyone ever touched you here before?” he asks, the palms of his hands so large they cover the meat of your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting over your outer labia. Your head falls back in shame— no, anticipation. His movements are precise, teasing, and you shake your head to answer him.

“No one, you are the first.” You say silent thanks to the Lord that your voice is unwavering, breathy, and the strange man’s eyes darken to sangria.

“Lucky me to be the first to taste the sap of your fruit, your ripe nectar~!”

His thumbs glide over the soft casing and into the fold between your inner lips, unfurling them, your clit jutting out as the skin pulls taught. You suck in cool air as the nerves tingle against his warm breath. A second passes, and then three more and you’re almost tricked to relax when you feel a wet muscle press against the opening of your cunt. You shiver as he moans, the tight muscles tingle within you; your spine lifts into a delicate curve in response.

He wastes no time in making you writhe, lips encasing the displayed clit and sucking powerfully. You feel yourself drop into him, hands flying down to grab his hair, fingers burying themselves in his locks. There’s immense pleasure, instantly. Tiny shockwaves travel outwards from his mouth into your feet, and they curl in the straw, bending, snapping, folding them beneath your toes.

Soft whimpers escape, struggling to keep them contained as you bite down on your lip. No sooner than a minute must’ve passed for you to feel the heat building in your chest, the tips of your ears burning and your core clenching.

It feels as though a spring winds itself, tighter and tighter, your walls oscillate and spasm around nothing and his warm tongue laps at your slick and sucks at your clit. It draws alphabets and circles, spinning you into a dizzy haze and when he inserts the tip of one of his long, magical fingers, you lose it, snapping that cord within you.

The moan you’re holding back releases, freeing your soul as your eyes roll to see the stars in your mind, a bright light, la petite mort. Your body goes rigid and you can only see black, think of nothing but your own ecstasy as it rolls through your body, tremors in your skin.

The finger withdraws, the mouth gives a final suck, jolting you, and then a lick to lap up any remaining juices before the nymph-like man in front of you sits back onto his haunches. He leaves you trembling in your orgasm, analytical eyes absorbing the far away look on your face.

“And how did death feel~?” he asks, likening your orgasmic wave to an ascension to heaven. His voice returns to a playful tune, coaxing you back to earth.

“I’ve never known such pleasure,” you admit with tears in your eyes and longing in your voice. There’s a small bout of shame in your chest from greed at wanting another, from him.

“Now, you do, hmm,” he hums, trailing off into his signature beat as he stands and begins work on the straw.

You watch him from the ground, tugging up your undergarments with heavy limbs and smoothing your shift down. With three spins of the wheel, the handful of straw is transformed into a full bobbin of gold. The curve of his spine hunching over the machine ignites a curiosity in your mind. Who is he? What does he want? Why is he helping you? But the focus in his eyes, the cheery tune he hums and light tapping of his feet forbids you from asking him these questions.

He’s a savior of your life, there’s no need to know the reason.

The nymph works until two hours before dawn, at some point you drift off into a light, sex-induced slumber, but wake the moment he stands and stretches his popping spine. He gives you a final look, sucking on the finger that was in you, before skipping out the door, humming. It shuts with a click, the lock back in place. You are to live another day.

***

You hear a cock crow thrice before the door opens and the King stands, almost as broad as the frame. The gold in the room reflects in his amber eyes and in the glint of his adornments on his cloak and crown. You curtsy low until his voice booms.

“Arise, girl. You have kept your word and so I will keep mine, your father is free from his debt.” He rubs his chin, rings catching the rising sun as he muses out loud, “however, with a daughter like you, it’s a wonder there were dues to be paid.”

You curtsy again, saying your thanks, expecting to leave the castle and be back in your village by the following day, but King Ushijima has other plans. The sight of all the gold has swallowed his mind with greed, and the thought of being the richest King in the world is a goal that is so near, so attainable. He peers at your frame, slender from malnourishment, your simple garb, the way you instinctively shrink under the gaze of someone with so much of a higher rank than your own. It’s enticing.

He leads you to a third room in the granary, larger than all the others, the center of his stores. He sees the confusion and worry on your features, waving his hand around the room as he explains.

“Turn all this straw into gold by sunrise tomorrow and I shall take you as my wife.”

The glint in the Kings’ eyes is dangerous. He thinks that even though you are but a miller's daughter, low born, he will never find a richer wife. There’s no room for refusal as he turns to leave, ruby red cloak flurrying behind his tall frame and the door shuts for the third time that week.

You’re dazed, swaying uncontrollably as you fall to your knees, the stone floor bruising. The thought of becoming queen makes you giddy, nauseous, terrified. Although you’ve had help these last two evenings, what’s to say the stranger will appear again? And at what cost will it be? Tears prick your eyes, and you think of the last time you were happy; when you weren’t trapped in an exchange for your life.

The sky melts into orange, geranium, the sun falls below the skyline. Your heart follows, dropping to your stomach as it turns and you dry heave. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and that familiar, welcoming hum returns. The stranger practically hurtles into the granary, fingers like the crest of a wave as curls and swings from the ends of his arms.

“Innocent girl, why are you crying again~?” he sings, stooping low to cup your tear-stricken cheeks. His fingers are cold against flushed skin.

“I am to turn all this straw to gold by sunrise. He will make me queen if I succeed and if not, I cannot bear to consider the consequences!” you wail, peering into the quizzical vermillion eyes of the waif, nymph, or whomever this magical being is. His laughter echoes in the room, deafening your ears with it’s cadence.

“And what will you give me if I complete this task for you?” the question is not a surprise, but you have no answer, shaking your head as your lower lip pinches between your teeth in regret.

“There’s nothing left to give.”

The hands on your cheeks grip harder, fiercer, beneath your jaw to pull you up to standing.

“Nonsense, you are a virgin, are you not? Let me do this for you and in return, give me your maidenhood.”

His request is so shocking, so taboo, that it takes you several seconds to comprehend. Your mouth drops, heart hammering away at an unfamiliar beat in your ears. You tremble. There’s no way you can give him what is meant for your husband. He seems to register that thought as soon as it flies through your mind. His hair crackles like lightning, standing on end, his eyes are dark and stormy, and although he speaks with a song, his words are dangerous, dragging you beneath the waves.

“Surely, your virginity is not worth your life?”

With nothing to barter with but your body, you wonder if there is an alternative. Will the King realise you have been tainted if the marriage is consummated? You hope he does not. The stranger's tongue clicks, his hands fall from your face to leave the skin cold and you feel the desire for their return coursing through your veins.

“Time is wasting, Miller’s Daughter, do we have a deal?” his question flips over in your mind, your fingers wring together as you stare up at the looming figure. There’s impatience in his eyes.

“Yes.”

He claps his hands together gleefully, before interlacing them and stretching overhead. Tonight, he doesn’t collect preemptively, sitting down at the spinning wheel to begin. A hand full of straw is scooped up, the wheel spins thrice and the bobbin fills with glittering gold thread. It clatters to the floor as he begins on the next spool, his work methodical and timely. You watch him for a while, the way his heart shaped face is complacent, as though it was second nature to practise this magic. He hums that strange tune. His skin is milk under the pale glow of the moon, and suddenly, you’re thirsty.

Memories of the previous night play through your mind, clear as though a mirage. The way his eyes surveyed you over your mound, the obscene noises you made when his tongue dipped into your tight hole. It leaves you dizzy, breathless, and the enormous room is all of a sudden too small, too confined. You begin to pace. He never stops his humming. The sound bleeds into your pores, into your veins and pumps through you. It calls you to touch him. It’s wrong. You can’t. The night drags on and you don’t notice his song stops, or that he’s standing behind you.

His hands snake around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so that your head hits the firm muscle beneath his tunic. His nose finds refuge in your hair and with his inhale, your breathing stops.

“Mmm, you smell like fresh snow,” he mumbles into your skin, the meaning behind his words not lost on you: uncorrupted, untainted. It sends shivers down your spine and there’s a crackle in the air as every muscle in your body freezes.

His palms drift lower to rest on the meat of your thighs, digging to inch the fabric up slowly, methodically, until the hem is in his grasp and he pulls it over your head to leave you near-naked in the gold-filled room. Your bloomers are tied in a simple bow that loosens with a tug, the cotton dropping down your legs. You haven’t taken in oxygen yet, your lungs screaming at you to breathe, your knees trembling under his shadow. You gulp air hastily.

It is not that you do not want him, in fact, your body craves the very touch he bestows. You’re frightened, anxious at the implications of the act you’re about to perform. He spins you around, and you find those ruby eyes glinting down at you with ravishment, devouring the apex of your nipples in the full moonlight before tracing the length of your collarbones, the line of your neck and jaw, and feasting on your lips.

The way the lid of his eyes wilt, pupils widen, instinctively ushers you forward and into his waiting kiss. Your lips barely touch before his tongue darts out to swipe yours, tasting you impatiently. He’s waited far longer than he usually would to take what he wants, and he’s almost reached his limit. You’re pliable in his grip, body bending and arching with his palms, pressing your bosom flat to his chest. With rough fingers, he trails them up your spine, inciting a moan from your throat, filling the room with a richer sound than the clinking of golden yarn. He almost falls apart at your whimper when his teeth nip at your lips.

His hands advance up, scorching before touching the base of your skull, fingers wrapping around to grip the soft skin of your neck beneath your ears. His palms are so large, manipulating your body so that your jaw tilts up, away and you lean back onto his forearms. His lips slide from yours, trailing fervent kisses down the column of your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up with his strokes. Your lack of experience is evident when your hands dangle lifeless at your sides, almost touching the floor as he bends you backwards to lay down on the hard stone.

It’s sobering, clammy, welcome against your heated flesh. The stranger continues his descent. You feel gravel pressing into the blades of your shoulders, and you shift unpleasantly. All is forgotten when your right nipple, trembling and painfully erect, is captivated by a silky, moist touch. Your saviour suckles, bites, licks, and the static in your skin begins to crackle at his touch, threatening to spark. Luckily, there’s no more straw to ignite a fire. Your left breast is stimulated by massaging presses, five fingers gripping roughly, but not enough to bruise. No, there will be no trace of his defilement on you tonight, for now.

The other hand trails down between your legs, dipping experimentally into your slick folds, testing the waters. Your wetness had begun to grow when your imagination raged earlier, in truth, you don’t think it disappeared from the night before. You bite back a moan as a finger toys with your clit, the shivers current your spine in small convulsions. There’s a warning that you might come undone with just this, and he feels it too, the pulses of your walls contracting the muscles of your lower abdomen.

As though controlled by the impending orgasm, your body moves. Gripping his wild hair harshly, your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling to see nothing as the explosion rips through your body. He does not stop sucking at your nipple, flicking the bud harshly, a finger tracing lazy circles to your clit as you fall back into your body. His lips move to the side of your breast, planting increasingly desperate kisses into the plump flesh. Your grip does not loosen, it follows the winding of his head as it trails to overwhelm your collarbone, your throat with heavy licks.

You can feel a fresh burst of slick drip from your slit. He catches it knowingly and his face lifts from your skin to peer into your eyes. He brings his coated finger to your parted lips, pressing your nectar onto your tongue. It’s tart, musky, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. You swallow it down into your aching stomach, feeling the flames of your orgasm dwindle. You want more, and he sees it in the hungry way you suck. And oh! How he wishes it was his cock sheathed between your plump lips.

“Isn’t it splendid~?” he sings, pumping his finger in and out of your mouth, your tongue curling around to massage the individual knuckles automatically. There’s a heavy silence in the air, your breast is squeezed. You realise he’s waiting for you to answer, even with your mouth full.

“Yesh,” you fumble with the syllable, warmth spreading to your cheeks and he seems glad with the answer. Removing his finger for his palms to push up a knee, he leaves a gentle kiss on the bruise from your morning fall into despair.

You’re spread for him. He only then realises how clothed he is. He retracts his touch, tugging his tunic over his head to reveal smooth, unblemished skin that reflects the golden thread and garnet hair. He’s a stained glass window of colours, an inferno burning bright. It’s breathtaking. There’s a trail of red hair, enticing you to look lower, beckoning you to discover what is underneath. He doesn’t remove his breeches completely, choosing instead to loosen the leather lacing on the front, the fabric splaying open to unveil phallic gold. It makes you squeal, the implications of what is upcoming ramming into your chest, your body humming with ferocity. An eyebrow quirks up in response, along with a simpering chuckle.

“How amusing,” he quips, wrapping his large hands around an equally thick and long cock.

“Will it fit?” you can’t help but ask. Surely not. His laugh is raspy in response, erupting from deep within him rather than on the tip of his tongue like his usually lilting words.

“It will. Or I will make it.”

There’s something in his tone, in his ambitious stare, that sends your skin into overdrive, shivering and vibrating with anticipation. You’re openly waiting, nerves fissioning and calling out. He answers. Your mouth drops open, gasping in shock. It's so soft. And wet. The head of his cock slides up between your folds, tapping your sensitive bundle of nerves teasingly. He’s teasing you, making your hips shake and twitch. A hand comes to stabilize you, pinching the bone. Your eyes are wide, heartbeat in your ears and cunt and when you lock stares, time freezes as his hips move.

You’ve never seen a wider grin on someone’s face. It’s wild, face splitting, imitating your stretching slit as he slowly inches in. There’s a low whistle, a hum, turning into a chuckle as you feel a pressure unknown begin to build within. It’s choking, your throat swelling and with no inhibitions, you moan. Heaven above, hell below, all listens attentively as the desire to be sinfully fucked explodes in your womb. Your hands scramble to grip onto something, him, slinging them around his neck to pull him low. There’s a grunt, his breath tickling your ears, and a jerk of his hips as he sings,

“How needy, how desperate, How infinitely tight and perfect~”

It melts into your skin, the same rhythm as the hums you’ve grown accustomed to. The wind of his words fan flames, your eyes rolling back to escape the heat. But oh, how it’s inside you, boiling in your veins and you clutch on tighter as his hips rock into yours. Each pulse of your walls around his cock makes him vibrate, giddy as he pulls out an inch, only to sheathe himself in completely once more. He hears your whimpers against his neck, so soft, so delicate, not enough.

He sets into motion, plucking your limbs from around his neck, pinning them above your head as each snap of his hips jostles your being. Your simpering cries turn into moans and before you realise it, you’re screaming out for God and his Angels to witness the rapture happening within these stone walls. The man keeps a hand on your wrists to secure you, the other to your sensitive breasts, pinching and massaging as he grins salaciously.

Those fingers trail down the soft skin of your stomach, watching as it leaves indents against your skin before the flesh plumps back up. He raises goose-pimples, your shivering spine clenching your cunt tighter. Each thrust sends a ricochet through your body, bouncing it up before it falls back in rhythm. His blunt nails trace from bone to bone of your hips, lowering until it runs over the tuft of hair on your mound.

There’s enchantment in his eyes, reeling you in deeper, lulling you into a sense of security. A thumb finds your hooded nerves, grinding down until you see stars on the roof of the granary, past the glowing face of your savior. Has the ceiling fallen away? How magnificent. They reflect in your eyes, in the shine of drool on the corner of your lips, your tongue darting out to lick it up before you suck down.

“More.” The words are a caress to his ears, and the smile on his face splits wider until it swallows you whole. All you know is his touch.

He can feel you slipping beneath the waves, your silken walls oscillating around his girth. He leaves your wrists to grab your right thigh, lifting it so that it rests on his shoulder. With your hands now free, they fly out, pressing into the stone floor like trying to stay afloat as the swell of the ocean begins to ripple within you. It’s torrential, the rain within, and unlike before, when it was just his fingers, the dam explodes.

You feel perfect wrapped around him, dragging him down into the depth of the sea along with your desire. He doesn’t want it to end, no, he can’t let it end. He pistons his hips, the rhythm knocking the air from your lungs as he nears his release. The stars above give way to black, then white, and he sees it in your face as you reach a higher plane of existence, one he knows only he can provide. That fire returns, lighting up your insides, evaporating the spray of the ocean, making room for the foam of his seed to take place and fill you.

His hips slow, the fluids within you stirring around until you’re dizzy. Your thoughts can’t be strung together, mind blank. Satisfaction ripples in every corner of the room: carnal and raw. It can be tasted on the air, like the salt on your skin. He withdraws from your swollen walls, adamantly watching as the efforts of three days trickle out of you. His pounding, soaring heart drops as he thinks of the morning. He’s grown addicted to you, he realises. You’re his. This cunt should be no one else's, he’s ruined you for all men, he’s sure of it. It’s dangerous, this feeling in his chest, the plan hatching in his mind. You will not be able to forget him soon.

The rise and fall of your chest is soft, your body exhausted and blissful as you’re already in a post-orgasmic slumber. He traces your skin with open palms, seeing the way you react, even asleep, to his touch, committing your curves to memory. You’re angelic, surrounded by gold. His gold. He stands, limbs heavy, before snapping up to stare at your splayed out frame from above an upturned nose.

“I’ll see you soon, Queen,” he hums beneath his breath, waving his hands so that you’re dressed again, clean and tidy, prim and proper for the King to inspect the room within an hour. He skips out the door, the bounce in his step a little more pointed, sharper, and the lock clicks back in place.

***

You’re sour, like wine stored in the sun. Once married to the King, he promised you that you never had to work another day in your life, the gold spun from straw enough for twelve lifetimes over. And he was right. Your days are spent doing nothing. You have time to spare, and more often than not, you find your thoughts drifting to a red haired stranger, his face contorted in lust, desperate for the taste of your skin. It has been a year since your encounter with him.

It’s midnight, a waning half-moon. There’s no sleep. It has been avoiding you every night, so you lay awake next to your husband. The rise and fall of his deep breathing does little to lull you, and your body is charged with a sexual fire. You’re unsatisfied; richer than you could’ve ever dreamed, but unsatisfied.

Like many nights now, your fingers creep beneath the silk bed sheets to swirl at your ignored sex. A soft sigh kisses your lips as your nerves tense up at the touch. Before you can stop yourself, you hum a familiar tune that melts into your skin as you stroke to the rhythm. With your eyes closed, you picture that strange man that brought you to a place of such intense pleasure, something you had not felt since that night. The next morning when you woke, you had only the residue of what he left behind between your legs. That was the only proof that it was not a dream.

Like the swell of a wave, it begins to crest. You spread your ankles slightly wider, tapping the King’s legs delicately. He stirs but doesn’t wake. He never does. Your hums come out in ragged breaths as you imagine every thrust, every pinch against your body. And when his hands grip around your neck, you almost break against the shore of your orgasm. The familiar smell of forest wafts around you. Are you so starved that you can conjure up scents and touch?

Your eyes fly open, staring up at twinkling rubies above. A dark grin is spread onto a face you had not seen for a while. A cool hand is against your throat, floating up to palm your lips and halt a squeal that would’ve flown from between them in shock. He raises a finger to his lips in a signal to keep quiet, eyes darting to your husband face up next to you. He hums lowly before he whispers to you.

“What do we have here~?” his voice carries a jovial, teasing tune, releasing your face to peel back the edge of the sheets and reveal your naked form. You cover your breasts with one arm, the other snaking down to press flat against your quivering sex. Your orgasm had been so close before it was snatched away, the thoughts blazing through your mind nothing except immoral.

“Does the King not satisfy you, millers daughter?” he pokes at your thigh, hard fingers trailing up, leaving burning lines that sink into your pores greedily. You swallow down the rising heat in your body, the shame of being seen touching yourself.

“I am queen now,” the husk in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the strange man.

“Ah yes, but you are still your father’s daughter,” the pinch of your hip jolts your being, and you snap your legs shut, the bed bouncing slightly. King Ushijima grunts, rolling to face away from you and the intruder. You let out a shaky breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“What are you doing here?” you ask the man, slowly sitting up right, shielding your lower body once more with the covers. His grin falters at your actions, feeling a tightening in his gut at how you hide what’s his. He swallows down his fury, standing upright. His form blocks out the little light trickling in from the moon outside the window.

“I had come to steal you away from the comfort of your new life,” his eyes flicker to the back of King Ushijima, his voice hushed and low, disdain dripping into his words, “it’s the only proper way to pay for my skills, afterall.”

You swallow down your nerves, feeling a pooling of heat between your legs at the thought of being carried far away, somewhere wild and unknown. It’s an escape you would not be against. Long fingers reach to caress your hair, picking up a strand to twirl it. He inspects the way you shiver under his touch, feeling pride at the reactions he can evoke from your body, but his eyes are hesitant. You may very well not want to leave behind all you have gained in the year.

“Please do.”

That same grin reappears on his lips, splitting his face wide open with giddy pleasure. Oh! How he was not expecting the night to unfurl like this at all. He can feel the desire roll off your skin in waves, and he drinks it in. He can’t give you what you crave so easily, he must play a game with you first.

“Oh ho ho, miller’s daughter, how desperate you are! I can taste it.” he sings, palms boxing either side of your thighs. The touch doesn’t dip the bed, as if he is made of air.

“I will give you three nights to find out my name, or I will leave you here with your eternal longing for more than what he can bequeath,” he propositions, the words dancing around you. How badly do you want to feel such pleasure again? You barely have to think.

“Three nights,” you agree.

With a squeal, he leaps away from your bed, skipping over to the door of the chambers. It’s a miracle the sleeping King besides you remains asleep. Or it’s magic. Head swinging around to looking at you with such intensity, you almost melt as he says one last thing.

“Don’t touch yourself until then.”

***

That night, you have no rest. All the names in the world run through your mind, but how are you to know which one is his? You spend the day compiling a long list, feigning it as names for a future child with the King. ‘You are getting old, I must have an heir within the year.’ It was a curt discussion, not one open for arguing. It is also why every night has been loveless tumbles, only leaving your core soaking with his seed, but nothing grew inside you.

The sun sets below the horizon, the moon rising and you sit next to a warm fire in your chambers. The King is passed out on the bed, fast asleep and unaware of your musings. You can feel how the slick inside you trickles out, unwanted but you resist the urge to wipe it away. It is your wifely duties, after all. Instead, you focus on calming your nerves, trying to untangle the knots in your belly before the strange man visits. He enters, skipping soundless as he hums under his breath.

“So, miller’s daughter, what is my name~?” he flops unceremoniously onto the floor next to you, head coming to rest on your lap. His lidded eyes stare up at you expectantly, a knowing smirk on his face at just how difficult of a challenge he has given you.

You begin to list the names compiled, with each name, he shakes his head, ‘that is not my name,’. As the night drags on, he tantalises you with what you so badly want. The laced hem of your night dress is hiked up around your knees, his unabashed fingers cloying with the soft skin of your thighs, inching closer to your dripping cunt.

“Abel, Balthazar, Oikawa, Hisoka,” you recite, each name getting huskier as he teases you. He barely touches you, instead feeling the remnants of the Kings spill, before pulling back and standing. The movement jostles you.

“The sun is rising, you have two more nights.”

His usual lilting tone is gone, voice hard. He wipes the semen on his finger against the black of your dress, leaving a patch of white, and strides out the door without looking back.

The next day, you send out messengers and knights to scour the town for new names, asking every servant in the castle for theirs. As evening creeps up and your nightly tossle with the King ends, you clean up all that is left over with a dampened washcloth. The stranger peers around the door, taking in the sleeping figure of the King before floating into the room. The static of his gaze as it rakes over your skin catches flame, and the fire beside you seems to dim against the red of his hair.

He leans over you, hands gripping the arms of the wooden chair as he asks you the question. You begin to list the stranger of the names you’ve heard, Martinko, Rumpelstiltskin, Melchior, but each time, he replies that it is not his name. His breath ghosts over your face as you speak, his eyes closing to listen to the whispered cadence of your voice. Instinctively, you widen your legs for his to slot between. He falls to his knees, cheek once more pressed against your thighs, lips mumbling quiet no’s into your hips. With a deep inhale, he smells that you are clean tonight, and it makes his heart soar. His fingers come back to stroke beneath your dress, a deep forest green. You don’t stop saying names.

“This task is impossible,” you whisper out of breath. He had two fingers up to his knuckle inside you, pumping lazily as you recite. Like many times throughout the night, he stops his movements at the brink of your collapse, pulling back to suck at your nectar. He licks his fingers off fluidly, trapping your gaze in a trance.

“You have one more night, or you remain unsatiated,” his grin splinters at your will, a groan tearing from your lips in the quiet room. The crackle of the fire had stopped hours ago. The King twists on the bed, mumbling under his breath at the noise.

“Hush, miller’s daughter, don’t be so desperate.” the man warns, standing and skipping over to the door, humming as he shuts it behind him.

On the third day, you ache for sexual release. The opulent castle walls seem too small for you, and so you wander around the forest just outside the walls. With the sun shining overhead as you stroll, it warms your skin to the degree of the never ending heat between your legs. The earth is soft, and with each step, you seem to fall in deeper to the ground, wanting it to swallow you until you’re no longer charged and lusting.

You are seconds away from turning back when you hear a familiar hum, except this time, there are words. You hide behind a tree, peering out at a small clearing in the woods. Red hair dances like the fire in front of him. The stranger moves around the fire in a trance, celebrating something unknown. You strain to listen in on the words he sings.

"Today I dance, tomorrow I sow, In the evening, I will steal her away from home. And oh! I am glad that she does not know, That the name I am is Satori Tendō!”

That night, you can barely contain your gaiety. You even enjoy the love-making your under enthusiastic partner pounds you with. You take in his heavy touches, the way it doesn’t bleed into your skin, but rolls off like oil with water. It’s your last night with him after all. He’s deep asleep, you had slipped something into the drink he has after the ritual.

You’re waiting for Tendō to enter the room, humming his tune under your breath as you pour wine into your chalice. The nightdress you’ve worn is a red, like the seed of a pomegranate or the sky when the sun sets, the colour of his hair. Sturdy arms wrap against your waist to pull you back against a muscled chest. He laughs into your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Tell me, Queen,” he spits the name out as though it was too bitter for his taste, “what is my name?”

Feigning ignorance, you list names for the final time. ‘Jack, John, Harry’, hands stroke up the back of your legs, dragging the linen up until your bare ass is on display and pressing against a growing bulge behind you.

“That is not my naaame~” he sings, kissing the side of your neck. Cupping your breast with one hand, the other snakes between your thighs to swirl around at the mess he coaxes from you. You can’t hold in the whimpers, tearing up at the touch given to you after almost a year of loveless sex.

He had introduced life beyond living in those three days, and it was so close now, you can feel it between your fingers. His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. It’s not the right time. He folds you forward, your chest resting on the table top, your head turned to see your sleeping husband, so blissfully unaware of the presence in the room. Tendō pulls at the strings of his pants, letting the leather slip down his toned thighs, lining up the head of his cock with your pulsing core.

“Daichi, Bokuto, Ryunosuke,” you mumble out, shifting back against him to feel the silken hardness poke at your folds.

“No, that’s not my name, miller’s daughter,” and he presses in. With all the strength you can muster to not scream out, your knuckles grip the table's edge at feeling so stretched out.

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, the crude word not suitable to pass from a lady’s lips. It sparks a chuckle from the man thrusting into you. He inches in, knees going weak at feeling your walls wrap so deliciously around him once again.

“What’s my name?” he asks, the snap of his hips with each word. Your body jostles against the table top. You moan, clenching around his thick dick.

“Tendō.”

He freezes, twitches inside you, and you hold your breath in anticipation. A large hand wraps around your hair, pulling it up so that your back curves, tightening the space that clamps down on him between your legs.

“Who told you?” the question seeps into your skin, chilling your bones with their weight. He begins to pound into you again, pace picking up considerably to attempt to rouse your husband from his sleep. The sleeping aid you gave him is strong, but you still worry he would see you, not that it would matter after tonight.

“No one,” you moan, pushing up against the wooden table to try and lessen the tug on your scalp.

“Lies!” he roars, fury fueling his thrusts. Although he is getting what he ultimately wants, he has lost the game of cat and mouse. You have won. Oh, how his blood boils. A hand snakes around your throat, squeezing as he fucks into you with ferocity. You cry out, whimpering his name over and over again. Each time it leaves your lips, he feels his anger dim, and instead begins to revel in how the syllables tease his ears, echoing in the room.

“Who told you, whore?” he asks yet again, not expecting you to react to the rude name. It’s all it takes to fall off the cliff within you after three days of bringing you near the edge. Your skin is on fire, being called a ‘whore’ bristles your nerves, scratches you, and you need more, another orgasm, another death to ascend higher.

“No one, I swear,” you retaliate by bouncing back against each thrust with as much vigour as what he pours into you. “I saw you- uh, in the woods, singing.”

He slows, stills, and leans to kiss at the moist skin of your exposed shoulder. With a smile, he manages to twist you around, unsheathing for a second, only to reenter when you’re seated on the table. Legs spread around his waist, you cross your ankles behind his back to draw him closer.

“A promise is a promise, Tendō,” you whisper, arms locking around his neck to pull him close to your lips. “Take me away from here.”

You close your eyes in the kiss, tasting sweet molasses, smelling rain and dirt, and when you open them, you’re not in the castle anymore. Trees reach up past where you can see, multicoloured stars shine in the night sky. You laugh, the sound bubbling from your chest, and Tendō grins, dipping to litter kisses along your neck. His hips begin to move, your fingers curling into his hair as you moan louder than ever before.

You are free.

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

fuck, this is long. sorry! I hope you enjoyed it.

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[calpops]

barely breathing | c.h.

You and Calum cope with your daughter getting sick and all of the memories it brings back. 

1.5k words

dates with cal masterlist | my masterlist

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

~~~

White walls and uncomfortable plastic chairs invade Calum’s world once more. The sterile smell in the air burns deep and the beep of machines brings him back to six months ago, back to a time before your baby could be in his arms, back to when every breath was a fight for her life. Now his arms are empty once again and worry spirals around him in hazy vision and short breaths.

He knows you’re beside him but even that knowledge isn’t enough to pull him from his panic as white coats rush through the halls. His eyes shut, burning and pushing back tears, and all he can see is Mila smiling up at him from her incubator for the first time, all he can hear is her first giggle at the brush of his finger on her nose. All he wants is to hear her first word and see her first steps.

Calum clutches at the arm of the chair instead of your hand, knowing the force is too much and that the slight bite of pain from white knuckles helps remind him to stay alert. He hears you sigh, maybe yawn, he’s not even sure through the disconnect he still feels. It reminds him of the broken breath you took over the phone when you called earlier in the day. Two words had gotten him to his feet from his lax sitting position on Ashton’s couch. His songwriting journal had fallen to the floor. Mila’s sick. His heart had pounded at the explanation and the next two words you barely managed to utter. Come home. He was out the door before either of you could take another breath.

“She’s gonna be okay.”

Calum hears your voice and he rationalizes with your words and finally knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of something that feels so far out of reach. He doesn’t know how he convinced you she would be okay when she laid in an incubator, or even how he convinced himself, he doesn’t know why he can’t seem to grapple with that sentiment when her prognosis is less dire. All he knows is numbness. He’s numb to the truth that you speak, numb to the bright lights flashing before him and numb in his fingers and chest and just barely feels your hand settle on his forearm.

“Love, look at me.”

He manages to look up and find concern in your gaze. It’s the same gaze you gave him when he came rushing through the door that afternoon to see Mila in your arms and hear the panic in your voice. She’s barely breathing. Three words and little gasps and wheezes had rushed you both to the hospital with glass walls of worry separating you. It’s the first time he’s looked in your eyes since.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you tell him, voice soft and trying to be soothing. Calum nods past a shallow breath and feels his shoulders tighten as they shroud in on himself. “You need to breathe. In… and out.”

Your hand runs up and down his arm with each instruction of in and out and within a few minutes he feels again. He feels your fingertips and the honesty in your words and the love in your eyes. The numbness shatters on the tiled floor below when the doctor’s voice cuts through.

“Hoods?” he asks and lets his gaze skirt to both of you when you immediately stand, Calum thankful that you haven’t dropped your hold on his arm. He’s sure it’s the only thing keeping him steady. “You can come see Mila now.”

The walk down the hallway is silent for you and Calum. Harsh lights pool down from above and Calum blinks back the brightness and the burning in his eyes as you both come upon an all too familiar door. You’re not in the same unit as when Mila was born, the NICU two floors above but the sentiment of a hospital room and your child being inside is eerily similar and heartbreaking.

“We have her using a nebulizer,” the doctor says and Calum realizes he’s been talking the entire time; filling the two of you in on how she’s doing. He steels himself and recollects some words. Pneumonia. Asthma. Medicine. Okay. When the door opens and Calum’s eyes land on Mila he feels his breath catch in the back of his throat.

“Can she come home tonight?” Calum hears you ask and he knows he should pay attention, it’s one of the only questions that really matter, but he’s too transfixed on images at present that remind him of the past.

Mila lays still and quiet, the nebulizer giving her medicine to help her heal. But all Calum can see is his newborn daughter taking in oxygen through tubes, the glare of plexiglass form the incubator and an entire life flashing before his eyes. His hand clutches yours as he forces out another deep breath. He can feel himself swaying and zoning in and out on the conversation you hold with the doctor. He’s glad to have you by his side, takes comfort in the soothing motion of your thumb running across the back of his hand. He remembers coaxing you to Mila’s side when she was just days old, encouraging you to reach into the incubator to hold her hand. This time it’s you who gives Calum a push.

With small steps and whispered words he follows your lead to Mila’s side. As soon as he can see her eyes staring up at him he breaks; the glass wall that had been up comes shattering down as he sinks into the chair at her side. He whispers to her and once he starts he can’t stop. He wants her to know that he’s there; a piece of guilt from being away for the day weighing on him unknowingly.

“Cal,” you cut in amongst his mindless blather of I’m here now. He turns to look at you, breath still coming with thought but feels himself ease when your eyes are gentle. “Don’t say that.”

With newfound curiosity Calum looks at you with questions in his eyes. He’s not sure what he’s not supposed to say, words tumbling out without much thought other than of Mila. He’s not sure what not to say or why he shouldn’t say it. You sit by his side, take his hand again and glance at Mila, eyes glossy but strong.

“Don’t blame yourself for not being there,” you finally explain. “It’s not your fault she’s sick. You being there this morning wouldn’t have changed anything. We’d still be here right now.”

Calum nods, rolls his shoulders back and bites his lip through the urge of a sob trying to break through. He understands what you mean and while a part of him can grapple with it and believe it there’s still a hairline fracture of doubt that threatens to break him again. He knows you can see it and appreciates you continuing to talk him away from the shards of broken glass.

“She was fine this morning. Smiling and giggling. It just happened, Cal. One second she was fine and the next she was coughing. You came rushing back. You’re always there for her. Never doubt that.”

A deep breath finally escapes Calum and belief floods him in its place. Your reassurance calms the stormy thoughts in his mind. The reminder of Mila’s smile and giggles replaces images of an incubator and fights for life. His grip on your hand tightens and he motions for you to come closer; you abandon your own chair and settle into his lap and arms. Calum decides this is okay, that the only way it will be better is once you’re all back at home, sitting in the rocker of Mila’s nursery with both of you in his arms.

“Did he say she can go home tonight?” Calum asks, finally finding his voice though it does shake with the effort. “I wasn’t listening.”

Your laughter makes the drab hospital room a little lighter. The kick of Mila’s foot in recognition of the noise makes Calum’s heart and worries a little less heavy.

“Yes. They’re going to finish her dose of medicine and then send us home with everything we need to take care of her.”

“Good. That’s good,” Calum mumbles and buries his face against your shoulder. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off of Mila but he needs a moment to remind himself that you’re there too.

Calum finds himself able to breathe and listen the next time the doctor comes in, finds that his need to be with Mila ends with him holding her from the hospital and sitting with her in the car as you head home. His only want, to sit in the rocker and have you both, comes to light as the moon shines through sheer curtains.

“I’m taking tomorrow off,” Calum says as the sway of the rocking chair guides Mila into sleep, her comfort in your arms insurmountable. “We were supposed to go to the studio but she’s more important.”

You can’t argue with that. Nor would you ever want to.

~~~

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[demoneyesanddamagedsouls]

Sparring Partners

Chapter 1: Office Politics

A/N: Oh my goodness hi! This is chapter one of quite a few of my first ever fanfic starring my absolute favourite Pedro Pascal’s Agent Whiskey. I feel like I haven’t seen enough fics with him in it and I thought I better write one myself. Feedback and comments are so welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters just let me know! xxx

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F! Reader

I have also just created a playlist for ya’ll to listen to while reading. I hope it gets you even more invested! ✨COCKY COWBOY PLAYLIST✨

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are long time rivals. As Statesman agents you both have been put up for the same promotion and this mission is your final chance to prove yourself. Have you got what it takes?

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Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Slight Language

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CHAPTER 1: Office Politics

You and Tequila circle each other in the ring, moving expertly as the new recruits looked on, watching your every move. Darting forward you catch him with a sharp jab under the ribs, startling him. He makes his move aiming a strong blow at your jaw, but you duck away with seconds to spare moving just out of his range. Tequila turns around and smiles at you gesturing with his hand for you to come closer. You lunge at him aiming another devastating blow to his stomach, but he knows your play. Sidestepping your punch, he grabs hold of your arm throwing you to the ground and completely winding you. Your eyes go fuzzy as you try to regain your strength. You have to think on your feet. As he’s smiling at the crowd of recruits all of them cheering him on, a grin spreads across your face.

Idiot.

Lightening quick you lift your torso and wrap your legs around Tequila’s shoulder and chest, pulling him to the ground with such momentum it takes all the breath out of his lungs and he wheezes. You quickly throw your legs over his stomach, straddling him and holding him down.

“Alright, alright Vodka! I yield!” He laughs as he realises, he’s been defeated. Again.

You lift off him and help him to his feet. “That’s why you never celebrate before you know you’ve won.” You say addressing the recruits. You heard some snickers from the back, no doubt at Tequila’s expense at his quite sudden defeat.

“Now after Tequila catches his breath…” You chuckle, “we’ll start running through some of the moves we just demonstrated. Its important to tackle different opponents to learn how…” You trail off as Champ enters the training facility.

“I see you are all enjoying your training” Says Champ, his voice a booming presence in the large room, “a little more than I expected.” He smiles over at you and Tequila, “Unfortunately I need to steal Vodka away from you for a short while.”

He nods over at Tequila. Tequila responds in kind, then turns to the recruits. “Alright everyone let’s split off into pairs and practice some of those moves.” You hear him say as you walk out of the room.

You walk down the hallway next to Champ towards the elevator. Stepping in Champ leans forward and pushes the top button. We were heading for the main conference room. As the elevator clunks to life, you slowly leave the basement level and emerge into the bright glow of the afternoon sun. The glass capsule of the elevator allowing a full view across the Statesman distillery, a place you had come to call your home after 8 amazing years of working as an agent. You reminisce as you look out across the large estate, thinking about how you first got here. You were a young runaway, freshly 18, out of luck and out of money. To make ends meet you had become a great pool hustler… and an excellent thief. You were light fingered, quick and if you ever got caught you knew how to defend yourself. However, one day you picked the wrong pocket.

***

Seeing an easy score as you passed through the local fete, an older gentleman decked out in a dashing suit with a matching black Stetson, his wallet practically hanging out of his jacket pocket. You purposefully shoulder past him knocking him lightly, using the opportunity to sneak your hand into his jacket, relieving him of his wallet. Apologising quickly, you continue along, mindful to keep your head down so as not to be spotted later when the gentleman finally realised what had happened. As you rounded the corner to move away from the large crowd you stumbled headfirst into a tall foreboding man in a white Stetson. What is it with the cowboy look in these parts? You thought to yourself.

Attempting to move past him you suddenly feel the grip of a hand on your shoulder. “Now hold on there little one. Just what do you think your doin’?” The stranger drawled as he kept a firm hold on you.

“Nothing,” you said keeping your eyes trained on him as you continued, “Just lookin’ for my parents is all.”

“And what’s that wallet in your hand got to do with finding your parents?” He questions, a small knowing smirk creeping across his face.

You feel panic start to rise through your chest as you realise you might not be able to get out of this, you’re boxed in and the man currently holding you is not someone you think you can beat in hand-to-hand combat. You needed to think on your feet. Standing next to him, resting all your weight on your feet you quickly sweep your right leg forward and then straight backwards, the full force of your body colliding into the back of his knees causing him to crumple onto the floor, releasing his grip on you. He reaches for your ankles, but you see his movements just in time to tumble out of the way. Back on your feet you dash down the path behind the fete tents in a desperate attempt to flee.

You smiled to yourself as you wove your way along, hidden from the hustle and bustle of the fete. You got away you thought as you turned around, only to see the stranger once more. Your face distorting in disbelief and then suddenly everything went black.

Never celebrate before you know you’ve won…

…

You woke to find yourself sat in a soft leather chair in an office lined with rich mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with books. Swivelling around you find a large window looking out onto a spectacular evening sky, the sun just setting, lighting up the clouds with beautiful orange and purple hues. Shit. How long have I been out? What the fuck happened? You swivel round again to find the door to the office, realising you can hear voices behind it.

“Why on earth did you bring her back here Tequila?”

“I thought she’d make a fine recruit.” That voice you recognised, the stranger from the fete. “She managed to take me down swiftly with no training at all. Not to mention she managed to elude your notice when she grabbed your wallet straight out of your jacket.” You heard a chuckle. So, the other voice must be the gentleman you stole from.

“Well, I’m inclined to agree with you Tequila.” A third voice chimed in, “We’re always on the lookout for new talent and she definitely has potential.”

What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

The three gentlemen entered the office to find you staring directly at them, your fight or flight response kicking in. The panicked look on your face evident as your muscles tensed up.

“Woah, woah, there sweetheart, we’re not here to hurt you.” The older gentleman spoke, “In fact we’re here to offer you a job.” He smiles at you giving you a long hard look up and down, sizing you up.

You look back at the stranger who you now understood was named Tequila, the one who obviously brought you here. “There are better ways of doing that other than knocking a person out cold.” You shoot directly at him with a distasteful glare.

A loud chuckle erupted from the older man at your response. “That’s certainly true young lady.” Turning to address Tequila and the other man in the room, “You’re right she definitely has some fight in her.”

“Am I being held against my will? Or am I allowed to leave?” You shoot back, confusion still evident in your voice.

“Feel free to be on your way.” Grunted the man under the black Stetson, a bruised ego evidently still weighing on him. You smiled at the thought.

“You’re certainly able to leave if that’s what you’d like,” Said the older man giving him a hard stare, “No one will force you to stay. But I hope you’ll hear us out on that job offer I spoke of. I think its high time we introduced ourselves gentlemen. My names Champ, this is Agent Tequila,” Tequila dips his hat to you in response, “and this is Agent Whiskey.”

“Agent?” You responded, surprise registering on your face.

“Yes, Agent. This is Statesman, a secret independent intelligence agency.” Your mouth opens in shock as you listen to Champs explanation. “You’re currently sitting in my office in our Head Quarters in the fine state of Kentucky. And it seems that you may have what it takes to become an agent here if you’d be interested. It’ll take a lot of training and hard work but it’s a very rewarding path to take in life.” You brain running over everything Champ was saying at a 100 miles per hour. “So… what do you think? Are you interested in my offer?”

Purpose, that is what you had been searching for your whole life. Although, it seemed it had found you instead. “Absolutely.” You smiled, what had you got to lose?

***

“We’ve got a new op we need you on.” Champ says as you walk towards the conference room snapping you out of your thoughts. “We’ll run through the specifics when we get there. Now just remember that teamwork is vital here in Statesman and don’t you forget that…” You give Champ a quizzical look. As you open the doors you realise why, finding yourself face to face with the one man in Statesman who knew just how to get under your skin. Agent Whiskey. “Hey there sugar.”

Your confusion quickly changes to distaste as you stare up at the agent, a forced smile plastered across his lips under his black Stetson. His deep brown eyes smouldered with the same distaste you felt. Ever since your fateful first meeting he had disliked you, making sure to be nuisance to you whenever he was able. It’s not like you made it any better, you constantly made an effort to show him up whenever you were competing. Always reminding him of that day you first met especially in front of the other agents, a conversation which never failed to make Whiskey angry, a deep flush making its way across his cheeks, caused by anger or embarrassment you never knew. All you knew was that you loved to tease him and best him whenever you could. You both were professional when you needed to be, always putting the mission first, but your rivalry was always there.

“Hey there Whiskey,” You said through gritted teeth. “So… Champ what is this op that requires Whiskey and I’s expertise?” Directing your question to Champ with a quizzical brow, curious as to what type of mission would require the two of you specifically.

“Well, it seems we have a potential problem right here in our own backyard.” Champ starts as he gestures for the two of you to sit down. As the three of you take your seats, Champ at the head of the table, Whiskey and you across the table from each other, he continues. “We noticed that a few private hospitals and medical centres in the area have been bought up by a company that we had been keeping tabs on called CleanPlanet. They have been managing to stay out of the news, but the company has recently been responsible for some very dangerous drug trials which resulted in a large number of casualties.” He lets out an audibly frustrated sigh. “They have been paying people off and continuing to conduct these trials, and now they may just have the facilities to conduct them on a larger scale. I need the two of you to figure out what is going on, what they are testing at these facilities and what they are trying to achieve. You both have your own strengths that you bring to the table and I need both of you working different angles to get to the bottom of this mess.”

Champ turns to Whiskey, “I need you to infiltrate the higher ups of the company, find out who is running this operation and what they’re trying to accomplish. And Vodka,” He turns to you, “I need you to get a look into the hospitals, find out exactly what trials they’re running and what is happening to the patients of these tests. Make sure you both keep each other up to date on whats happening on your end so you both have all the information you need. Report back to me with any solid leads you have so we can figure out our next move. I need you both to work together on this one alright. So, remember to keep it civil.”

“Yes Champ.” You both say in unison.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles, rolling his eyes. “I also need to tell you that I’ll be keeping a close eye on the both of you. I have thought long and hard about this and I plan on stepping down as the head of this organisation.” Shock registers on Whiskey’s and yours faces but Champ continues talking as if it was just another statement. “I’ve been working here and running this operation for most of my life and I’m gettin’ tired. I want to settle down with the misses on a nice ranch of my own to enjoy the time I have left with her, my kids, and my grandkids. Every minute of this job has been thrilling but I want to start stepping back and making time for my family. After much deliberation I believe one of the two of you would be the best fit for this position. So, consider this mission a final show of skills and strengths before I make my decision on who will be my replacement.”

Unable to wipe the surprise off your face you stutter, “T-Thank you for this opportunity Champ. Its an honour to be considered for this position… I won’t let you down.”

“Yes, thank you Champ it’s a real honour.” Whiskey says with a similar expression to yours evident on his face. For once he doesn’t exude the cocky energy he usually has.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long, as he turns to face you once more, a smirk forming on his lips. “Well then Vodka, it seems we have a challenge on our hands… May the best agent win.” You look deep into his eyes, a wicked glint behind them, his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

What an exciting challenge. I look forward to showing him who’s the boss. You think to yourself, an equally cheeky smile spreading across your face.

“Alright Whiskey… Let the games begin.”

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

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

Savior

AO3 Link

Pairing: Commander Thorn x Fem OC (Mayakel Renspou)

Summary: Maya's first night on the job as a cleaner in the Senate building resulted in her being on the receiving end of a Senator's wrath. Thankfully a kind Commander on patrol arrives to defuse the situation.

Warnings: 12+, none really, bit of aggressive language at one point.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Notes: This is the start of a little short series involving my OC Maya and her interactions with the Corrie Guard over the years. As always, feedback is really appreciated, along with reblogs! Thanks so much for taking the time to read.

The air in the grand senate corridors was cool this evening. A regal smell lingering from those who’d graced said hallways earlier that day. The only light source being the flares of bright colours that shone from the city beyond the window, dancing an array of patterns onto the golden decor.

Smooth jazz flowed through Maya’s headphones, keeping her in her own world and breaking the otherwise eery silence of the political capital. Her feet shuffled slightly to the beat as she continued mopping, drawing patterns with the wash solvent as she went.

It was her first night on the job as a junior cleaner for the Senate’s contracted company. She still hadn’t quite got over the shock of finally managing to get herself a good, honest job. This was it, the steppingstone that would help her haul her way out slowly up from the lower levels of Coruscant where she currently resided. It’d taken a lot of dodgy jobs and keeping her head down while continuing to study for qualification after qualification, hoping that one day she’d find that golden opportunity. The one which would lift her to the upper levels where the air was fresher and the people nicer. Well, that’s what she’d heard anyway. Now finally, she was on the way up, the hard work paying off. The job paid well, it was an honest day’s work and, according to her Pantoran colleague, apparently the Senate building had some of the juiciest gossip around. It seemed the Senators forgot that other beings existed in these hallways, leaving plenty of criminalising evidence just hanging in the stuffy air.

Maya chuckled to herself at the thought, still not quite believing it. These Senators were fancy folk who were taught word play and etiquette from birth, surely they had a bit more about themselves to be able to keep their private lives private.

She was pulled from her thoughts once realising that she’d finished her mopping in the corridor. Taking a moment to admire her handiwork with a small smile, she grabbed her bucket and made her way back to the supply cupboard to get the wax needed to make the floor sparkle.

The dirty water in the wash bucket swished and splashed as she lugged it back to her station, still singing away in her head to the music that played from the small datapad, tucked into the leg of her grey, utility trousers.

Still in her own world, she wrenched the door of the cupboard open. The view she was met with however caused her to drop the dirty bucket in shock, spilling its contents all over the floor she’d just spent the last hour cleaning.

Maya’s mind wasn’t focused on the mess though and instead she locked gazes with Senator Liss and one of the core world senatorial aides, who held each other in a rather compromising position, both in various stages of undress. Her brain had shut down from the sheer shock and awkwardness of the situation, leaving her mouth hung open with no words coming out.

The Senator apparently wasn’t a fan of her gawking. He made that abundantly clear once he clocked the cleaning uniform and proceeded to start screaming obscenities at her for invading his privacy. I mean you were in MY cleaning closet, pal.

The onslaught was ruthless as the large man emerged from the small space, backing Maya up until she was stuck between the man’s awful words, his even worse breath, and the ornate corridor wall. “Who do you think you are, you sick, disgusting, lower-level scum.”

“I’m so, so sorry sir, I had no idea. Please forgive me.” She replied, throwing all her effort into backing down and taking the verbal abuse from the renowned Senator.

“I swear they hire dumber staff each and every time. What of it now filth, you going to run to the holonews?” He bellowed, shattering the silence that had descended on the Senate building that evening.

“Sir, please. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again. I saw nothing I swear.” She pleaded, Kriff she really couldn’t lose this job.

“When I’m through with you there won’t be a planet in the entire galaxy that will hire you, you stupid waste of-”

“That’s enough, Senator.” A modulated voice cut through the tension, pulling the Senator’s wrath away from Maya for a few moments. The man whirled around to stare down the Clone Trooper, who was ironically far taller than him, forcing the Senator to drag his eyes upwards until they were level with the soldier’s dark visor.

The Trooper’s armour was different from the others that usually patrolled the building, he wore white armour with red accents on the upper chest and shins. His helmet was red in the face, adorned with a grey visor. Above the visor two wings were visible either side, their red colour making the images pop against the white plastoid. It was all finished off with a grey Kama which fell to his knees in length, the red piping around the edges pulling the whole ensemble together. He looked like authority personified. Like he could command the attention of any room, as he was currently doing.

“And what of it Clone? Move on, this doesn’t concern you.” He spat out the name like it was bitter in his mouth before turning back to face Maya. However, the Clone Trooper made no effort to leave.

“It’s Commander, sir.” The red and white soldier stated boldly, making her eyes widen at his confidence as he closed in on the Senator. “And my duty is to protect all occupants of the Senate building, including our cleaning staff, and I don’t think being screamed at by a Senator for doing her job was in her contract, do you?” He was standing before the Senator now, his armour-clad form towering over the small man.

“What’s your number Clone, and who is your superior officer?”

“It’s CC-5870 and that would be Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, Senator.” the trooper deadpanned back, nearly making her chuckle. Eventually the Senator backed down, knowing that going to the Chancellor about one Clone was a waste of time.

Grumbling, the large man grabbed his remaining clothes from the floor of the closet and dragged the young senatorial aide behind him, trudging away in embarrassment. Just before the pair departed, the Senator span back round on them both “A word about this to anyone and I’ll end the both of you.” While the power of this Senator was quite strong, neither Maya nor the Commander could quite take his threat seriously as he stood there in his underwear, having lost this battle.

“Of course, Senator. Have a nice evening.” The trooper replied, a clear smirk in his voice, making the man scoff before finally leaving the pair in peace. Maya took a deep breath and wiped away the spittle that had landed on her face from the Senator’s outburst. The Commander looked over to her, his helmet hiding whatever expression his face held. “Are you okay? I know the Liss can be a bit rough.” His voice had softened tremendously. The authoritative tone replaced with a friendly gentleness.

“Uh, thank you, Commander sir. I’m fine.” She replied with a slight smile “I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t know they were in there. I would never want to cause any trouble I-” she started blabbing, panic settling over her mind as the prospect that she could very much loose this job became real. She didn’t know much about armies or their hierarchy, but she knew Commander was a high position and she wanted to make sure he knew it was an accident.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. He’s all bark and no bite, I guarantee he would’ve forgotten your face by the time he’s finished his little affair.” The nice Commander reassured, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Commander. I hope you’re right.”

“You can call me Thorn.” He replied.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Thorn. Given the circumstances.” Maya’s small attempt at humour made him chuckle and the sound brought another smile to her lips. Considering the short amount of time she’d spent with this trooper, he seemed to be an expert and making her lips turn upwards.

“You too, Mayakel” She was about to question how he knew her name until she’d clocked the massive name tag attached to her bland, grey uniform.

“Ah, my friends call me Maya.”

“Oh, are we friends now?” Thorn teased. Maya’s eyes widened once again as she started stuttering before the Commander chuckled and assured her, he was only messing with her. “I’d like to be friends.” He left the statement out there, her cheeks beginning to ache as she smiled yet again at the soldier.

“Well, I best get back to work and clean up the mess I made.” She gestured to the dirty pool of water that sat on top of the marble flooring. “Quite the first day on the job.”

“You’re doing better than most.” He said, his tone light. “Well, I hope you don’t get fired.” He raised his hands and actually proceeded to shoot finger guns at her. Finger guns. And this guy was a Commander?

“Gee, thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she chuckled at his childish antics.

“See you around.”

Maya felt her cheeks burn as she smiled, having turned her back to the kind Commander who continued his patrol. Despite the evening’s events, should she return back to work the next day, Maya felt confident that she’d at least have one ally in the Senate Building from now on.

Back to Masterlist

[starlightsearches]

His Pilot Ch. 6 (SFW)

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

NSFW Version of the chapter can be found here.

Warnings: Language, angst.

The fire paints with dim, golden streaks on the ceiling above your bed—not bright enough to keep you awake, if you could manage to close your eyes.

You should be tired, exhausted. You should have fallen into the deepest sleep of your life before you even managed to crawl between the sheets. But you can’t. And you’re not.

Rest stays elusive, no matter how hard you try. After everything that’s happened, every promise and commitment you made in the blazing heat of the moment, it would be wise to take this time alone to think about what’s been done, and what cannot be undone.

And instead you're thinking about how it would feel to have Armitage's lips against your neck.

You huff at yourself, turning once again, the sheets in a tangle around your legs from your restless movements.

The knock at the door is so quiet, you’re sure you’ve imagined it. You want him to be there, but finding the hallway empty would be unbearable. The sound comes again, slightly louder, and you close your eyes, offer your hopes to the universe, and slip from between the sheets.

It takes effort to keep from running—even on your sore and tired legs—your footsteps marking an even beat against the floor, not loud enough to drown out the rapid strike of your heartbeat as your fingers curl around the cool metal of the door handle.

It could be Day, checking to make sure that you’re alright. Or Alida with fresh clothes for tomorrow or more wood for the fireplace.

The door opens; all your fears go quiet. It’s him.

“I . . .” Armitage hesitates, eyes gone wide when he sees you, shoulders positioned away from the door, like he's ready to run, “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought . . .”

Thank gods. You manage to keep your excitement to yourself, stepping out of the way so that he can enter.

The fire burns low in the hearth, casting more shadows than light at this point, bringing the walls in closer and shrinking the room, small enough that you can’t help but stand close to him.

He’s still in his clothes from before, except for the jacket—the fabric stiff with rain. His hair has lost any of the gel he had put in it that morning, and it falls across his forehead in soft waves—longer than you expected it to be—before he brushes it back with one ungloved hand.

“I— I didn’t mean to bother you,” he says, his throat jumping slightly when he swallows, eyes on the mess of sheets and blankets on your bed. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back when you rest your hand on his arm, the skin of his knuckles turning white.

“You’re not bothering me, I couldn’t sleep either.”

His eyebrows raise, the breath he was holding brushing your skin when he finally releases it. “Really?”

“Yes." You continue to shrink the space between you, looking up at him through your lashes.

He frowns, confused. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He can't not know what you're waiting for at this point, standing so close you can feel the heat from his skin through his clothes, staring pointedly at his lips.

He holds your hand to his face, and you think you've finally gotten through to him, letting your eyes flutter closed, but he doesn't come any closer, and when you meet his eyes again, they're full of pain.

“I’m— I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for all of this. I’ve ruined—”

You kiss him with an exasperated sigh—kiss him to shut him up, kiss him because you can’t wait any longer. It stuns him, but he kisses you back, his hand at your jaw, lips moving seamlessly against yours.

It’s exactly what you wanted—uncomplicated, pure connection. He won’t listen to you when his own insecurities are so loud, but he can feel this: the urgency of your mouth against his, the sincere desire in your sighs.

There’s no forethought, no planning, just need—every movement motivated only by desire. He stumbles back on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, pulling you down against him with his arm at your waist until you’re a mess of shifting legs and desperate, roaming hands.

It’s need that presses your hips against his thigh, warm and solid between your legs, need that has you sliding your core against the firm press of his body, sighing into his open mouth.

You reach for his shirt collar, pulling him closer, the buttons slipping easily from their hold under the strength of your hands until you can grip at the skin beneath—his neck, his collarbone, each valley and ridge mapping itself beneath your touch, searching lower, deeper, for more.

You’re left staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and empty hands.

Armitage turns to you, half his face in shadow as he sits on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the silk covers methodically, as if he’s trying to make sure that there's something real beneath him.

“Is everything . . . alright?” you whisper, apprehensive. There’s a sinking pit in your stomach, a terrible strain between your need to touch him and your fear of pushing him away.

He waits a moment before answering with an unconvincing nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m— I apologize.”

He looks so broken, defeated, and you don’t even know what you’ve done to make him this way. With no other options, you shift closer, stroke your fingers over the back of his neck in what you hope is a soothing gesture. His shoulders relax minutely, pressing closer against your hand, and even this little sliver of contact makes your stomach soar.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffs, turning away from you, and it's only then that you realize the anger in his eyes is directed inward.

Your chest collapses, folding in on itself in shame.

“Armitage,” you hook one finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes, “it’s alright. I’m not upset, or angry. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

His jaw tightens, eyes heavy with an unspoken pain. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to worry about me, Armitage.”

He pauses, quiet, shifting in his seat, clearly still embarrassed despite your assurance, “I should return to my room.”

You stop him with a hand on his chest, “Don’t, please, stay with me.”

He flushes, red from his temples to his cheeks; his shame only just overpowered by the desire to stay with you. “I’d need a change of clothes.”

You press your lips together, biting away a smile, “I think I can help with that.”

The trip to his room and back is uneventful, thankfully. The hallways are dim and empty, and the house is large enough that you don’t have to worry about waking anyone, or having to explain your trip to Armitage's quarters in the middle of the night.

The refresher is off when you get back, the room swallowed by silence, and you knock on the door to let him know that you’ve returned from your little mission.

“Come in.”

He speaks quietly but you still manage to hear him, bracing yourself before you enter the refresher, greeted by a wall of steam that clings to your skin and collects in your lashes like tears. Armitage stands, bare from the waist up, staring at his hazy reflection in the fogged glass.

His back is to you, pale white skin pulled tight over sharp shoulder blades, dotted with freckles and occasionally marred by the white stripe of a long-healed scar. There’s another mark, an unexpected one on his left shoulder, just below the junction of his neck.

He watches your approach through the glass, no longer covered in mist now that you’ve let the cold air in, the leftover condensation dripping down its surface like rain before pooling at the edge of the counter.

It’s not a very large tattoo, about the length and width of your thumb: a small sprig of flowers, like the ones you saw on your trip to the market. You trace the lines—the dark green of the stem and where it fades into the soft, white petals—with the tip of your finger, memorizing the pattern.

“It’s Halia,” he says with a cough, “they’re the flowers that grow on the mountains along the shoreline. She was named after them. It was the first thing I did after leaving the academy, in her memory when—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “—when I thought she was dead.”

You nod, stroking your thumb over his shoulder, unwilling to speak just yet, in case it breaks whatever spell has overcome him.

“It scared me, for most of my childhood. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a few moments I’d be terrified, thinking I’d forgotten her name. My father, he told me the truth when I was very young. Maybe he thought I’d be ashamed, but I couldn’t be. She was the only thing that separated me from that man, and I worried that if I forgot her, like he had, I’d end up like him, too.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to you in a single sitting, bared to you not just physically, but emotionally as well. It's the moment you've been waiting for.

“If she knew the truth,” you whisper, kissing the bend right above the tattoo, “she would be proud of you.”

His hand covers yours, pressed tighter against his skin. “I hope you’re right.”

He glows in the darkness beside you, skin bright and reflective as a moon, and you stroke your hand over his cheek as he slumbers, brush the dark, still-damp hair from his eyes, your other hand firmly held in his own.

You rest your head against the pillow, laying on your side. He'll be the last thing you see before you drift off tonight, and the first you'll see when you wake up.

You fall asleep knowing that you made the right choice.

Hux Tag List: @theredwolfisalesbian, @aramanna, @catboykenobii

Join my tag list here!

[buckyjamess-archive]

ᵐⁱᵈⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˢⁱⁿˢ ✘ ᵇ.ᵇ | ˢ.ʷ

prologue • a/n: cleary idk what shit goes down in brothels, its all from the movies baby • wordcount: 658 • warnings: mentions of death, mentions of sex.

summary

A sexworker, a dead customer and two detectives walk into a bar– it all sounds like a joke but when your fun, well paying job turns into something much more complicated, you've trouble keeping those secrets to yourself with the two detectives watching you.

masterlist × next

put yourself on the tag list here or send me an ask

April 2nd, 2023, Brooklyn, New York

Aziz Bijoux– it's tucked away in the darkest parts of Brooklyn, in-between a few dumpsters the entrance far into an alley. In red neon letters the name above the big black double doors, a corkboard with old and withered ads and phone numbers next to it, a bulky, tall man protecting it all with his life. A place for married men, looking for some thrill or a little on the side. A place for lonely singles, drunk tourist or addicts of; selling sex for everyone and all. 

bucky nods to the security guard up front and slips through the doors, the smell of alcohol and sex filling his nostrils in seconds. He needs to adjust his eyes to the bright red and white lightning that leads him through the hallway. Nodding his head to his co-workers doing their work. 

at the bar, Sam waits patiently, tapping his fingers against the dark oakwood and takes in his surroundings. Old but not that old, a mix match of antiques and modern; a row of booths against the brick wall, above each table a picture of a barely dressed woman, Victorian style and an brand new pool table standing in between the bar and the seating area- the maroon colored wallpaper and dark wood floor. A beaded door curtain at his right that leads to the back and the toilets and entrance to his left- finally, his partner. 

"Took you long enough." Sam complains as he slides off his bar stool "trouble in paradise?" 

Bucky mumbles something under his breath, not wanting to be reminded of the angry girl he had to leave behind- his girlfriend. 

Pulling his gloves off, he walks towards the bar and Sam, pushes the gloves in his pockets and nods his head towards the hallway "what do we have?"

"John Eaton," Sam starts, "39, leaves behind a wife and two kids– a regular customer." 

Bucky nods "like most men walking in here." 

"ever been in one of these?" Sam quips and points his hand to the beaded curtain and starts to walk, bucky on his heels.

"once– some weird bachelor party." Bucky breathes and chuckles at Sam's confused look "we thought it was a strip club, it wasn't. The groom left, we stayed." 

Sam snorts and shakes his head in disbelief "why am I not surprised?" 

Bucky shrugs and chuckles along with the man. Staying right behind Sam, bucky inspects the closed doors of the rooms and the one that's open- bright lights and people in white suits and masks walking around a figure lying on the ground, a white cloth laying over him.

The pair stops, both eyeing the people inside. 

"Strangled to death," Sam states and subtly points to the open area at the end of the hall with his thumb "one of the owners found him– room hasn't been touched in months." 

Spinning around the hallway, bucky takes in little details, the numbers on the doors, side tables with a bouquet of roses in between every door, lights above them and an array of nakes men and women behind chic picture frames. 

"Who are the owners– do we know them?" 

Sam presses his lips together, shakes his head and watches his partner "Gemma Brodeur and Helmut Zemo, two completely different people– all legal what's going on in here." 

A red light bucky notices, a red light shining amongst all the green above the door. A red light shining bright above room eight. Bucky doesn't say anything and snaps his head back to Sam while pointing to the door.

"Ah, yeah," Sam clears his throat "Our man John was a big fan of angel, also known as y/n y/l/n–" 

Bucky snorts at the nickname "angel." 

"Man, that's the most normal one I've heard so far," Sam mumbles "anyway; angel and our friend seemed to be best friends if we're supposed to believe all the others." 

tagged: @daisy-johnson-stan

[chilling-seavey]

Ok I don’t know if you’ve seen Franny arrieta’s new youtube video but like Christian and Daniel are in it working out and like I NEED a blurb based on screen shots from that video because 😍 so like maybe a workout blurb or something cute idk exactly what to do but something based on that video would just make my whole life haha

Of course I saw it omgg 😳But yess okay… thinking of a CUTE blurb idea for this was hard because 🥴 but lol hehe I think this worked out alright…

Linked the vid clips here but here’s also a pic because 🥴

Saturday, September 23rd, 2028

Saturday mornings were gym days for Daniel. After spending a full week at work, his Saturday mornings gave him an hour or so to himself before the weekend was to focus on his little family. It was a good routine, setting an alarm for around 7 with enough time to get a bit more cuddles and lazy sleepy kisses in from his wife before he was pulling himself out of bed to get dressed by 7:30.

Clementine and Penelope would still be asleep that early on a weekend, but four-year-old Lucy would hear him make his way down the hallway and she’d be out of bed in an instant. This morning was no different, with Daniel in the kitchen prepping his pre-workout drink in blue shorts and a tank top and his usual hat, stirring a spoon around in the glass of bright blue tinted water, his eyes raising to the little girl standing around the corner.

“Morning, Princess.” Daniel smiled over at her.

Lucy, still sleepy, trudged over to him with her blonde hair a mess on her head and her fist rubbing her eye tiredly and then reached up for him.

“There’s my girl.” he chuckled, bending down to scoop her up onto his hip and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I want juice too.” Lucy pointed to his drink.

“Yeah? How does apple juice sound?”

“I want that.” Lucy tried to grab the glass but he quickly pulled her hand away.

“That’s for grownups.” Daniel said and sat her on the counter before picking up his drink and tossed the spoon in the sink. He took a sip as he opened the fridge and took out the bottle of apple juice with his free hand to pour his youngest a drink too.

Lucy thanked him softly as she took the sippy cup from him and she reached out to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer to lean her cheek against his chest. They drank in silence, the half-asleep toddler still waking up but still clinging onto her father like usual, her small fingers holding tightly to his shirt to keep him close. When they both finished their drinks, Daniel rinsed his glass and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Okay, my love, how about I put on Peppa for you until Mommy wakes up?” Daniel offered, petting her hair back from her face.

“With you?” Lucy pouted.

“I gotta go to the gym, remember?”

“Can I come?”

“You want to come to the gym with me?” Daniel raised an eyebrow at her, setting his hands on either side of her on the counter.

Lucy nodded excitedly.

“It’s not going to be very fun.”

“Yes, it will.” Lucy protested, holding up her arms to him again. “Please, Daddy.”

Daniel sighed lightly but leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, as he scooped her up again, “Fine. I’ll take you with me.”

He quickly got her dressed and brushed her hair into pigtails and grabbed a pre-stocked container of fruit from the fridge as a little early breakfast for Lucy. He slipped back into the bedroom to whisper to Florence that he was taking their youngest with him, assuring her sleepy concerned expression that he was going to be fine with her there, and kissed her goodbye.

Lucy was so excited to go wherever Daniel went and being able to tag along on his weekly visit to the gym was exceptional to her. She held his hand as they took the elevator down to the recreation floor of the condominium, her breakfast and his towel and water bottle and phone and keys balanced in his other hand. The sixth floor was set up with a full gym, a pool, and outdoor lounge spaces for the residents. The gym was a space that the girls never really saw so with a scan of Daniel’s card, the door clicked open and Lucy’s eyes were wide with youthful excitement as they headed inside.

It wasn’t too busy for 8am on a Saturday but the usual same people were there as well as a few new stragglers. Daniel proudly introduced his youngest to a few of the other guys that were around who he had gotten to know during his weekly routines. He set himself up at the bench press, sliding over a cube for Lucy to sit on while he worked out, passing her his phone to play with and the open container of cut up fruit to her.

“I wanna do the gym with you too.” Lucy protested, pushing his phone back towards him.

“The gym’s for grownups, Princess.” Daniel said as he got the equipment set up.

He glanced over at her when he got no reply to see her little pout staring back at him. He sighed, looking around the area before going over to the weights and grabbing the lightest one. Lucy grinned at him when he held it out to her and she jumped off her seat to take it.

“Too heavy?” Daniel asked.

“Good.” Lucy shook her head, her little nose scrunching up as she raised it to her chest with both hands.

Daniel couldn’t hold back his adoring smile to his daughter as he tugged off his shirt and grabbed his own weights. Lucy stared wide eyed at him as he brought over two weights that were like the size of her head, watching how he lifted them like they were nearly nothing. She copied him right away, curling her own tiny weight up to her chest and back down in time with him, her concentrated furrowed eyebrows mirroring his exactly. Lucy was his little copycat and that was obvious.

She was tired after the weights so she sat and watched him as he worked on the rest of his routine; bench presses and pull ups and the use of various other metal equipment that the four year old had no clue the purpose of. Lucy didn’t mind though; she loved just being near him and sitting and watching and munching her fruit was a perfect pastime for her. She followed him around like a little puppy when he would move onto another piece of equipment, asking him plenty of questions while he tried to work.

Daniel loved her, he really did, but good God she didn’t know when to stop talking.

“Luce, princess, baby-” Daniel sighed tiredly, sitting up from the bench to look to her, “Can you just sit quietly please, honey? I gotta stay focussed.”

Lucy frowned but nodded, popping another slice of watermelon in her mouth. He got up long enough to press a kiss to her head and grab a drink of water before he was shifting back down on the bench and getting his grip on the bar again. The silence was nice as he could keep track of his reps without getting distracted.

“Daddy!” Lucy suddenly exclaimed, nearly making him drop the heavy bar in surprise.

“What is it, Princess?” Daniel groaned as he carefully set the bar back onto his stand.

“Look at the colourful bouncy balls over there! I want one!”

He barely had a second to even sit up before she took off at top speed across the gym towards the row of blue exercise balls by the far wall.

“Lucy, don’t-”

He heard it before he saw it, the chilling sound of the impact of head on metal that nearly echoed through the entire gym followed by the thud of his daughter hitting the ground hard.

“Shit!” Daniel scrambled up just as the four-year-old’s blood curdling scream filled the large space and everyone’s heads turned their way.

Daniel never moved faster, the pre-workout drink in his veins turning into pure adrenaline as he rushed to the aide of his youngest daughter who was screaming on the ground. He dropped beside her and picked her right up into his arms, holding her tightly.

“Oh my gosh, Lucy.” he breathed shakily as she sobbed into his shoulder. “Did you hit your head, baby? What happened?”

She could only scream in response, tears pouring down her cheeks and he pulled back to look at her and make sure she was okay. He held her face in his hands, a little trickle of blood dripping down her forehead. Definitely not enough for stitches but enough that sent Daniel’s heart racing.

“Okay, honey. Okay, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” he stumbled over his own reassurances, barely heard over her shrieking, trying desperately to get her to calm down. “Look at me, Lucy. Look at Daddy, baby. Come on. You’re okay.”

A few other people had come over to them by that point, one bringing a towel and one with the first aid kit and one with a cup of water. Daniel couldn’t even get himself to thank them right away as he wiped up the blood from Lucy’s forehead with the white towel through her screams of agony. She sobbed loudly, clinging onto him through her pain and embarrassment as everyone was looking at them.

Daniel shushed her gently through little kisses to her hair, rubbing a hand over her back as the staff member on duty brought over an ice pack to him. Daniel shifted onto his bum on the ground from his knees and tucked Lucy on his lap with his arms around her and the ice pack pressed gently to her forehead.

“What happened?”

“She ran into one of the bars, I think.”

Daniel shut his eyes tightly and pressed his lips to the top of Lucy’s head, feeling like the absolute worst father in the world as she screamed in his arms, little fingers clinging onto his bare shoulders. He kept the ice pack against her head, rubbing his other hand over her back lovingly as he shushed her softly.

“Daddy’s got you, baby. You’re okay.”

Lucy started to calm down after a few moments, her screams turning into soft sobs and she stumbled over each breath, curling tiredly against his chest. When it was once again nearly quiet, Daniel shakily thanked the people who came to their help. One of the men had brought over their things for them and Daniel thanked him with a flat smile as he got up from the ground, Lucy tucked tightly in his arms with her arms snug around her neck and her cheek leaning against his shoulder, the bruise on her forehead only growing with time.

“I want Mommy.” Lucy sniffled.

“I know, my love. We’re going home to see Mommy now.” Daniel said shakily, tossing his shirt and his towel over his other shoulder and gathered their things in one hand before heading for the elevators. Daniel took a shaking breath as he pressed the call button, muttering softly, “Mommy’s going to kill me.”

[harryandmolly]

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *7* - final

A/N: thanks for hanging out, guys. always a pleasure 💜

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, butter, adulting

wc: 5.6k

----------

Lilly takes shallow breaths, all her tight core will allow as she carefully raises her legs back up over her head. The pressure at the crown is almost unbearable -- she’s probably still not totally strong enough to support all her weight in her core and arms like this in a tripod headstand, but she’s never been able to successfully raise her legs off the floor. So she can ignore the pesky brain pulsing. For a few seconds.

Lilly huffs and lowers her legs slowly, spread as wide as she can get them, until her feet hit the floor, taking some of the weight off her head. She unfurls to sit, blinks quickly and grins, catching a glimpse of her bright eyes and flushed cheeks in the reflection of the open glass door. Lilly straightens her back and admires herself, strong and stable, the result of a lot of hard fucking work.

She completes her practice as directed by her perky online instructor and lies in supported fish pose a little longer than usual. She rolls her hips, noticing the way it affects each notch of vertebrae in her back.

Her phone buzzes beside her mat. Her nose twitches as she fights a smile. She glances at it, though she doesn’t need to to know who it is.

Shawn: you coming?

Lilly closes her eyes and types back by muscle memory.

Lilly: shhhhh I’m zen

She rests her phone on her stomach and enjoys the way the night breeze sifts through the room.

The phone makes an angrier but muffled sound on her skin. She checks it, expecting a whining plea or a series of emojis. Instead her jaw drops and she chokes on a breath and pushes herself to sit.

Lilly knows this house as well as her own now. She traces her fingers lovingly along the hallway walls as she winds her way down the stairs and follows the music. It’s Harry Styles, which explains a lot.

The sliding doors to the pool are unlatched but shut to keep out the dreaded mosquitos. It’s past dusk now, the sky will go from cobalt to midnight soon. The pool lights make the water glow a smooth, clean turquoise. It’s interrupted by the boy in the shallow end with his arms hanging on the side, wearing a smirk that barely contains a goofy grin.

Lilly toes carefully over the gravel, hissing as it bites at her feet. The song changes to “Watermelon Sugar,” which incidentally is very appropriate, given the contents of his last text. He notices it too and that smirk gets even dopier.

Lilly shakes her head and glides to the edge of the pool, curling her opalescent painted toes over the edge. She crosses her arms and waves her phone.

“Is this a tease or an actual invitation?”

Shawn lifts a shoulder coyly. He draws a hand into the water and wiggles his fingers through it, looking casual. “Both, I guess. I got you out here, didn’t I?”

Lilly laughs and nods, glancing around. He already grabbed towels for them both when he came out here an hour ago to do laps, part of his regular routine now.

She hears movement in the water and looks down to see him wading toward her. He blinks innocently through wet, dark lashes and places a gentle kiss to each of her big toes, then rests his cheek on her feet.

“Your sushi’s inside on the counter,” he murmurs.

Lilly nods. “I’ll get it later.”

While his eyes are down, Lilly lifts her ribbed crop tank over her head and tosses it on a nearby chair. He lifts his head in time to watch her bare nipples harden in the breeze. His eyes bulge.

“Uh oh, I’m in trouble now,” he teases, kicking off the wall to float on his back as he watches her undress. She wriggles out of her leggings and panties while keeping her eyes on the hills and valleys of his torso.

As she rounds the corner of the pool to take the stairs, Shawn straightens up, sniffing and pushing his hands back through his hair. He opens his arms to her. She walks right in, tucking her arms and legs around him. His content sigh is so heavy the water ripples around them.

His hands wander her back and tangle in the ends of her hair, which looks redder and silkier in the water. Their heads rest side by side like they each need the other to hold them up. Lilly turns her face into his ear, giving his cartilage a lick and greedily sniffling the chlorine in his hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent me.”

She feels him chuckle and holds him even tighter. He scoops his hands down around her ass and starts to wade deeper into the water.

“You inspire me,” Shawn whispers, swaying with her toward the edge, where he can pin her up against the tile wall. She hisses upon contact with the cool stone and he takes the opportunity to steal a kiss.

It’s languid, exploring. She’s pretty sure he knows better than to try to fuck her in the pool. That’s only hot in movies. She thinks maybe he just missed her.

“How’d it go today?” she hums.

“Good. Mostly. There are still a few pieces that need to come together for the first two tracks and I’m still not quite getting what I want for track eight, but it was productive.”

Despite their circumstances, Lilly and Shawn have been pseudo-functional adults lately. Once the tent (as they’ve taken to calling the makeshift recording booth) went up, Shawn buckled down to focus on recording and working with producers and the other musicians tracking instruments. Lilly has finally tossed herself full time into writing, breaking for yoga and snacks and to visit him, if she’s super quiet, which she’s not, so she always gets politely kicked out after a take or two.

“How ‘bout you?”

Lilly pecks at the corner of his mouth and nods. “Also good. I almost totally rewrote that scene from yesterday but honestly I feel a lot better about it. It has some life in it now.”

“Good,” Shawn purrs, aiming his lips down at her shoulder. She smiles and tilts her nose into his hair again. Greedy, greedy.

“And… I finally did it.”

Shawn lifts his head and watches her like her face will give him a clue. In a matter of seconds, he lights up.

“Shut the fuck up. The whole way?”

Lilly’s cheeks scrunch with the effort of her smile. “The whole way. Probably killed a bunch of brain cells, but I did it.”

“Lill, that’s nuts! That’s so awesome!” he cries, squeezing her tighter, “Shit, I wanted to film it! I was gonna put it on Insta and tag you as #fitspo!”

Lilly snorts and drops her forehead to rest against his. “What a fun way to announce us to the world.”

“That I’m having really hot yoga sex with my really hot, stretchy girlfriend? I love that for me.”

Lilly cackles, dropping her head back against the stone. Shawn plods kisses up her throat.

“Will you show me later?” he asks, speaking into her wet skin.

“Not tonight, you’re going to be very busy, remember?”

Shawn goes quiet and still for a moment, then jolts with a laugh. “Uh huh, right. So busy. All night long kinda busy.”

Lilly can’t hide her squirm. Shawn gathers her in off the wall so she’s plastered against him, their noses brushing.

“That’s the best kind of busy.”

+

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me…”

Lilly’s quite sure he can’t hear her, even though he’s lying on top of her. He refused to get out of bed to get the phone charging cord, so he rolled over onto Lilly, his head on her chest under the sheets, as his hand flails toward the ground.

Lilly’s face scrunches up as he grunts and wriggles.

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t--”

“Huh?”

Shawn lifts his head straight into Lilly’s chin, even as she tries at the last second to tilt it away. His enormous head smacks into the base of her jaw, making her clench down on her tongue. She wails.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry!”

The cord is forgotten. Shawn pushes himself up over her and cups her jaw, nudging his lips over the bridge of her nose. He pulls back after a few seconds to inspect her.

Lilly swats at him. “Fuck. God, you’re like Megamind only… less blue. I think my tongue is bleeding.”

She sticks her tongue out and lifts her eyebrows. “Ih ih ee-ing?”

Shawn looks closer. “Nope.” He cradles her face in both hands and kisses her soundly, sliding his tongue against hers, pressing a warm sigh out of her sleepy morning body.

“There, all better,” he determines, folding himself down beside her.

“That’s as close to vampirism as I ever hope to get with you,” Lilly grumbles, reaching for her phone. She allows his apology kisses as she scrolls through Twitter and brushes her toes against his calf.

Her shoulders drop. She exhales and puts the phone down. The sheet comes up over her head. Shawn follows curiously.

“What?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Lover Fest is cancelled.”

Shawn makes a murmur of acknowledgement and tucks his arm around her, pulling the covers higher over both of them. The morning light is diffused through the clean white sheet.

“You kinda knew it would be, though,” he points out, sounding dejected for her.

Lilly’s face crumples into a pout. “I mean, yeah, but I just think it sucks that the universe has chosen to keep me from Taylor. My spiritual big sister. My celestial homegirl. Fate keeps us apart and its cruelty is weighing on me.”

Lilly feels safe enough to get melodramatic in front of Shawn for several reasons, not the least of which is that he, too, can pitch an impressive fit when he wants to. He also chooses not to judge her for complaining about a cancelled concert when millions of people around the world are sick and dying, of which she’s well aware. The guilt hits her secondarily, a privilege in and of itself.

“I’m so gross. I have no right to be upset about this right now.”

Shawn lifts some coppery strands out of her face and tucks them behind her ear. “You’re allowed to care about both.”

Lilly remains grouchy and unconvinced.

“Plus, the universe can’t keep you from Taylor forever, since we’re friends.”

Lilly keeps her eyes down and sucks at her front teeth. Shawn nudges her.

“What?”

Lilly’s expression doesn’t change, save for her eyebrows lifting. Her eyes remain unfocused on her legs. Shawn noses at her temple. Her eyes shut.

“Lillian, what?”

Lilly squirms and lifts the sheet over their heads, letting the world back in. She slides out of his arms and out of the bed, crossing to the chair for her cozy shorts and a big shirt.

“... nothing. It’s nothing.”

She knows she’s not getting away with it, not even close. She doesn’t want to look at him to see just how much she’s not pulling this off.

“Baby, come on.”

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and turns to face him. He’s shirtless and flushed in their rumpled sheets. She tilts her head and sighs, drifting back to him. She gets a knee up on the bed and slides her fingers into his curls. They seem to hug around them like her hand belongs there. He’s staring up at her like a woodland creature.

“Nothing. We should stop fucking and go call our moms before they realize that we’re total heathens.”

Shawn swallows uneasily but seems ready to drop it, for now. He takes her wrist to his lips and chuckles.

“My mum already knows.”

“About you, maybe, not about me.”

Shawn smirks and releases her, watching Lilly trail off in search of a cozy phone spot.

“Tell your mom happy mother’s day from me,” he calls.

Lilly looks back at him as she pads down the hall. “And tell yours from me.”

+

Lilly watches, entranced, as each pat of butter melts seamlessly into the silky pot of mashed potatoes. She’s not thinking, she’s not measuring, just feeling. Butter. Butter. More butter. She adds a whole stick before she realizes what she’s doing. Her gaze darts over her shoulder. Shawn is facing away from her at the other countertop, muttering to himself as he pulls out ingredients for Yorkshire puddings. She mashes her lips together and turns back, whisking hard to incorporate all her sins.

Cooking has become nearly as meditative as yoga recently. After spending their first few weeks together abusing their bodies in different ways, cooking feels like healing now. The grill took them a few attempts to master, and they side-stepped some potentially life threatening disasters to do it, but now they char slabs of eggplant and zucchini and ears of corn wrapped in tinfoil. They roast potatoes in the oven with fresh herbs and olive oil. Cooking brings them together at the end of the day and gives them a way to take care of each other and themselves.

Mother’s Day presented the perfect opportunity to expand their repertoires and distract themselves from missing their families. The Sunday roast was Lilly’s idea -- whole roast chicken with thyme butter, creamy mashed potatoes, roasted root veggies and Yorkshire puddings with gravy. Mother’s Day Sunday roast is a Mendes family tradition, one Shawn hasn’t been around for in a few years. He had hoped to be home for this one. Lilly decides to bring some home to him.

His arm is hard and warm, wriggling between the stove and her waist as he winds it around her. His other hand presents her with a glass of white. She accepts the kiss on the side of her neck and pretends to stir to look busy.

“Oh, hi,” she murmurs into the wide-bowled glass.

“Oh, hi,” he chuckles, giving her a squeeze, “I saw the butter.”

Lilly huffs. “Goddamnit.” She can’t shake her stupid smile though. He was watching her when she wasn’t watching him.

“Gonna kill us both,” he purrs into her skin, like he doesn’t mind one bit.

“My plan all along.”

Shawn hums in response and backs off, to Lilly’s chagrin.

“Batter’s ready, chef.”

Lilly turns the range down low to keep the potatoes warm. She turns and waves him over, gloving her hand with an oven mitt to get the hot muffin tin from the pre-heated oven. She holds it as Shawn pours batter into each cup.

“The trick my mom taught me is not to open the oven door once they’re in there,” Shawn reports with a nod, watching as Lilly closes the door and sets a timer. Lilly glances at him suspiciously.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “An American.”

Lilly’s eyes bulge and her jaw drops. She swats him across the chest with her mitt, but lets him cradle her up against him anyway.

“You take that back!” she squeaks.

“I know, I’m sorry, I know you hate being reminded.”

Lilly and Shawn sit on the floor and watch the little popovers rise. They don’t open the oven door even once until the timer goes off.

Lilly puts on John Mayer again over the house speakers. They’re eating in the actual dining room today to be fancy, figuring their setting should match their food.

“He’s been soothing my achy soul lately,” Lilly sighs, dropping into her seat, immediately crossing her legs so her foot brushes up against him. Shawn nods absently but his eyes narrow a little at his potatoes. Lilly’s grin takes up half her face.

“You’re jealous!”

Shawn completes the eye roll his face was begging him for. He finishes chewing and sits back to glare at her. “Of course I’m jealous. Why is my music not enough for your achy soul? Why do you need Mayer?”

The teasing lilt in Shawn’s voice just makes Lilly laugh harder. “You love him even more than I do.”

“I do,” he sighs, “Maybe we could FaceTime with him soon and he can soothe you directly.”

Lilly feels herself going magenta. Shawn doesn’t toss around his celebrity weight, or even work his friend connections very often, but when he does, he does it with purpose. Lilly attempts to stay cool. Ish.

“I would not say no to that,” she attempts lightly, but her face-splitting smile gives her away. Shawn grins knowingly and bobs his head.

“I’ll text him. Maybe I can talk to Taylor, too, get you your own personal Lover Fest.”

Lilly’s smile falters a little. Her gaze drifts to her plate. She shoves a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. Shawn notices a shift.

“What?” His mouth is full.

Lilly swallows and lifts a shoulder casually. “I just didn’t figure you were really in a place to be asking Taylor for favors anymore.”

The song changes to a track Lilly doesn’t know. The air seems to crackle. Shawn sits forward as Lilly sits back. She manages to lift her eyes from her crispy chicken skin.

“What do you mean?”

Regret fills Lilly’s gut faster than the food. She takes a long sip of wine.

“I mean after what happened last year.”

He didn’t really need her to clarify, she knows. She also knows he doesn’t require further detail.

He comes up on his elbows, his brow furrowing. “I can probably guess what you think happened, but it’s more complicated than that.”

Lilly exhales and drops her fork, crossing her arms. Shawn looks alarmed.

“I have no doubt you can guess what I think, because you know me pretty well. And you probably also know I think it’s bullshit.”

Shawn’s eyes harden. “Lilly, you don’t know everything. You weren’t there. I don’t owe you an explanation for this, you weren’t involved.”

Lilly’s lips tighten at the corners, the kiss of death. Shawn’s shoulders tighten further, pulling up toward his ears.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you don’t. Maybe that’s exactly what’s wrong,” Lilly jabs.

Shawn looks baffled. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the one who’s always telling me I don’t owe everyone everything. But now suddenly I owe people every detail? It had nothing to do with me.”

“You thinking it had nothing to do with you is a huge fucking problem, Shawn! It is a privilege! No one has threatened everything you’ve built. Why would they? You’re a white man. And you sat down and shut up when she needed you.”

The muscle in Shawn’s jaw twitches. “You don’t know shit about what I did, you weren’t fucking there. Stop pretending like you know everything. It’s fucking complicated, okay? Jesus, Lilly.”

Lilly deflates and folds her hands, pressing her forehead into them. “Let’s not do this. Let’s just not fucking do this, this was supposed to be nice. Can we not? I don’t want to fight.”

She looks up at him, pleading.

Shawn doesn’t hesitate. “I want to fight.”

Lilly blinks. “What?”

He nods urgently. “I do. I want to fight. Let’s fight, let’s figure it out and get through it. Let’s fucking fight, Lill, because it’s so much better than being fucking silent.”

Lilly swallows. Her stomach lurches. Shawn does not waver.

“Fine. Tell me, then. Tell me what you did. You texted her?”

Shawn scoffs. “I didn’t just fucking text her, I called her. We talked for like an hour. And if she were here, she’d tell you that and she’d say we’re totally fine, we’re good. Because we are.”

Lilly pushes a hand into her hair and feels the tears in her eyes. “No you’re not. You’re not fine. You showed up and did the bare minimum, Shawn, you’re not fucking fine.”

His eyes get huge. “What the fuck, Lilly? You don’t even know her!”

“I don’t have to!” she cries, throwing her arms up, “I don’t have to know her personally to know how many texts and calls she got from guys like you who felt bad but wanted to stay out of the way, stay in their lane, stay out of trouble. When you look at the ratio of women who spoke up compared to men, it’s fucking sad, Shawn. And honestly, I did not expect you to land on the wrong side of that, I really didn’t. But that was just the start.”

He narrows his eyes. “The start of what?”

“You shut down. You just… shut down. You got the girl and then fucked off. You have to know that’s what it looked like to everyone.”

“I fucked off because literally everyone was telling me to. Lilly, I swear to god, if you saw the kind of stuff people were saying to me, about me, about her…”

Lilly feels a chill down her spine. She’s desperate to crawl away from this.

“Shawn--”

“Everyone hated me. Everyone hated us. What was I supposed to do?”

Lilly chews on her lip and mutters, “Maybe not post that gross make out video, for one thing.”

He inhales so sharply Lilly looks up at him. His nostrils are flared. Did he get taller in the last two minutes?

“It was a fucking joke, Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, well, you were the only two who thought it was funny.”

Shawn takes a breath and scrubs his hands over his face, then back into his hair, holding it back as he stares down at his food.

“I know the video was stupid. It wasn’t supposed to make people so mad.”

Lilly shifts in her seat uncomfortably. She takes his olive branch and returns with one of her own.

“Listen, I’m not gonna sit here and defend your entire fandom. I know better. I know a lot of the shit you guys took was unfair. But the distance came from both sides, Shawn. You alienated them, they alienated you right back. It doesn’t matter who shot first. That distance is still there.”

Shawn doesn’t argue her point. He draws a crispy corner of Yorkshire pudding through his gravy and pops it in his mouth. “I really thought the Foundation would turn it around, but it only made it worse.”

Lilly winces. “But you get why, right?”

Shawn clicks his tongue. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“It’s hollow, Shawn. It didn’t feel like you. Your heart wasn’t in it. It was like someone put your name on it and said ‘okay, guys, tell us what you want this to be.’ I mean, what is it? What do you want it to be?”

Shawn looks hurt. Lilly wonders if she should’ve pulled back a little, then thinks about what he said earlier.

I want to fight.

Lilly realizes maybe she wants to fight too. If fighting means fighting for this, for them, Lilly will get her gloves on and go to work. She steels herself.

“The whole point was to give a voice to my fans, to be the way they can make a difference. Have them act through me. That’s what I liked about it!”

Lilly shuts her eyes. “But it wasn’t your idea.”

She knew that already without him having to say it. The circumstances made that clear.

“Andrew pitched it, but I approved it,” Shawn snaps.

“Then do something with it!” Lilly cries, “Show some ownership! Show everyone you care what it means, what it does. You’ve always been so good at that. It’s one of the reasons people love you so much. Why people were hurt when you disappeared. Suddenly you were either nowhere, or you were with her. People missed you. I fucking know I did.”

Shawn’s shoulders begin to sink. The tense feeling clenching around Lilly’s ribcage loosens. Shawn reaches a hand out, face up on the table. Lilly slips hers into his and watches his thumb rub her skin.

“I didn’t know you were still paying attention,” he whispers.

Lilly lets the past several months drift over her face. “I tried not to.”

What’s left of their food is cold. Mayer’s voice feels loud in the absence of their yelling. They gaze at each other, looking and feeling haunted. Shawn is first to break the silence.

“I don’t want it to be like this. I… I don’t think I want to tell everyone everything all the time, but I don’t want it like this either. I can’t be afraid to talk to my fans.”

Lilly nods. “There’s a middle ground. You can find it.”

Shawn studies the veins in the translucent skin of her wrist. “Will you help me?”

Lilly smirks. “When you want me to, sure. But you don’t need me for that, Shawn.”

He’s silent for a long time. Lilly watches the tears gather in his eyes as they soften.

“But I do need you. I fuckin’ need you, Lill, you know that right?”

Lilly nods eagerly. “I know.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied. “No, I mean, of course I need you, but I want you. I want you so bad, all the time, every day. In every way I can have you. You make everything in my life better. And I swear to god, if you let me, I’ll make sure I can do the same for you.”

Lilly squeezes his hand. Her heart swims up into her throat and pushes out the words she hasn’t said in almost a year. “I love you.”

Shawn illuminates from the inside out. His cheeks go a vivid pink. He squeezes her hand right back and pulls it up to his lips. “I love you too, Lilly.”

Lilly cups his cheek. Her smile is small and quiet, but it’s not fragile.

The song changes. The opening notes are so distinctive, they have Shawn and Lilly smiling knowingly in under three seconds.

“See?” Lilly squawks, “John just gets me.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and pushes his chair back, holding his hand out to her. “Whatever. John may ‘get you,’ but I have you. C’mere.”

Lilly gasps, eyes sparkling. She looks to his face, then his outstretched hand, then back at his face. She’s vibrating in her seat.

“No!”

“Yes!” Shawn laughs. Lilly springs out of her chair and takes his offer before he can reel it back in. He holds their clasped hands to his chest and grins as she takes her place between his bare feet. They bob along awkwardly beside the table, cast in powder blue dusk from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Fucking finally, it’s like, why even bother putting John Mayer on if no one’s gonna ask you to dance?” Lilly crows, looking smug.

Shawn pecks the tip of her nose and pulls her closer. She rests her cheek on his chest.

“Now we see everything that’s going wrong

With the world and those who lead it

We just feel like we don’t have the means

To rise above and beat it…”

Shawn sings along and Lilly doesn’t even pretend like that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She stares up at him, delighted by his total willingness to satisfy even the little whims she doesn’t say out loud. They don’t notice when the song changes. Lilly magnanimously decides not to step on Shawn’s foot when he says that her body, too, is a wonderland.

But she does prove it to him again later that night.

+

Epilogue

July 28th, 2020

Lilly squints up at the sky. It’s so blue that her retinas ache, but she finds what she needs.

“Look! Look, a cloud. Not safe to fly. You should stay. Come on, chop chop, bags down. You’re staying.”

Shawn drops his backpack into the trunk of the town car. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators, but Lilly doesn’t need to see them to know his smile doesn’t quite reach them.

“I’m going to remind you again this was your idea,” he sighs.

Lilly scrunches her face up in protest but it doesn’t push away the tears building in her eyes like she hoped.

He’s right. It’s been almost a month since they had the first conversation about it. It wasn’t nearly as scary when it was hypothetical. It started with an innocent comment, Lilly joking about Shawn not having anything to write about if they’re together and happy all the time. 

“You need some angst. How are you ever gonna miss me enough to write about me if we’re standing on top of each other all day every day?”

Shawn brushed it off, but it took hold in both their minds. It was another full week before they had a real conversation about it. Lilly cried and Shawn stared in horror, then held her.

“We cannot become real again in a vacuum. I love you, I love this, but it’s not real life. I want you for real. I need this to be real,” Lilly pleaded.

Negotiations ran in circles for a while. Maybe they just needed a change of scenery, Shawn suggested. They could take a little safe vacation somewhere, rent a place in Malibu or Big Sur. Distance wasn’t the answer. It couldn’t be.

But distance is their reality when the world is not on fire. Lilly does not work in an industry that permits her to follow Shawn around on tour or promo. Even if she did, they agree that arrangement could get emotionally fraught pretty fast. Lilly argues they have to get good at the distance again, since that was one of the factors that broke them up to begin with. Shawn insists that if they’re lucky enough to be together and safe during this time of crisis, there’s no reason to give it up.

Back and forth, round and around and around again. There was no compromise to be made. They were either together or apart.

Shawn tearfully agrees one night. Lilly is immediately horrified.

“No. No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t go. Shawn, don’t go. Don’t let me bully you into this. This is a terrible fucking plan. Why would you leave? Everything is good!” she sobs.

Shawn wipes his eyes and tucks her into his chest so she can cry without him staring at her.

“You were right, Lill. If we’re ever going to be more than this, we have to start. We have to get better at it.”

“But this is already so good! Shawn, if you leave now, we have no way of knowing when we’ll see each other again. Things are already getting worse. What if you can’t get back?”

Shawn’s jaw clenches. It’s the one thing they haven’t said out loud. This distance could be more permanent than they intend for it to be if the pandemic continues to worsen in the U.S. There’s a possibility that if he leaves now, they won’t see each other again in 2020.

“We’re gonna figure that out,” he insists, wiping his hard calloused thumbs beneath her eyes, “If I have to marry you to make you a Canadian citizen and get you the fuck out of here, I will.”

Lilly’s heart skips a beat even as her eyes narrow. “What a romantic you are.”

Shawn chuckles, but it’s a dull, wet sound through his own tears. He arranges his pre-flight COVID test and buys a ticket home to Toronto the next day.

Without Shawn, and with her roommates calming down and staying virus free, there’s no reason to stay in this big house by herself. They take down the recording tent and send the equipment back. They carefully pry Command hooks off the ceiling, erasing the evidence. They latch up the doors on the balcony for good. Lilly’s car is packed; she’ll head back to Burbank right after Shawn leaves.

The summer breeze ruffles his curls, which she cut again recently so he doesn’t look like a sad sheepdog when he goes home to his mum, after the allotted two weeks of quarantining at his place in Toronto. He reaches for her, and her throat immediately burns, like it was holding off until he touched her again.

“I have terrible ideas. Don’t ever listen to me again,” Lilly half sobs. Shawn folds himself around her. She clings to him, digging her fingernails into the seams of his denim shirt. She feels his shaky exhale and feels ten times worse.

“What did I do?” she hiccups, “Why did I do this?”

Shawn lays his cheek on top of her head and sniffs before he speaks. “Because you want us to be real. Because you know it’s going to be different this time.”

Lilly breathes out slowly. Shawn loosens his grip and shifts to take her face in his hands. His cheeks are patchy pink, his eyes are a little bloodshot. He presses kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and her lips. They kiss until they’re dizzy.

Shawn lets go, maybe because he knows she won’t. He reaches for the door of the car to anchor himself.

“You know how much I love you, right?” Lilly rasps.

Shawn nods. “I know. You know how much I love you, right?”

Lilly’s face crumples. She can’t speak. She nods.

Shawn smiles. “Then we’re gonna be okay.”

Lilly covers her nose and mouth as he climbs into the back of the town car. She stands there until it’s beyond the gates of the driveway and out of sight.

Lilly turns and looks up at the house. It’s not the first time she’s considered the mysterious magic of the place. In its age and grandness, Lilly knows hers is not the only gift it’s given. Theirs are not the only secrets it holds. She’s resigned to never knowing the rest, content with taking what it offered and hoping they left it with some of their own magic, too, for whomever needs it next.

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Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod​ @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @poseshawn​ @shaawnie @shawn-youth​ @graysonmendes​

[wastelandcth]

heyyy so could you write a piece about the reader’s birthday since you wrote one about cal’s maybe with her relationship with cal, she’s kept her friend group pretty small, just the girls and guys and some others surrounding cal’s friend group. but she’s so sweet to all his friends and everyone in general and she or anyone doesn’t deserve any hate so he wants to make her day super special because she’s treated him so well unlike his past relationships ugh i just live for fluff

oof this got a little personal in the beginning but any time i get to write soft cal i just want to hug him 🥰

Special Day

Her birthday had always been something she tried not to get too worked up about. In the past, her family had ever really done much to celebrate, sure she'd be thrown a party every once in a while, but most of the time it was waking up a year older with a small cake and a dinner. One year, when she had turn sixteen, an age she thought was worth celebrating, the thought of her birth slipped past her family's mind. She stopped caring about her birthday after that. Every year when the day rolled around, she would simply try to ignore the feeling in her stomach as she went about her day like she would any other day.

The day had Calum met her, he had no idea it had been her birthday. He didn't know it was her birthday until a few months later when he asked her about it as they were both sat on the couch watching a movie. She had explained that it wasn't a big deal, that it was just another day and another year passing by. That's when Calum knew that her next birthday would have to be celebrated like it never had before.

Calum had started planning the party a month before her birthday, making sure to keep everything a surprise for her. He'd spent countless hours on Pinterest trying to find a cake that he thought she'd like. He also dragged Ashton and Luke to multiple party stores to find decorations for the backyard and kitchen all while her and Michael went out with friends as a distraction. He'd sent out the invites three weeks before the party, making sure to tell everyone in the email not to mention the party to her at all, that it was meant to be a surprise. He'd even recruited her best friend to help him, texting her almost every day leading up to the party to make sure the night would be something she'd like and not a horrible idea.

The night before her birthday, Calum had used the studio as an excuse to go pick up the cake he had ordered for her. It was a small round cake, covered with edible flowers and the fruit she loved so much. By the time he pulled into the driveway, he only had around ten minutes before midnight. Rushing into the house, he tried his best to quietly set up the kitchen counter with the cake and a couple of the presents that he had bought for her special day. Some were wrapped in a metallic blue wrapping paper that reminded Calum of the phone case she'd had when they first met, somewhere wrapped in a brown wrapping paper that was covered in black paw prints he'd all but forced Duke to do when she was at work one day. He also tried his best not to fall off the counter as he hung a happy birthday banner on the ceiling, he didn't think she'd appreciate having to drive him to the emergency room so late.

With two minutes to spare, Calum finished up his decorating and set up his phone in the corner of the kitchen to record her reaction before he rushed over to their bedroom. It was dark when he walked in, the white noise machine that had soothed her to sleep was still playing and Duke was asleep on the edge of the bed, his head raising as Calum turned on his bedside table lamp. He pet the small dog, making sure he kept his eyes on the time. Once the clock hit midnight, Calum gently shook her shoulders, his soft voice trying to wake her up as calmly as possible.

"Sweet girl, need you to wake up for me, yeah? Have something to show you, darling," he whispered, his lips pressing against her shoulder as he felt her stir in bed. He was met with sleepy eyes and furrowed eyebrows. "Come on, I have a surprise." Calum chuckled as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, mumbling something Calum couldn't understand, her voice laced with sleep.

"What time is it?" she asked quietly as she got out of bed, a yawn leaving her lips as she slid on her slippers. His hand was holding onto hers tightly as he led her down the hallway, her eyes squinting as she adjusted to the bright lights in the kitchen. "Cal...what is all of this?" she asked quietly as she saw the kitchen counter littered with presents and flowers. Her eyes landed on the cake, the bright candle flame bringing tears to her eyes as she read the banner above them.

"Happy birthday, sweet girl," Calum mumbled against her ear, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her close to him. "Wasn't going to let you just act like today wasn't a special day, now was I?" His arms wrapped around her tightly as she let the first tears fall down her cheeks, her face snuggling into the crook of his neck as her heart swelled.

She had always made a big deal about everyone else's birthday. She made sure to clear her schedule for the day and get them a heartfelt present. She had been especially kind on his own birthday, planning a whole day out full of adventures and memories that Calum still reminisced about nine months later. So there was no way Calum was going to let her birthday pass, she was too special for him to simply just get a present and a cake and call it a day. She deserved the world and Calum was going to make sure she got it on her birthday.

After she had blown out the candles and Calum had obnoxiously sung happy birthday to her, they shared the small cake, even giving Duke the chance to lick some of the ice cream off of Cal's fingertips. Calum handed her one of her presents as he saw her tired eyes open and close slowly as her body leaned against his. Her fingers carefully ripped the wrapping paper, making sure to fold it back neatly on the counter before turning her attention back onto the present.

"You've been complaining about the noise machine not really helping you anymore, so I did some research and this one is supposed to be the best one ever made. Maybe we can use it tonight, yeah? You can open the rest of these in the morning." Calum nodded, smiling as he felt her tugging him towards the bedroom again.

When she'd woken up alone in bed the next morning, she thought she had dreamed of the wonderful cake and the banner that was hanging in the kitchen. Her suspicion fading away as she heard her phone buzzing non stop on the bedside table. She smiled to herself as she opened up her phone to notifications from her friends and family wishing her a good day, But she couldn't help but feel her heartbeat quicken as she saw a notification from her Instagram, a video that Calum had posted and tagged her in. Tears once again pricked her eyes as she watched herself on the screen, listening to Calum sing to her and then watching herself blow out the candles to her cake.

She hadn't expected Calum to stroll into the bedroom a few minutes later, telling her that the girls would be here soon to take her out to get pampered. She also hadn't expected Calum to hand her another one of the boxes that had been on the kitchen counter, this one with a label saying it was from Duke. She opened the gift as the old dog sat on her lap, barking as she laughed as the framed picture of her, Duke, and Calum at the beach, all three of them covered in sand and ocean water.

The second that the girls' car was out of sight, Luke's car pulled into the driveway, his backseat filled to the brim with colorful balloons and party decorations. Ashton and Michael arrived soon after him and they all started working on decorating the house for the party in a few hours. After a few arguments about the best place to set up the drinks and food and Calum almost falling into the pool while carrying a table, the backyard was set up for a party to remember. The doorbell ringing sprung everyone into action, Calum rushing over to greet the guest and leading them over to the main space, his nerves racing as he waited for her to come back home.

Calum shushed everyone as soon as he heard the car pulling into the driveway, turning off the music as he rushed back inside to grab the door. He was met by the four freshly pampered women, three of which looked at him with knowing eyes. As Calum led them inside, he couldn't the smile on his face as he heard a gasp. He turned to look at her as they all stepped out into the backyard, his eyes watching her as the entire backyard shouted in celebration.

"Happy birthday, baby." Calum watched as her tears formed in her eyes, for a split moment, he panicked thinking they might not be the happy tears he was hoping for but that was washed away as she jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. Calum chuckled and kissed her head, squeezing her waist as he let her go. "Go on, I'll get us a drink, yeah? You go have fun, it's your party."

Calum watched as she talked with everyone at the party. He laughed while their friends made corny speeches about her and the joy she'd brought into their life. He watched her in awe as she talked about her life with her friends, he was mesmerized by her and everything she was to him. Calum took a sip of his drink as he watched the girl of his dreams be recognized and appreciated on her special day, something he knew she wasn't used to. But he had made a promise to himself that night when she'd told him about how her birthday had never really been celebrated before. He whispered it to himself as she slept next to him in bed, hoping that she was too far gone in her dreams to hear him whispered how he was going to make every birthday from now on a day to remember for her. It was the least he could do for her, she deserved to be spoiled and pampered like this, she deserved all the attention to be on her, even if it was just for one day a year.