#the smallest things can send me swinging into either full on heart eyes love or the pits of despair

[corvids-corner]

It’s crazy how emotions can be so thoroughly affected by hormones shifting in your body and brain - it’s like, logically I know this as someone who’s taken psych classes and learned a bit of neuro but damn experiencing it yourself is really something else

It’s crazy that for about one week every month I become a whole different person just because my body decides I should be having a baby

[hanniiesuckle17]

Stray Kids Reaction: First Kiss

A/n: I hope you like it! I think these turned out super cute! feel free to request again!

Requested by: @tropicalwrites​ (thank you bb)

Tag List: @distrikt9​ @mini-meanhoe​ @poeticallyspaghetti​ (Tag List is open)

Bangchan:

Dates with Chan had been sparse lately. It wasn’t his fault. They were doing promotions for a comeback and Chan had absolutely zero free time and any time he did have, despite his protests, you wanted him to spend resting. “Y/n, please! I wanna see you!” Chan whined over the phone. 

You sighed and looked at the time. The boys were still at the company, but would most likely be at the dorms in an hour or two. “Okay how about this. I’ll come over to the dorms and cook dinner for you and the boys tonight. That way you guys can have dinner as soon as you get home.” There was silence on the phone. “Chan? Chris? You there, love?” 

“Sorry, you just made my heart explode.”  

You laughed and hung up the phone. After a short car ride, you were inside the dorm and cooking a nice dinner for your incredible boyfriend and his band members. The steam from the cooking vegetables were starting to make you sweat a little. Grabbing a clip from your bag you pulled your hair out of your face and continued making the boys a good meal.

“Y/NNNNNNNNN!” Several boys screamed as the dorm door burst open. You smiled and finished putting food on plates. Felix attacked you with a hug and Hyunjin and Jisung followed soon after. “This looks really good, Y/n,” Felix said when everyone was seated at the table, Chan beside you. “I’m glad to have a break from cooking for these weirdos.” 

Soon Chan was sending all the boys off to bed with full bellies and food comas. “I’ve missed you so much,” He said taking your hands and sitting on the arm of the couch. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you and talk to you, to hold you, and... other things,” Chan said blushing. 

“What kind of other things?” 

Chan looked down and shrugged, his dimples making a shy appearance. You watched him play with your fingers, subconsciously pulling you closer to him. It didn’t take a psychic to know what was on his mind. With a smile, you leaned down and pressed your lips against his. He smiled into the kiss, his thumb rubbing over your skin. When you pulled away Chan had the dopiest grin across his face. He fell back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling in a trance making you laugh.

“That was so awesome.” 

Minho:

Minho sat next to you on the couch. He wasn’t necessarily close to you, but he wasn’t on the farthest side of the sofa either. The boys had been hinting that maybe your feelings for Minho were reciprocated. You had been reading into everything lately and you still came up with nothing. Minho was impossible.

The focus of the boy next to you was heavily trained on his phone. Some random game was enticing his attention away from you. Giving up, you crossed your arms and stared at the TV. 

After letting out many precisely planned sighs hoping to grab Minho’s attention and failing you conceded and started flipping channels. Settling for a drama you watched the soap opera romance that played out on the screen. An hour passed and your stomach was beginning to growl. 

“I’m gonna order a pizza.” You said pulling out your phone. Minho hummed in response. rolling your eyes you walked into the kitchen to grab a soda for you and the thick headed boy in your living room. The doorbell rang and you looked to the couch. Minho showed no sign of getting up still zoned in on his phone. “Don’t worry I’ll get it.” Your feet trudged over the door and you gave the pizza guy a half assed smile. 

“Hi! That will be $22.46.” The boy smiled when you handed him the money as well as a nice tip. “Thanks, have a good night!” 

You closed the door and plopped back onto the couch setting the pizza on the coffee table. A hand grabbed your wrist before you could open the hot cardboard box. Minho smashed his lips on yours, hand coming to the back of your neck. He pushed you onto the couch, hovering on top of you. Caught up in the moment your hands tangled in his hair enticing Minho to deepen the kiss.  

As quickly as he had come onto you, he retreated, moving back to his previous spot on the couch and reaching for the pizza. You lay on the couch, completely confused. “What the hell was that?” Minho shrugged acting as if nothing had happened.

“What?” He picked up a slice and took a bite out of it. “I’m not allowed to kiss my girlfriend?”

You shook your head in disbelief. What? “Girlfr- What? When did this happen?” Again he shrugged like this was common knowledge you were the dumbest person on the planet, and you were starting to feel that way. He thought you were dating already?

“Y/n, you’ve cat-sitted for me at least twenty times. In my book, we are in a committed relationship after ten.” He handed you a slice of pizza and turned back to the TV. You watched as he threw an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. “Congrats on being my girlfriend, dummy.”

Changbin:

“Seo Lewis Changbin!”

“Oh no.” Your best friend mumbled. He took off his headphones and turned to see you marching through the door of his studio. The pissed off expression on your face said everything and also nothing. Changbin only had a matter of seconds to recount everything he had done in the last twenty-four hours and apologize or face the consequences. “Hi, gorgeous, how’s your day?” 

You simply rose an eyebrow and he quickly shut up. “Changbin, do you have something to tell me?” You could see the gears turning in his brain. The gears screaming ‘what did I do wrong this time’. 

It was honestly a little fun to watch him squirm. You crossed your arms and ignored the giggles coming from the other side of the studio door. You knew Felix and Seungmin had followed you down the hall. They were the ones who told you about Changbin in the first place. “I’m sorry that I used your sweatshirt to clean up Minho’s cat piss. But you can have my hoodie.”

“YOU WHAT?”

He screamed as my hands attacked any unshielded spot on his body. “Stop! STOP! I BRUISE EASILY!” You huffed and stepped away. Changbin rubbed his bicep as if you had actually hurt him. “I’m sorry okay!” He scorched farther away from you. Though you had gotten him to confess it wasn’t the secret you were looking for. 

“While I am pissed about that, and you will be getting me a new hoodie, that isn’t what I was talking about.” Changbin watched with wary eyes as you inched forward and leaned on the arms of his office chair. “I had a little conversation with Seungmin and Felix earlier.” Changbin visibly gulped.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“They sold me out?”

“They did indeed.” Changbin’s ears turned a dark shade of red. How you had never noticed your effect on your best friend before you would never know. Possibly because you were too focused on your own infatuation. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, capturing them in a sweet kiss. Tilting your head you let your teeth drag slowly across Changbin’s bottom lip. 

“Was that like a friend kiss or-?” Changbin asked when you pulled away. You rolled your eyes and kissed him again before he could ask another stupid question.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin was walking you home after a late night boba date. His hand was intertwined with yours as you walked in the warm spring air. “When is your next free day?” You asked swinging your hands as you strolled down the dimly lit streets. You felt safe with your boyfriend next to you.

He hummed, head lifting to the sky in thought. “I think...two weeks from now?” You sighed and he brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I know, baby.” It was hard not seeing Hyunjin. He himself was having withdrawal issues from your company and the boys were starting to notice. His dating ban wasn’t up for another three months, so the two of you had to sneak around. 

“What about nights?” He shooked his head ‘no’ and stopped under a street lamp. Leaning you back against the steel pole, you looked up at Hyunjin. “What about before morning meetings?” Hyunjin laughed, the sound making you smile.

He ran a hand through his blonde hair and dragged his touch down your arm. “Y/n, you and I both know neither of us are going to get up at four thirty in the morning.” You laughed and pulled Hyunjin closer to you, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Hyunjin gave you a soft smile and looked down at you. He made your heart pound in your chest. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it two weeks without you, Jinnie.” He sighed, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Believe me, if you can’t then I definitely won’t.” You ran a hand through his soft hair making him sigh in content. Eventually, he pulled away and stared at you with longing. His eyes looked from your eyes to your mouth in question. After seeing the smallest nod he leaned in pressing his lips against yours. 

You smiled into the kiss, threading your fingers through Hyunjin’s hair. He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “What if I just ran away with you right now?” 

“Jisung would absolutely murder you. You’re supposed to record tomorrow.” You said a little breathless, wanting his lips on yours again. 

“True. Very true.” He came back, another fiery kiss being shared between you. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. The two of you savored your last moments together under the dim golden glow of the street lamp.

Jisung:

“Hey, handsome,” You answered your ringing phone. 

Jisung’s tired voice came through the call. “Y/n, baby, can you come over to the dorm?” You checked your watch and saw it was almost 2:30 in the afternoon. Usually, he was at the studio until three in the morning. 

“Sure. I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” Slipping on a big hoodie and your shoes you grabbed your wallet and car keys and drove over to the dorms. When you got there most of the boys were in the kitchen or the common room. “Hi guys! Where’s Jisung?”

Chan waved and gave you a hug. “Oh- he’s in his room. Top bunk.” The boys waved as you walked by and you knocked quietly on the last door. A muffled voice belonging to your boyfriend told you to come in. You saw a single sweatpant covered leg hanging off one of the top bunks. Jisung’s head peeked over the side and he gave you a smile.

“Hi!” He said sleepily. Your sock feet padded over to the bed and you looked at him from over the side. “You wanna take a nap with me?” There was no helping the laugh that escaped. 

“You called me just to take a nap with you?” He nodded, his eyes already droopy. It looked like he was waiting to fall asleep until you arrived. With a sigh, you began climbing up the ladder and Jisung lifted up the covers giving you a place to lay on his chest. “This is a tiny bed.” 

“Shhhh. It’s nap time baby.” 

Eventually, the both of you fell asleep. It was easy to relax in Jisung’s arms. He radiated warmth with his arms and legs wrapped around you. Soon your eyes blinked open only to find a dark room. You reached over Jisung to grab his phone. You looked to see it was nearing 11 o’clock at night. “What’s wrong, babe?” Jisung mumbled feeling you move. You told him the time and he laughed. “There’s no point in you leaving, so why don’t you just spend the night?” He whispered.

He smiled feeling you nod and he started running his long fingers through your hair. In the low light, you could only barely make up the features of Jisung’s face. You were only slightly surprised to feel Jisung’s lips on yours. The kiss was slow and sleepy, but sweet none the less. Your hands already around his stomach slipped under his shirt., feeling his warm skin. 

Sleepy kisses were exchanged, Jisung’s long fingers playing with your hair and holding you close in the dark. He pulled you on top of him, leaving no space between you. After a while, the both of you fell back asleep and didn’t wake until morning

Felix:

Felix got a running start before launching himself off the cliff and into the water. You watched from the shore of the little alcove the two of you had found. You cheered seeing your boyfriend resurface in the center of the clear watering hole. “You gonna try?” He called, treading water. You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. “Come on, there’s a smaller ledge, closer to the water.” 

You looked to the rock face Felix had climbed moments earlier. The colors of green and blue were vibrant around you, making your own little paradise. “Fine.” Felix smiled, seeing you shed your coverup and began swimming back to the shore. He took your hand and led you to a smaller ledge half as high as the one he had previously jumped off of. The waterfall roared next to you and Felix laced his fingers with yours.

“Ready?” You nodded, a nervous smile on the corner of your mouth. You were comforted seeing Felix’s grin. “3, 2,..1!” The two of you leaped from the ledge and into the cool clear water, screams escaping as you fell. Felix held onto your hand tightly as the two of you sank beneath the water’s surface. “Wasn’t that fun?” He exclaimed as the two of you swam above the surface. 

“Yeah, okay. That was fun.”

Felix smiled as the two of you treaded water. “You wanna do something else fun?” Before you could answer Felix started swimming to the waterfall. Trusting him, you followed. He gently took your hand, lifting you up on the slippery rocks. He led the two of you carefully behind heavy curtain of water into a tiny cave. The roaring of the falls echoed in the small space, obstructing your view of your secret alcove. 

“Wow!” You said, reaching your hand under the water. Felix grinned, wet hair falling in front of his eyes. Stepping carefully, he made his way over to you wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, but you nodded palms resting against his bare chest. Hesitantly, Felix leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was slow at first, then picked up as Felix grew more confident. His lips danced against yours, one of his hands coming to tangle in your hair. The two of you parted, breathe heavy and lovestruck grins plastered on your faces.

Felix pulled away and started to do a little dance making you laugh. “What the hell are you doing?” He just continued to do his weird little dance as you watched and laughed at your dorky boyfriend behind the waterfall.

Seungmin:

Two weeks after Seungmin and you started dating, he and the rest of the boys left for a US tour.  Thankfully his dating ban had been lifted early after an analysis by the company, so Seungmin was free to spend time with you anytime he wanted as long as it didn’t interfere with his schedules. 

Your fingers tapped against your steering wheel. The red light turned green and you drove the rest of the way to the airport. Chan called you early this morning, about two hours ago, and told you their flight was getting in at five-thirty in the morning. You yawned, pulling into Seoul International Airport. Seungmin had called you the night before and told you not to bother meeting him since they would be arriving so early in the morning. But, you were determined.

After asking an attendant she directed you the flight gate the boys would be coming from. The sign you had made in the last hour, was bumping up against your legs as you ran through the cold airport. Seungmin’s sweatshirt was blocking the cold air from hitting your skin as you looked for gate A6. 

A few other people were waiting as you approached the gate, but you pushed your way to the front. Your eyes frantically searched the sea of people as passengers came off the plane. Spotting Chan’s curly frizzy hair you held up your sign with a huge grin on your face. 

Chan spotted you first and then laughed at your sign. He called back into the group of boys behind him, who all turned to look at you. Before you knew it, your boyfriend was pushing himself to the front of the group and he laughed when he saw your sign, falling to the ground and covering his face. 

‘Welcome Home Hot Stuff’ the sign read with a funny meme of Seungmin that Felix had sent you a couple days ago glue on the poster board. Not wanting to be apart from you anymore Seungmin ran over and wrapped you up in his arms. “Y/n, I have missed you so much. Why are you here? It’s 5:30! Is this my sweatshirt? I can’t believe you’re here! Honey, I’ve missed you so much-”

You smashed your lips against his cutting off his ramblings. After getting over the shock, Seungmin kissed you back, dropping everything in his hands. He cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. Your head was spinning in the best way possible. “Welcome home, Minnie.” You whispered against his lips, making him smile. 

“Let’s go get breakfast.” He said with a smile and took the sign from you, looking at your craft project. 

Jeongin:

Jeongin and you lay on the floor of your dorm room a board game between the two of you. Rain pelted against your window, thunder rolling outside. Jeongin moved his game piece six spaces before looking up at you with a smile. You sat with a mug of warm tea in your hands and Jeongin’s hoodie swallowing you in warmth. 

“You are too cute,” Jeongin mumbled, leaning his cheek into his palm. 

Attempting to hide your blush, you brought the steaming cup up to your mouth and took a sip. “Jeongin, really you don’t have to stay here. I’m no scared of the storm.” He shrugged and rolled the dice for you, moving it four spaces. You got up, the sweatshirt falling over your shorts. The mug clunked against the wood as you set it on your desk. 

Jeongin watched you walk over and pulled you down into his lap. “What if I’m the one scared of the storm?” He questioned, pushing a piece of hair away from your face. Rolling your eyes you giggled and kissed his cheek. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not scared of the storm.” 

“Innie, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. My roommate is staying at her boyfriend’s.” 

Jeongin smiled, placing a loving kiss on the side of your neck. He reached over and rolled the dice as lightning flashed outside. The cold air of the dorm made you snuggled deeper into the warm fabric of Jeongin’s hoodie. Sensing movement in his lap he wrapped a protective arm around you as he moved his game piece with his other hand. 

“I think I’m going to win in the next two moves.” You said, causing your boyfriend to turn his head. He looked at you with raised brows and laughed.

“Oh really?” 

You nodded and moved your piece to the final block on the board. “Yep. I win.” Jeongin laughed and looked into your eyes. His knuckles brushed over your cheek his breath ghosting over your lips. You inched forward, desperately wanting to close the small gap between you. A smirk tilted on the corner of Jeongin’s mouth, seeing your impatience. 

Softly, gently, his lips pressed against yours. His lips tasted like coffee, and he smelled like the rain that was falling outside. You dragged your lips against his savoring every moment with him. As you pulled away Jeongin chases after your lips, making you giggle. 

Your eyes looked to the window and Jeongin trailed his lips tenderly down your jaw, before resting his chin on your shoulder. “You stand corrected.” He whispered, kissing your lips again. “I win.” 

Requests are open lovelies! Just send an ask!

Masterlist

[lilpixielix]

Feather Light 

(Ramking fic)

omg okay so i did it, i wrote my first fic ever

please let me know what you think??? 💖💖

read on ao3 here

As King closes his bedroom door, Ram takes a seat on his boyfriend’s bed. He drops his hands down, feeling the cool fabric under his warm palms. Ram knows these sheets, having spent countless nights nestled between them, just inches away from King. But that had been before he knew he could break the boundary between them. Before King broke it for them.

King shuffles to his bed and settles next to Ram, who is staring intently at the sheets. As he sits, their thighs graze one another ever so slightly and Ram stifles a small laugh.

“Ram, are you ticklish?” Ram shakes his head. King gives him a knowing look. “That seems like something a ticklish person would say…” His words trail off as his hands attack Ram’s sides.

Ram, defenseless against the sudden ambush, collapses backwards onto the bed. His breath gets caught in his throat. Even if he wanted to say something, it would be impossible.

While the younger man is down, something pops into King’s head, telling him to straddle Ram’s thighs. He lifts his leg over Ram’s and sits down firmly. Not only can Ram not escape King’s grasp, but now he has full access to Ram’s torso.

King’s attack continues and Ram can’t stop laughing. His laughter fills King’s ears and heart. It’s probably the most laughter King has heard from his boyfriend in the time since they’ve met. He likes it. He needs more. King’s hands dart under the hem of Ram’s shirt, attacking his waist and conquering his weakest spot.

Suddenly, the laughter stops and King feels warm hands cover his own. They squeeze his hands and he hears a sigh from Ram. King glances up, looking into his boyfriend’s eyes for the first time since entering the room. There is a soft flush dusted across his cheeks. King’s eyes travel down, roaming to Ram’s cute rose-tinted lips, slightly parted as he silently gasps for air. Not stopping there, King’s eyes take in the loose-fitting tie under Ram’s white collar. His hands reach out to loosen it. That’s when he finally looks back up at Ram’s eyes, asking for permission with his own.

Ram abruptly sits up and scoots his legs out from under King’s. He takes off his tie and grabs King’s hands, which had fallen to their owner’s sides. Nodding slightly, he leads them to the top button, knowing King will get the message. He leans back on his palms and tries to steady his breathing, still not fully recovered from King’s attack.

The elder’s hands tremble as his excitement catches up to them. He wrestles with the top button for close to thirty seconds. In a fit of annoyance, he huffs loudly and sits back on his legs. King rests his hands on his thighs and stares at them with slight shame.

“Sorry, I guess I’m more nervous than I thought,” King lets out with a small sigh.

Ram catches his breath and shifts his legs until he’s kneeling the same way as King. He cups King’s cheek, and strokes it softly.

“It’s okay,” he reassures.

Ram reaches out to his boyfriend’s shirt hem, searching for eye contact and asking permission just as King had moments before. King’s face rivals the pink previously seen on Ram’s, causing the latter to chuckle. Not seeking further embarrassment, King simply lifts his arms, granting approval to his love.

In one swift motion, King’s shirt is removed. Before King has time to feel bare, Ram tosses the shirt aside and moves his hands to his button-up. With ease, the younger man undoes his shirt and casts it aside as well. King and Ram suddenly realize three things: one, they have nothing left to do with their hands; two, this is the first time they’ve seen each other shirtless at the same time; and three, they’ve never been in a position quite like this with anyone in their lives.

Then, King opens his mouth before his brain has caught up. “I forgot you had so many tattoos.”

Ram smiles.

“Could I… uhm, can I look at them again?” the elder asks, remembering his drowsy and pain-induced actions from before.

Ram smiles in agreement.

King’s reaches out to his love’s neck. His touch is light and feathery as his fingers delicately dance over Ram’s dreamcatcher tattoo. On impulse, King presses his lips to the tattoo and begins to pepper kisses down his partner’s neck. He continues his trail down Ram’s left shoulder, lifting up the arm and bringing his lips to the next tattoo. With each kiss, King adds the smallest amount of pressure. His lips find Ram’s hand which he lifts up to his chest, letting him feel just how nervous, yet thrilled he was to feel Ram’s skin on his.

An unfamiliar heat begins to crawl up Ram’s chest and his throat and his cheeks. It was a jarring, yet distinct and comforting heat. Suddenly, Ram can’t look anywhere but down and King notices. In an attempt to catch his eyes, King brings Ram's hand up to his cheek and then moves his own to Ram's. The quiet man has no choice but to look into his boyfriend’s eyes. King then gently swipes his thumb across Ram's cheekbone while his pointer finger goes to trace the dreamcatcher behind his ear.

Shocked and rosy-cheeked, Ram drops his hand from King’s face. The elder then asks softly, “Can I kiss you, Ram?”

King’s words cause the red in his partner’s cheeks to somehow deepen further as he nods his head quickly. A small smile spreads across King’s face as he brings one hand to the nape of Ram’s neck, slowly threading those fingers in the short hair. He tugs gently, testing the waters. Ram lets out a sharp, hushed gasp that sends a chill up and down King’s spine.

Desperate to hear more from his love, King pushes forward, guiding Ram’s lips to his own with the help of his hand. Their lips meet in the most beautiful collision. Just as King had hoped, he hears a soft whine. King moves his face back quickly, a bit overwhelmed. He stares at Ram, whose whole face is redder than he’s ever seen.

“Do that again,” King pleads. Ram blinks. Twice.

“Make me,” the usually quiet man says. King doesn’t hesitate for a second and guides Ram down onto the bed. He throws his legs over Ram’s waist in another straddle.

“Wait, is this okay?”

Ram nods.

King takes Ram’s hands, intertwines their fingers, and hastily brings his lips to the younger man’s neck. He sucks down on Ram’s tattoo gently, waiting to hear more sweet sounds. As Ram lets out another whine, his hands wiggle their way out of King’s and find their way to the small of his boyfriend’s back. Their heat takes King by surprise. He hovers over Ram’s neck as he feels a hand brushing it’s way up his back. The hand finds its home resting at the back of King’s head.

As his boyfriend’s hand settles there, King brings his lips back to Ram’s neck. He wants to leave a mark there, something to prove his passion, but before he gets the chance, Ram tugs King’s head backwards to guide their mouths together again. He traces King’s lip with his tongue, seeking entry.

King eagerly opens his lips for Ram’s warm tongue. His hands find the younger man’s hair, gripping loosely with pleasure as a few fingers travel behind Ram’s ear. Without realizing it, they blindly trace the tattoo.

Just as King settles into their heated kiss, Ram pulls his love’s head back by his hair. He peers into his King’s eyes and sees them glazed over with lust. Ram knows King is happy, but he wants to make him a little happier.

With a good sense of balance, Ram pushes King onto his back next to him. He swings his body to be in front of the older man and guides King to rest his back against the pillows. Ram then nudges King’s legs apart with his hands and kneels between his partner’s thighs. Resting his arms on either side of King, Ram leans forward to place a gentle kiss on his nose. Then one on his bright red lips. Then his chin, his neck, his collarbone.

Ram brings his hand to his love’s skin. The younger man’s fingers dance across King’s chest until a thumb traces over his nipple. King can’t stop the sharp breath that escapes his lips. Ram smiles. He brings that smile down to King’s nipple, placing another sweet kiss on it. Another breath escapes.

Ram glances back up to his boyfriend’s face and sees the brown eyes he loves hidden by pale lids. He slides his hand down King’s arm and grabs his hand that’s clutching the bedsheets.

“King,” Ram whispers.

King attempts to respond but before he gets the chance, the room is filled with barking.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Nineteen

George has a damned fine voice. And it’s a good thing that he does, because the man talks about boring shit more than anybody that Atticus has ever known. 

Like now. He’s been droning on about chemical reactions for god knows how long. If they weren’t naked in bed, Atticus would get up and walk off. Go make a cup of tea or something. It wouldn’t deter George at all. He’d just keep on talking. 

Because it wasn’t really about having a captive audience. George just did his best work thinking out loud. God only knew how much chatter that little assistant of his heard. Hours upon hours would be Atticus’ guest. 

But you didn’t get to be one of the best chemists in the world by being white bread and butter normal, now did you?

Atticus waits for a lull in the onslaught of words, giving it a full three seconds before he speaks, just to be certain George had wrapped up his thought. (He’ll never admit to thoughtfulness out loud. That would ruin his reputation.)

“I’m getting leave again at Christmas.” George shifts onto his side, head resting on the upturned palm of his hand. He’s not what anyone would call beautiful, but there’s something about him that makes Atticus’ blood run hot. (He’s not a looker himself. Atticus figured that out young. He also learned that personality could get you the same bits with just a little more work.)

There’s a moment where George’s eyes are far away. Atticus waits, as patient as he ever is. You had to give the man time to come back to himself from wherever those rambling thoughts were. But there’s a blink and those clever eyes zero in on him, because George is clever, and he sees what’s being offered. 

A holiday. Together. 

Neither one of them had any family to speak of. Atticus had the crew, and George had his work socials and his bored rich housewives, but beyond that, there wasn’t really much to do on a holiday. 

Unless one of those bored rich housewives could sneak away from her family on Christmas day. Which if a woman could handle that, Atticus would concede his spot in the bed, because that’s some fucking logistics and deep lies to accomplish. 

“I could swing ‘round this way.” An offer. Because they’ve been doing this on and off for years, but it’s never been Official. It’s never been just the two of them and no one else. Atticus don’t mind it that way. He’s not jealous of saggy breasts or diamond earrings. A man had his urges. 

But there was something about asking to spend a holiday together that felt intimate in a way they tended to skate away from. Atticus was head over heels, there was no denying that truth. He’d been in love with George for a long time now, and he’s confident enough to say it’s mutual. But mutually in love and mum about it was a hair different than mutually in love and spending Christmas together like a pair of old queens. 

He brushes his fingers along the corded muscle at the back of a strong neck, his breath a sharp exhale when George clambers on top of him. “You aren’t exactly light as a feather here, Georgie.”

And that gets him an elbow right to the ribs for his trouble. “I’m perfectly shaped for all my activities, I’ll have you know.” George had a voice that made your toes tingle. It’s what drew Atticus in, back when they first met. Sitting a few blokes apart at the bar, nursing drinks in the quiet of an early morning. 

All the partiers were gone, the lightweights sleeping it off against the bar top. All that was left were the lonely men and the alcoholics. And when Atticus heard that raspy, dry paper grumble of ‘another, damn it’, his dick was already on board and half hard. 

There wasn’t much courting, then. But neither one of them were the type for romance. (A lie Atticus perpetrated because if George saw his notebook full of poetry, he’d never let him live it down.) Atticus had simply moved three stools down, knocked back the rest of his pint, looked over at George and said ‘I’ll jerk you off in the bathroom if you’ll do the same for me.’

And they’d been meeting ever since. A slow and steady escalation, because despite the drugs and the booze, George was as steady in spirit as he was in hand. Hand jobs in the bar bathroom became back alley blow jobs. Back alley blow jobs became backseat fucking in George’s car. Fucking in George’s car became a short drive to whatever hotel that Atticus was scrimping out to get him through leave. 

All to get them here. Legs tangled like mad drunk grasshoppers, fingers tracing muscle and ink. (George had a fondness for tracing the lines of the compass tattooed on the top of Atticus’ head. He said it helped him think.) Talking about spending the holiday together in a hotel room just like this. 

“Well.” The word is snapped off at the end, though the rasp of it is teasing. “If you’re going to be staying more than a day or two, it stands to reason that you should sleep at my place. That way, you can spend your money on getting me a proper gift.”

Another escalation. Atticus knows where George lives. He’d gotten the address back when they were still fucking in the back of the car, fogging up the windows like teenagers. He’d used it only to send the bastard postcards, though. Atticus liked to fill them out with useless facts about things he saw when they were out and about. The biggest thing he saw in a place, and the smallest. What the oddest local cuisine was. Atticus liked his little facts.

And he liked an excuse to keep himself in George’s thoughts, since the slimy git had a habit of taking up space in Atticus’ thoughts, whether he wanted to or not. 

But being offered to stay at George’s place? That was a big deal. Because it made this holiday bit even more serious. It wasn’t two men sharing take away on a shitty motel bed with A Miracle on 34th Street playing quiet in the background on an out of date TV. 

This was a proper Christmas. At home. In George’s home. For at least three or four days. 

“You’d do that?” It’s a stupid response, and Atticus sees just how stupid it is by the way that George is looking at him. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.” And he had a point there. It was like moving mountains to get George to do things he was indifferent about. Atticus couldn’t imagine what it would take to make the bastard do something that he really didn’t want to do. 

“Right.” Atticus murmurs, tracing the crow’s feet wrinkles where they crease the skin at the corner of George’s eyes. Some people said you could read those lines, the same way you read the lines on someone’s palm. But Atticus can’t be sure if those were lines of laughter, or lines of squinting behind goggles in a lab. 

He hopes it’s more laughter than anything. 

Atticus saw a fortune teller once, a little old woman set up on a blanket at the fringes of a bazaar in India. She had taken his hand and pointed out the lines to him in broken English. His life line was long, a few close calls written into the cracks in the line along his hand. His fortune line was more like Morse code, and Atticus felt like that was pretty true to life. 

But most of all, she earned those rupees when she pointed out his heart line. ‘Late’, she said with an all knowing nod. ‘Strong.’ 

It’d be years more before he met George. The old bag had been more right than Atticus could have guessed. Late meant he was in his forties before George Cholmondeley. (And another year plus before he could spell the bastard’s last name.) 

Strong wasn’t the half of it. 

Nothing was ever going to keep Atticus from being out at sea. But George was enough to lure him back to land more than he ever did before. This was the first year that Atticus was actually going to use up all of his leave, instead of having it converted and put onto his pay. 

“Right.” George agrees, and that’s the end of that. There’s a light in those clever eyes that says ‘argue with me and lose hours of your life and still do what I say’ and Atticus can’t argue with those facts. 

Arguing with George was like trying to shove a camel through the eye of a needle. You’d work up a sweat, you’d get pissed off and tired, but you’d be no closer to your goal hours later. 

No, it was settled. 

“And what does a man such as yourself want for a Christmas gift, hm?” Because Atticus has no earthly idea what to get him. He knew all the stupid tidbits, things that George liked to eat, the things that he loathed. What movie he’d roll over to watch, if it was on the television when they were done fucking. 

But none of those things equalled out to Christmas gifts. It’s not like Atticus could buy him a tie or a nice pen and call it a day. 

“You to figure it out.” And Atticus should have seen that coming. George was contrary, often just for the fun of it. And even more often, just for the amusement of watching Atticus get pissed off trying to figure it out. 

“Bastard.” He drops his head back against the overly starched hotel pillowcase and sighs, eyes on the ceiling. There were no stains up there, which was an improvement from the last time that they met up to spend the night together. But it was that popcorn style that reminded Atticus of being a little boy, spending his nights staring up at the ceiling in the boy’s home. Right out of the 1970s, it was. 

“You like it.” And again, Georgie isn’t wrong. Atticus loves the holy hell out of the bastard, not that he’s going to say that out loud any time soon. His silence is rewarded with George easing down into the crook of his left arm, cheek pillowed against Atticus’ chest. 

He wasn’t exactly a chiseled Greek god, but it was easy to not feel insecure about the softness of his belly when George was running his fingers through the soft, downy hair there. 

“A notebook is cheating.” Because he knows that George is going to buy him a gift too. There’s a huff of offense that blows warm air against his chest, and Atticus grins. “If I don’t get the easy out, then you don’t either.”

His notebook did need replacing, though. It was a battered old spiral bound number. In a few more weeks, it’d go in the bottom of his trunk with the other full ones. But he wasn’t going to carry around some expensive leather wrapped thing. Hell, just last week he dropped his notebook in the toilet. 

Not going to risk doing that with something that cost more than a pound or two. 

“Now you’re the one who’s being a bastard.” George’s irritation always has such a lovely bite to it. Atticus likes getting him riled up, though he doesn’t try too often. It wasn’t easy. But it was always worth his hard work, as evidenced by the blunt nails dragging deliciously down his belly. 

It’d be awhile yet before he was able to go again, seeing as they’d just finished fucking about ten minutes ago, but the spirit was really fucking willing right about now, regardless of what bullshit the flesh was on about. 

“Yeah. But you love me.”

And yeah, it was very much mutual. 

[starstaiined]

Memories

SUMMARY: All Kat ever wanted was a normal life. A life unhindered by the trauma she faced, a life where raised voices didn’t send her heart racing, a life where any accidental contact with strangers didn’t violently thrust her into memories she would give anything to forget. But as more and more memories of past lives begin to surface on top of her existing trauma, that dream seems to move farther and farther away. Suddenly the weight of worlds settled on fragile shoulders, and then the cost of escaping it all didn’t seem so high...

TW: Sexual abuse, anxiety attack, depression, suicidal ideation

TAGGING : @tonight-we-are-live (bc ur the one who asked for angst tonight)

   Hands inched up her thigh, and she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Katherine laid still, petrified, as the man hovering above her whispered an array of words she couldn’t process. His face, half hidden by shadows, seemed to shift endlessly. First, it was Mannox. His lips twitched into a too sharp smile, which stayed in place even as the rest of his face changed. Some dude with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes came next, a memory from a different life she was sure. Another man, this time with stubble which scratched the side of her face when he leaned close. “I love you so much, Katherine.” When he pulled back, he had changed again. This time it was Dereham’s face. His eyes darkened and shifted to a brown so dark it was nearly black, his nose so small it was nearly non existent. After a few more seconds of shifting, it finally settled on him. Thomas Culpeper. “I love you, Katherine.” As he smiled up at her, she finally managed to scream. His hand shot forward, covering her mouth roughly. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” He squeezes so tightly she’s sure her jaw is going to bruise, and her eyes burn with tears...

   And suddenly Katherine shoots awake in bed. She’s covered in sweat, her heart pumping harder than it did after a show. She can’t stop the sob that escapes her throat, a stifled thing that gets stuck halfway through and comes out as an almost whine. Anne shifts in the bed next to her. It takes everything in Kat to hold in the building storm. She doesn’t want to wake her cousin, or the other queens. She doesn’t want to bother them. Quiet as her namesake, she slips on a pair of slippers and creeps out of the room. She needs out. The walls of the house are suddenly stifling, and without pausing to so much as grab a sweater she disappears through the arched doorway. 

   The winter air nips painfully at her exposed skin, but in truth it helps ground her. If she focus on the pain of the cold, then she doesn’t have to think about the images filling her head. Memories, memories, memories. They came back slowly, each one materializing like smoke over an extinguished candle, wrapping around her and dragging her further and further away from recovery. In some ways, it was almost funny: she’d lived hundred of different lives in hundreds of different places, yet the story was always the same. She couldn’t escape it even if she tried. (And oh, how she tried.) She let out a scoff at that, running a hand roughly through her hair. The cold isn’t keeping her thoughts at bay any longer, and if she thinks about them for another second she’ll end up crying. As is, tears prick the edges of her eyes. She rubs at them roughly, and makes a decision. Run. It starts off as a jog, but it builds and soon she’s flying down the sidewalks and turning corners at full speed, the feel of her feet pumping underneath her cathartic. 

   She ran until her aching muscles couldn’t move anymore, at which point she all but collapsed on a park bench. Kat was sure of one thing: she was thoroughly lost. She’d spent the last hour running, not paying attention to where she turned. It’s only now that she regrets that choice. She wants to go home...she wants to talk to Anne and hug Jane and laugh with Anna. She could call them, they would come and find her and...and you’d wake them up for your own selfish reasons. A little voice in the back of her mind finished; it’s that voice that makes her hand freeze in place. Always so needy. Always tugging at their sleeves and making them bend to your will. It’s all about Kat, isn’t it? The voice continues to prod, and Kat’s hands begin to shake. She curls them into fists, letting her nails bite into her palm, but it does nothing to ease the voice this time. It’s why Mannox could never love you. It’s why Dereham left. It’s why Henry was always angry. You ask for too much, Katherine. You are too much. They would be better off without you. 

   Some part, deep down, protests. But the rest of her is all too willing to accept what the voice said. After all, it was true. If she wasn’t around, they wouldn’t have to tread so lightly around her. She remembered the time Jane has squeezed her shoulder gently after they’d first met, before they were close, remembered the way the sudden and unexpected contact has caused Kat to spiral into an anxiety attack. Her stomach rolls at the memory. It had been a kind gesture, but she’d overreacted. She remembers suddenly the way Jane had spent the next couple of weeks apologizing. After that incident, Jane had never looked at her the same way. None of them had. They handled her with kid gloves, always soft and kind and understanding, but also wary. Cautious. As if they were scared that if they said or did something wrong, Kat would shatter. What she hated most was that they were right. The smallest thing could send her hurtling back to a different time and leave her trembling and unable to speak. She loathed herself in that moment. Everyone else spent so much time and energy making sure she was okay, if she just disappeared things would be so much easier on them. 

   In an almost trance, she rises and begins to wander. She’s disconnected from reality at this point. When she reaches the bridge, the idea slips into her mind. In truth...it’d been there longer than she cared to admit. But now....now it’s real. It’s like watching a show happen on the television. Kat watches her hands grab onto the railing, watches as she swings her legs over and sits on the side. Her feet dangle precariously over the rushing river below. All she had to do was lean forward just a little and ... 

   Her phone rang. She ignored it. It rang again. And again. Finally, she reaches for it with shaking fingers. She answers it, and Jane’s worried voice comes bursting to life. “Kitty, where are you?” 

  “I don’t know.” Kat answered, her voice sounding dead to her own ears. 

  She can hear shuffling on the other end of the phone, and mumbled words she can’t quite catch. (Not that she’s trying. She’s too numb to try.) 

  “Kit, honey, are you okay?” She can hear the rising concern in Jane’s tone, and it makes something stir in her chest. But as quickly as the feeling surfaced, it’s gone. She shrugged, not answering Jane’s question. 

  She can hear scuffling on the other end, and when the next question comes it’s Anne’s voice. “Kat, babe, do you remember the time we went ice skating?” That story had always drawn a groan or a protest out of Kat, but this time she gives no response. If Anne is worried, she doesn’t let it show. She continues on rambling about various memories, Jane chiming in occasionally. Kat doesn’t laugh....but she doesn’t hang up either. 

  Eventually, however, she hears her name being called. She turns and looks to find....Anna, Cathy, and Catherine. The looks on their faces — horror, panic, and fear — finally snaps Kat out of her haze. She realizes what she was about to do. Tears well in her eyes, and her mouth opens to provide an excuse, a defense, anything, but nothing comes out. 

  Anna is the first to speak. “Kitty, can you come off the ledge, please? Slowly, please be careful.” 

  Kat listens, and once her feet are on solid ground she’s enveloped by the other three queens. 

  “Jesus Christ, Kat, you’re freezing.” Aragon huffed, pulling off her sweater and wrapping it around the younger girl. 

  The sudden warmth made her realize just how cold she’d been. Slowly, she manged to croak out a question. “How did...how did you guys find me?” 

  Cathy answered, slowly, as they walked her back to the car. “We traced your phone. Anne and Jane were supposed to keep you on the line while we went out to pick you up.” The drive home is in silence. 

  When they finally reach the house, Anne nearly crushes her in a hug. The other three queens quietly talk to Jane about what they’d found while Anne fussed over her younger cousin. Then, they switched. Jane fussed over Kat while Aragon talked to Anne. 

   Cathy had disappeared into the kitchen to make hot cocoa, and Anna had dug around until she found some of Kat’s favorite movies. While Aragon talked to Anne, Jane had buried a shivering Katherine in a pile of blankets.

   Once everyone finished their tasks, they reconvened on the couch. Kat sat at the center of the rest of the girls, five pairs of eyes trained on her. finally, Anne broke the silence. 

  “Kit, you know you can always talk to us, right?” It was soft, perhaps softer than she had ever heard Anne go before. 

  Kitty let out a shaky breath, looking down. “I didn’t want to bother you.” 

  “You are never bothering us, Kat. Especially not when it comes to something like memories.” Anna whispered, squeezing her hand gently. 

Cathy nodded. “Good, or bad, we’re here. You don’t have to deal with everything alone. No one expects you to, Kat.” 

“You already deal with so much. I’m ... I’m a handful, and-” 

“And we all have two hands.” Aragon interrupted, her voice gentle. “You help us with our issues, Kat, and we’re here to help with yours. And nothing will ever change that.”

“Besides,” Jane added, pulling the youngest girl in close and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “We do it because we love you, Kitty.” 

Love had always been a dangerous word. Her entire life, the word had been mangled and twisted and corrupted to reflect the worst version of itself. But amidst the tangle of limbs and careful concern, Katherine realized that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t always so bad. 

[moonlightchildz]

i love you; jungkook

yes, boyfriend jungkook is my kink now. also, the vid that dropped of jk with euphoria in the back?? i fell in love

Love

What is love?

Is it something you’re supposed to feel after being with someone after a certain period of time? Or something you just know is there living inside your heart waiting to be found at the right time for the right person? Who knows? Love for you didn’t have a time stamp, or a warning as a matter of fact. It came stumbling upon you, taking you by surprise and catching you whole.

Love was irrevocably beautiful in your eyes. Yes, to you love was a pair of two dark brown eyes that shined ever so brightly with so much passion and enthusiasm over the simplest of things, or perhaps it was a bunny smile that could send your heart into overdrive? Or maybe it was a pair of lips that could bring heaven and hell all at once in just one kiss.

Or was it just him?

Jeon Jungkook.

Yes, indeed it was.

You hummed happily to the tune your boyfriend was currently playing. It was late at night and you both had happened to sneak out and go for a drive to the park as usual. It was a cloudless night. The stars shined so brightly it could challenge the moon itself and the breeze was just right.

Your legs were propped up against the dashboard, head tilted towards the opened window. It was summer, which signified everything your heart ever desired. Late night drives, make out sessions in the back of his car, late night swims, soft whispers against each other’s lips, laughing and talking until the moon had bid its goodbye and welcomed the sun, and a pair of arms that had become your safe haven, your loving summer.

At the end of every day, his arms would welcome you into a deep slumber. Of course he always had to go in through your window or else your parents would murder the both of you if they ever found out there was a boy in your room. In the end, your legs would tangle with his and you both would be so wrapped up around each other. Your arm lazily strewn across his torso as your head rested right above his beating heart while he wrapped his strong arms around your body.

He was the embodiment of summer. Kisses in the sun, laughter found by jumping on his trampoline, ice cream dates in his old, kiddy tree house, long walks by the beach, hand holding on a sunny, hot day, and warmth found in his arms.

“What’s on that mind of yours?”

You turned towards him, a soft smile laced on your lips already. His voice was so soothing, angelic even. God, he was literally so damn perfect in your eyes, even with all of his flaws and imperfections, to you he was something out of this world.

You, you big idiot. I’m thinking of how I’m so fucked.

“Just thinking,” you said and he raised an eyebrow at your cryptic answer.

He shrugged. “Well that’s a first for you.”

Your mouth opened in full offense because what an absolute asshat. You punched him on the shoulder without remorse and he began to laugh since of course it wouldn’t even hurt him. He was just made out of muscle after all. Jeon Jungkook, you truly are something else.

And all mine. You thought.

“What if I just kissed you right now?” You curiously asked him, beginning to lean towards him. Your hand slowly began to wonder up his thigh, a teasing smile already appearing on your face. He side eyed you as you said this and it brought a giggle out of your lips. He was so cute and got so easily flustered over the smallest of things.

“Well can I at least stop the car so I can do this—“

“Nope.” He tried turning just in time to kiss you, but you cupped his chin and forced him to keep looking at the road instead of you. You peered over the compartment and placed a shy kiss on the corner of his mouth, causing him to shake his head in amusement as you released him.

You leaned back against your seat, enjoying the soft wind that was blowing along as he drove you to the park where you usually went to eat at ungodly hours of the night. Tonight was Friday, which meant chicken udon and mango smoothies were on the menu. It was two in the morning and you both had arrived safely at the park. As you began to put your feet down, Jungkook was quick to unbuckle his belt and yours within seconds of turning off the engine.

“What are you doi—“ his hand was already tangling itself in your hair, pulling his lips on yours before you could even finish your sentence. And as usual, your mind was wiped clean of your intentions and you responded back immediately. Your hands were already wrapping around his neck, trying to pull him closer to you than he already was.

Kisses with Jungkook could vary. It could be soft, shy pecks, or long, sweet kisses that made your heart heavy. Sometimes it could be those hot, steamy, and tongue tied ones that could manage to levitate your soul from the ground into outer space. That man had absolute control over your heart and truth be told you didn’t mind at all because in the end you were utterly, and undeniably in love with him.

God, you were utterly and irrevocably in love with Jeon Jungkook. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“C’mere,” he breathed against your mouth. His hands grabbed a hold of your thighs and even though his stupid car was so damn cramped whenever you two made out, you both didn’t care. You struggled in straddling him on the driver’s seat so much that you managed to bump heads and knee him so many times.

A serious of one worded apologies came blurting out of your mouth and his as you both struggled to get each other settled comfortably.

“Ouch!”—and—“I’m sorry!”—and then—“Ow, you just hit me again!”

You both laughed.

“Here, let me just...” he situated himself back and proceeded to move the seat all the way back to provide more space.

“You could have done that in the first place to prevent all of this you twat,” you began to argue with him and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re the twat for not telling me either.” He bit back and you huffed in annoyance since the both of you could go on for hours just arguing over the dumbest of things.

“Well, you’re the twat for not thinking of it.” You continued andJungkook just slapped his hand across your mouth, silencing you.

“Can you just shut up and kiss me instead?” He pouted once he saw the murder in your eyes. He quickly removed his hand once he felt your tongue poke at across his palm and you chuckled as he scrunched up his nose.

“That’s what you get—” he cut you off once he rubbed his palm across your cheek. “You little motherfu—” you began and he quickly grabbed a hold of your swinging hand.

“All I want is a kiss, please?”

“Only because I lo—your cute,” you laughed nervously at your own slip up. Jungkook didn’t even have a chance to say anything in return since your mouth was on his in seconds, distracting him.

As you pulled back, you couldn’t help yourself, you proceeded to trace his loving face. Your fingertips skimmed his lips and you didn’t notice the way he was staring at you so lovingly either. You were too focused on the words that were at the tip of your tongue. No one had ever made you feel that way.

“Can I confess something?” he whispered out, not containing himself as his hands found your hips. He pulled you flushed against his body, foreheads touching now as his lips brushed your own so softly.

“Enlighten me,” You softly began, giggling once he nuzzled his nose against yours. He was being oddly affectionate these past few days and you weren’t complaining since who wouldn’t want their man to spoil them with affection?

His hand raised from your hip and slowly made its way up your arm, caressing your body along the way. He suddenly became serious, but you were too busy admiring his hands to notice the way he was looking at you. He was looking at you as if he were in absolute awe with you.

“Look at me.” It was more of a gentle plea, but even then you glanced up at him in curiosity. His lips were a cherry stained red from the lollipop he was happily sucking on earlier—ps, it was your lollipop but he ended up taking it away from your mouth without even asking you for permission.

“I love you,” he softly confessed to you and those three words had managed to make you blink rapidly. It hadn’t processed yet in your mind because the man who you were so head over heels for had just confessed he loved you in his car at two in the morning.

“What?” You immediately blurted out, your heart beating faster than ever before. Was he being serious?

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated it again, only this time he seemed more sure of himself, more sure of the love that was currently cursing throughout his body for you. His hand tenderly cupped your cheek and you instinctively leaned towards his palm. He was always warm and smelled like petals, and soft laundry detergent. He reminded you of home. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, eyes never leaving yours as you smiled at him so damn widely.

To say you were ecstatic would be an understatement, you were over the moon.

“Can I confess something too?” You shyly asked him and he leaned against his seat, a smile already making its way on his lips.

He cupped his ear. “I’m all ears for you, baby.”

“I love you,” you confessed back, eyes getting slightly moist. He had a goofy grin going on as soon as those three words left your mouth and your hands shook as you cupped his handsome face with your palms.

“I love you,” you repeated again, more louder this time, inching closer to him. There was a need inside you to kiss him, to hold him, and to just be wrapped up in his arms because he was everything you ever wanted.

“I am so in love with you.” He softly whispered back, eyes shinning now. His hand was already finding its way underneath your shirt—well, technically, his shirt since you tended to steal them at every chance you got. “Can I show you just how much I love you?”

“I mean you can, but in the back cause I’m gonna have back problems by the time we’re done.” You said with all seriousness.

“Way to ruin the moment you doof.”

His lips found your warm skin, adorning it with hues of purples and blues. His greedy hands were already taking off your shirt, admiring your figure as his mouth worked wonders on your skin. Every time you and Jungkook were intimate, every time it felt different. But now, there were these underlying emotions that had blossomed and the both of you were eager to show just how much you deeply loved each other.

He stopped himself momentarily. His hands were placed on each side, framing your head with his strong arms as he leaned down to kiss you once again, only this time it was slower, burning, and warm.

“I love you,” he softly confessed against your mouth, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“And I love you,” you quickly said back, arms tightening around him as his fingers dug on to your skin.

————

Truth be told Jungkook had demonstrated how much he loved you that night. The windows had fogged up, clothes were messily strewn inside his car, whispers were told in that night, and the ‘I love you’ phrases were repeated throughout the night as he made your legs quiver with delight. His hand intertwined with yours as moans escaped your lips, but he was there to capture every sound with his own.

“I love you.” He murmured it out against your temple. You were wearing nothing but his t-shirt and as he tenderly removed a few wet strands of your hair so he could see your face, you leaned closer to him to say it back, murmuring it out softly to him,

“And I love you.”

[greennightspider]

Fated Instinct Chapter 16: Let’s Play

Author’s Note: I’m warning you guys in advance, this chapter was getting too long which is the ONLY REASON this chapter ends like this, you have been warned it was not intentional (....for once). Also this chapter will not make sense if you haven’t read Cabin in the Snow!

Summary: Sequel to Cabin in the Snow. Akari finds herself in a predicament after an accidental overnight stay in a cabin grants her the title of fiance to the chieftain-to-be M’Baku himself.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15,  Chapter 17,  Chapter 18, Chapter 19,  Chapter 19(2),  Chapter 20,  Chapter 20(2),  Chapter 21,  Chapter 22, Chapter 23,  Chapter 24

Character List

Warning: Friskiness

M’Baku X Akari (OC)

“Uuka, my grandson. What brings you here?”

The tall, humbly bowed figure stepped closer to his grandmother. He chided himself for thinking he could out maneuver her in his quiet observations. However Nobomi was not interested in scolding him, for she could see the distress as plain as the moonlight that struck his face. “Come, my grandchild.”

Uuka approached and sat cross legged at the feet of his grandmother on the rich dark tapestry she had woven herself. Uuka’s eyes traveled along one line of gold that darted this way and that, as he held his feet on either side of his crossed legs. Trying to focus on anything, but his undeniable truth. 

“I cannot stop thinking about her.”

Nobomi said nothing, only slowly nodding as she raised her hand to lay her hand on his shoulder. “N’Ceba?” Nobomi felt him tense as she gently uttered the name he had been trying to forget for years.

“Yes. And when I look at Baku... it reminds me of how I used to be with her.” Uuka scrunched his eyes. Trying to rid his mind of the smiling face that had always greet him at the palace doors ever since they were children. The same smiling face that disappeared the day he was defeated.

“Well have you tried to approach her?” Nobomi prompted.

“No. She is not interested in a failure.” At these broken words Nobomi softly patted her eldest grandson’s head, back and forth. Ever since his challenge day, in his memory, N’Ceba had neglected to speak to him. Then again, Uuka himself had neglected to speak to anyone for days. Weeks. He honestly could not remember. At that time he had shut himself up in his own mind and heart. And by the time he had finally tried to open himself back up, she was gone.

Uuka had never held any ill will towards M’Baku for beating him. No. His loathing had been for himself. For being weak enough to lose everything. His birthright. His future. And his love. Even so, Uuka had slowly returned to his gentle, caring self, watching over his little brother Baku, and noticing how N’Ceba had grown closer to him in his stead. And Uuka had always said that even now   

“Uuka, my dear boy. You have always had a soft heart.” Nobomi lifted Uuka’s chin to meet her. “But you cannot keep sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of others.” Nobomi tightened her grip with her shaky fingers while Uuka huffed slightly, is shoulders sagging even deeper. “Is that not the job of an older brother?”

“That is the job of the chieftain. To give himself to and for his people. But you. You are Uuka. And that girl would not have run to your side as you were taken from that ring after the battle, if she was not interested in Uuka. She would not have snuck into the healing room where you lay for two days and two nights, if all she wanted was the throne.”

Uuka’s head snapped up at this news to his ears. 

“And she would not have sworn me to secrecy, if she did not care about you. My child, who do you think showed her the way?” Nobomi chuckled, amused at Uuka’s look of bewilderment as he processed this new information. But Nobomi thought the time for 

“Do not let your kindness and consideration take the best from you. There is a time to wait, and let things be as they are.” 

“But there is also a time to fight for what you love.”

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“Okay. I agree we tell M’Baku.” N’Ceba paced the familiar room with one hand against the dark stone walls. “ONLY on the provision that he makes sure to keep his mouth shut. He needs to promise not to tell Uuka. That is a given.”

Akari pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat in the chair, feeling like this banter had been going on for days. Akari, Runi and N’Ceba had been meeting in the early morning before classes in their usual secluded study room next to the cafeteria, making it harder for any spies to justify their presence at such a time. “I know he won’t agree to anything until he has the information first, say what you will but he’s too smart for that.”

Runi kissed her teeth before side-eying Akari, in all her early morning, messy hair and baggy pants glory. “Well then Kari, you might need to offer him something he can’t refuse.”

Akari quirked her head, peering at her with half lidded eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well Akari, you are the fiance here.” Runi held both her hands out in a shrug, and N’Ceba’s eyes widened in realization, pointing in approval at the new line of thought.

“Yes yes YES anyone can see that he’s clearly head over heels for you.” She exclaimed, turning to Akari looking her up and down. “I bet you could convince him to do anything you wanted if you batted your eyelashes and with a swing of your hips.”

Akari burst out laughing not knowing if the early morning was hitting them harder than they thought, or if it was just Akari’s sole lack of sleep. “Oh as if that would ever work.” However her laughter was met with silence as N’Ceba and Runi’s eyes met, before turning to her. “Uh, you’re kidding, right?”

N’Ceba coughed out a surprised scoff. “Akari. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see you’re a bombshell. Akari you have a deadly set of curves and *clap* don’t *clap* even *clap* deny *clap* it!”

Okay now I definitely know N’Ceba didnt get any sleep. Akari pursed her lips at N’Ceba’s clapping, but before she could halt this snowballing idea Runi chipped in. “Oooh yes, and I know she has just the outfit to bring it out.”

Akari’s eyes widened. “No- NOOOO Runi you are NOT talking about that.”

N’Ceba leaned her head towards Runi with her eyes slanted. “Is it that good?”

“Oh it’s that good.”

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M’Baku laughed with his boys as they waited for their morning history class to begin. He was having a good time with his friends, which was a good distraction from the fact that Akari had been to busy the past couple of days to have ‘quality time’. It was true that his urges did put a strain on his body, but things had been going so well between them that he was willing to give Akari the benefit of the doubt.

Until he heard whistles from the rest of his class, to which he turned his head and almost fell off his seat. 

Now. Usually, Akari had a very standard fashion motto: practicality. Anything she wore needed to be practical in some way or other, whether it be zip pockets, a double fur lining for warmth, or snowproof. This usually resulted in standard or loose fitting cargo pants and a warm puffy jacket that made her look like a cute snowball. A fashion sense that M’Baku was always secretly grateful for, in that it kept most guys ignorant and unawares.

But today. Of all days. His fiance had decided to walk in. With tight black leggings that accentuated her killer hips. Dark brown thigh high boots that had a white fur trim at the top and down the sides, gripping her thick thighs. And a fuzzy white, strapless, long sleeved jersey that sat well on her torso, showcasing just a hint of her full breasts above the cut, but almost leaving nothing to the imagination under the fuzzy fabric that couldn’t help but cling to the curves of her cleavage.

 Her hair was up in a bun that gave way to her neck and collar bone, and shoulders where the jersey danced off and down her arms. Only just. It was an outfit that echoed Akari’s usual style, except it had such a sensual flair that M’Baku knew had to be the work of Runi. And of course Akari walked in the room without so much as a second glance at anyone. Except him. 

All she gave M’Baku was the shyest of smiles and the smallest of winks. The smallest of KNOWING winks. Knowing that every aspect of her outfit was designed to make M’Baku’s blood rise with heat. Knowing that it was enough to send his instinct into overdrive.

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As soon as the class ended Akari briskly packed up her things and headed out into the hallway towards her next class. All of a sudden she felt the strong grip pull her behind the closed doors of a en empty closet. She knew instantly from the pulsing beat in her chest it was M'Baku, who her cornered against the wall with a glare in his eyes.

“Why the sudden outfit change, my love?” M’Baku looked her up and down like the sumptuous dessert that she was. Akari gripped the books in her hands towards her chest just so, that M’Baku saw her full breasts swell even more, dangerously close 

“Its an old birthday present from Runi that I’d never worn.” Akari batted her eyelashes at M’Baku. “Do you like it?”

M’Baku looked her up and down one more time, before giving way to a carnal snarl. “You know full well what my answer is.”

Before Akari could protest M'Baku cupped her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Akari groaned at the feeling, the instinct heightening the sensation of M'Baku's touch. His tongue brushed her lips teasingly for access, and Akari obliged, giving into the yearning her body had for M'Baku.

As M'Baku pressed her up further against the wall they knocked over a broom or two, which snapped Akari out of it, frantically reaching for the lock on the door and sealing them in with a click. "M'Bakuuu." Akari breathed as he moved from her lips down her neck settling on her collarbone.

"Not here." She managed to get out. M'Baku stopped and looked in her eyes. Akari nervously cupped his face, M'Baku leaning into her touch. She then tentatively took the lead, walking them both further into the empty classroom towards the desks and chairs. “I have something to discuss with you, baby.”

M’Baku hummed in approval at the nickname, as he let Akari sit him down on a chair, before she straddled his lap with a devilish smirk. Akari brought herself close to M’Baku’s lips yet again, just close enough that M’Baku could take in the scent of strawberries from Akari’s skin, sending the pulse of a carnal and instinctual need surging through his body. It was building with every swerve of Akari’s lips, always just out of reach. It was so intoxicating that he almost didn’t register his fiance’s following words.

“Swear on my life that you will not tell your brothers, your father, or your family what I am about to tell you, without my permission.”

M’Baku’s head snapped up, realizing the weight of her words and the realization that this might have been a trap. “Akari-”

His words were cut short as his eyes grew ever more cloudy with a raging lust of the instinct shooting straight to his groin as Akari mercilessly dragged her hips up and down his hardened length beneath his clothing, the tightness of her leggings doing nothing to obscure the feel of her soft pussy just out of his reach.

Up and down Akari went, watching M’Baku’s breath grow more and more ragged, his nostrils flaring as he watched her. “Swear it.” 

Suddenly Akari hiked herself up chest to chest with M’Baku, bringing her hands close to. Watching her starting her sultry expression turn into the soft wanton gaze that he had seen so many times in his bed, the feel of her fingers on his face, forcing him to look at her. It was driving him mad.

And a man can only take so much.

“I swear.” 

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[kurokoros]

Black Eye Syndrome | Part 1 (eventual sweet pea x oc)

Title: Black Eye Syndrome

Rated: M | Warnings: violence, domestic abuse, language, alluded/mentioned rape (one of chapter)

Words: 5,588

Pairing: (eventual) Sweet Pea X OC (Rosie O’Malley); (initial) OC X OC

Summary: “And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.”

AN: I’m still nervous about posting this, because the topic. This story is about domestic violence. I’m open to feedback with this one because any advice for writing this is helpful. All warnings will be tagged at the beginning of the chapter, but please know what you’re getting into with this. It will get graphic at times. 

Leave me an ask/reply if you want to be in the tag list I’m making specifically for this fic.

Special thanks to @starryeyedauthor​, @sweetfogarty​, and @rosiethequeerlesbian​ for their encouragement! I really appreciate it and probably wouldn’t have finished this without your positivity!

It was her fault.

He just wanted to spend the day with her on her one day off this week, wanted to take her out on a proper date because they haven’t been on one in weeks. He wanted to surprise her, but all she wanted was to go to the Wyrm and see Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea because it’s felt like months since she last saw any of them. And maybe it has been. She hasn’t been keeping track of time lately. Matt only wanted to spend some time with her and all she’d done was piss him off. And that was her fault.

He’s always had a temper, but that was nothing she ever worried about. Growing up on the Southside meant most people had a temper and knew how to use it, channeling their anger into their fists. She’s been best friends with Sweet Pea for as long as she can remember, and his anger is practically infamous around Riverdale, so no, a temper was never anything she worried about, though maybe it should have been.

Matt’s temper has always been different from Sweet Pea’s, or anyone else she knows from the Southside. Instead of righteous fists and a short fuse, Matt was a switch just waiting to be flipped. His temper came and went without warning, sometimes without provocation, and it would be the smallest things that set him off: she didn’t kiss him goodbye, she missed his phone call, her makeup was too dark around the eyes, her skirt too short.

She’s always had a knack for pushing all of the wrong buttons.

So really, it was her fault.

Rosie isn’t sure exactly how the fight started. Not the first one anyway. She’d made a comment about redecorating the old house, the one that used to belong to her grandmother. The wallpaper started peeling and the entire place wasn’t as homey as it used to be, feeling more tired than anything. Something in the house started feeling off and Rosie needed to fix it.

He didn’t like the color scheme she was thinking of using, and she refused to pull up the carpet, and it was normal banter, barbed, but harmless.

And then Matt made a grating comment about the lamp in the living room, asking if she was finally going to get rid of it, and it bothered her more than she’d care to admit, because he knew how much she loved that lamp. And really, she should have just let it go, but after a full week of work, she was tired and stressed, and something sarcastic had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The fight was over before it really started: a handful of snippy remarks and a bruising kiss that left her stomach in knots. That was it. It was nothing serious. Nothing they would remember by the end of the day, and that was fine.

The second fight was worse.

He was just trying to be sweet and she’d picked a fight over it. Rosie didn’t mean to act like a date night wasn’t important to her, hadn’t meant to make it seem like she was choosing her friends at the Wyrm over him, but she did.

She hadn’t meant to snap at him either, but after a long week, all she wanted was to find Toni and complain about long hours and shitty customers and horrible bosses. Matt never cared about those kinds of problems. He never wanted to listen to her whine about them. And that was okay. He didn’t have to, but she still needed to let the words spill out to someone.

Matt took it the wrong way when she told him that, asking if she thought he didn’t care about her. She tried to backtrack but it only made things worse.

He was trying to do something nice and she ruined it, just like she always does.

The shouting started before she knew what was happening, Matt hurling words at her, blaming her for the fight, accusing her of something she can hardly remember, and then the lamp was shattering into pieces beside her head, glass splintering into pieces and piling on the floor, nicking at her skin. She doesn’t remember trying to walk away, but she must have, a firm hand wrapping around her wrist and squeezing until it hurt. And maybe she told him to let go or maybe she didn’t, but when he leaned in to kiss, she’d turned away.

That way the wrong thing to do.

He let go just as quickly, storming out of the house without another word, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room unsure of what happened, the lamp broken on the floor and the sound of glass shattering ringing in her ears, her hands trembling at her sides, heart practically crawling in her mouth.

And Rosie cleaned up the glass.

That was hours ago, or maybe not. She hasn’t checked the time and the blinds have been drawn shut since Matt stormed out, Rosie unable to bring herself to stand from where she’s curled into the couch.

Matt only wanted to go on a date like they used to. It was the one night they both had off and they were in desperate need of a night out. And she’d picked two fights in exchange and made him storm out the door.

Obviously it was her fault.

So why is she the one curled up on the couch, sick to her stomach and shivering, alone and feeling like her bones are crumbling into dust inside her?

The click of the front door being unlocked makes Rosie’s head snap up, her pupils blown wide. She hugs her knees tight to her chest, tucking them beneath the sweater she must have stolen from Sweet Pea at one point, the loose fabric several sizes too large for her frame, practically swallowing her whole. Despite the fabric she’s drowning in, a desperate ache to make herself even smaller settles deep in Rosie’s bones, a sick feeling twisting at her insides. Her chest goes cold and for a tense moment she forgets how to breathe.

Rosie’s heart lodges in her throat as the door is edged open, old hinges creaking loudly, the soft squeal of the front door making her skin crawl. Matt keeps telling her to fix the hinge, keep the door from making so much noise, but she can’t bring herself to do it. The door hasn’t been fixed since she was a child and it was just her and her grandmother living in this house, one of the few on the Southside. The house is warm and cozy and creaks and squeaks and that’s not something that she wants to change.

It has nothing to do with Matt and the few seconds of warning it gives her when he comes home at three in the morning, piss drunk and looking for an argument.

“Rosie, you home?”

But it’s not Matt that comes through the door. It isn’t blond hair and blue eyes the same color as his letterman jacket. It isn’t stark white sneakers and a thin-lipped smile that cuts through her like a knife. It isn’t unblemished hands that grip too tight and pull too hard. No, it’s dark hair and eyes, a leather jacket with an angry snake twisted across the back, motorcycle boots and a crooked but all too familiar smile, calloused fingertips that have never been anything but gentle with her.

She doesn’t realize she was shaking until she stops, the reaction instantaneous. “What are you doing here, Sweets?” she murmurs from the couch, pulling at a loose thread in her sweater, the soft gray fabric making her red hair shine just a little bit brighter. The smile that pulls at her lips is small, a little sad but more genuine than it’s been in days.

Rosie practically lights up when she sees Sweet Pea standing in the doorway, even if it isn’t nearly as bright as it used to be.

He grins back at her, rolling his shoulders as he shuts the door behind him, that awful squeal splitting through the room. “A little bird told me it was your day off,” he jokes, eyes crinkling at the edges in good humor. “Said you might swing by the Wyrm.” He leaves the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished, but the implication glaringly obvious.

But she didn’t come by. And he hasn’t seen her in weeks. And he’s been worried about her. There’s no accusation in his eyes or his voice, but it still makes her curl tighter in on herself, Rosie’s stomach twisting into knots as Sweet Pea sends her a look so filled with open concern that she might suffocate under it, because Sweet Pea never looks at anyone like that.

Rosie practically shrinks under his gaze and something in his eyes flickers, but it’s there and gone before she can tell what it was. Before she can say anything, Sweet Pea continues, leaning sideways against the wall, expression soft but unreadable. “We’ve missed you down there. Some of the younger boys keep asking where you’ve been.” Again, there’s something unspoken in his words, his voice low and rough.

He hasn’t been able to give them an answer, which is something that hasn’t happened in years. They’ve always known where to find each other, ever since they were kids, but in the last few months things have shifted, just enough for things to seem off, wrong.

Rosie isn’t a Serpent. She never has been, probably never will, but she might as well be. They know her name and her face down at the Wyrm. They know she has a lilting voice like some kind of siren and a mean right hook for someone five foot nothing and how she’s the only one that can stop Sweet Pea when he goes looking for a fight. The Serpents know she’s as much Sweet Pea’s as he is hers, that she wears one of his rings on a chain around her neck and that he has a rose tattooed on the inside of his left arm where no one can see it.

The two of them are practically attached at the hip. It’s been that way since they were seven years old and Sweet Pea pulled at her curls, awestruck by her wild copper hair, and she retaliated by punching him square in the jaw. He lost a baby tooth and her knuckles bruised and it was in that moment that Sweet Pea knew he would do absolutely anything for her, to keep her safe.

She’s always been wildfire. Bright and raging and all-consuming, burning through people in the best ways.

And six months ago that fire was put out, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

That’s when things started to change. It was so gradual that she didn’t even recognize it was happening at first. It started slow, a few missed movie nights with Toni and the girls because Matt wanted to stay in, abandoning her late night talks with Fangs because Matt didn’t like it when they were alone together, not visiting the Wyrm as much because Matt didn’t like the crowd and didn’t want her going alone, not seeing Sweet Pea nearly as much because Matt said he didn’t like the way he looked at her. Matt’s grip turning bruising whenever Sweet Pea was mentioned, his smile thin and his eyes angry.

Rosie catches her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard but being careful not to break the skin, aware of Sweet Pea watching her. She can practically feel his gaze washing over her, but where it would usually feel comforting all she can feel is an itch under her skin, her stomach in knots. “I didn’t feel like going out today,” she tells him, because it’s as close to the truth as she’s willing to give. After her fight with Matt she really didn’t want to leave the house. It would only make him more upset later. “Besides,” she continues, sending him what she hopes is an easy smile, “I’ve been busy. And so have you, from what I’ve heard.”

FP has been giving him more jobs lately, slowly passing the mantle to the younger generation. It kills her a little that she hasn’t been there for him, to patch up his bloody knuckles and tell him how damn proud of him she is, because the Serpents are going to do great things because of him.

Sweet Pea snorts, but his smile is fond as he finally pushes away from the wall, a familiar teasing glint in his eyes. “Your boyfriend steals all your time,” he tells her, kicking off his boots as he steps further into the house.

It’s meant to be a joke, the same kind of friendly ribbing they’ve always had, but it cuts deeper that it’s meant to. Rosie doesn’t mean to flinch but she does. And Sweet Pea catches the motion. He goes tense, straightening to his full height, on edge because she is.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Rosie stares down at her bare toes, avoiding his eyes. Her sweater slips lower on her shoulder with the motion, the newly bared skin going cold. “Yeah, well, that shouldn’t be a problem today,” she replies, somewhat strained, still not looking at him.

The air in the room grows cold, both of them silent for several heartbeats to long. Sweet Pea shifts from one leg to the other, his eyes narrowing just a tick. “You two get in a fight?” There’s something off about the way he says it, an edge to the question that she doesn’t want to think about.

Because it wasn’t that bad. Not really. And it was her fault anyway.

“Something like that,” she concedes, knowing she can’t tell him a blatant lie. “But it doesn’t matter.” She finally looks at him again, a small smile pulling at her lips. Sweet Pea’s stance doesn’t slacken, his gaze still sharper than a knife, and she unfurls herself from the sweater she’s drowning in, toes curling into the couch cushion. “It’ll blow over. Nothing major. You know how it is.”

He doesn’t. And she hopes he never does.

It takes a moment, but he softens, deflating just as quickly as he went still, the tension slipping from his shoulders. Sweet Pea takes a step towards her and Rosie looks down at her hands, her fingers curling around the sleeves of her sweater.

“Your lamp is gone,” Sweet Pea says suddenly, causing Rosie to jolt from her spot on the couch. Her gaze immediately flicks to the empty spot on the other end of the couch, the side table bare where the lamp was this morning. It’s almost as if it was never there at all.

There’s an edge to Sweet Pea’s voice that’s thicker and rougher than before and it makes her stomach twist sickly. The way he says it makes it seem like a bigger deal than it really is. And maybe it is a big deal.

She fought tooth and nail for that lamp. It was an ugly little thing, oddly-shaped and lumpy in all the wrong places, a putrid yellow color with a bulb that never gave off enough light for the lamp to be put to any use. It probably wasn’t worth half of what the thrift store was selling it for, but god did she love it. It looked exactly like the one her grandmother used to keep in her house. Maybe it was the same one, she doesn’t know. After seeing that thing in the window of the shop for months, she finally brought it home one winter night when she was sixteen.

It was an eyesore and her friends all teased her about it, but they were careful when it came to that lamp, as if it were a baby bird, because they knew how much it meant to her.

The side table where it sat looks bare without it, a thin layer of dust coating the surface around the lamp where she hasn’t cleaned it for a week. It looks wrong somehow without her lamp, out of place, and the way Sweet Pea stares at the naked space where it used to be unsettles her to her very core.

“Matt didn’t like it,” Rosie says breezily, shrugging, and Sweet Pea’s gaze snaps to her face, his eyes narrowing in a look she’s entirely familiar with, but she chooses to ignore it, curling in on herself and playing with the worn sleeves of her baggy sweater. He looks at her like he can see right through her, as if he can see the dip in the wall behind her where that lamp shattered inches from her head, as if he can see the shallow cut on her shoulder from where a shard nicked her skin or the way Matt grabbed her when she tried to walk away. And maybe Sweet Pea can.

Her breath catches in her throat, her hands beginning to tremble. She refuses to look him in the eyes, fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. He’s always had a way of just knowing what’s going on in her head, even when she wished he couldn’t. There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with the way he looks at her, like he’s peeling back her skin and seeing all the little things that make her tick, and she can’t have that right now.

And it’s not a lie, not really. Matt really didn’t like the lamp. He never has. Hell, he practically hated it. He always said it was a bad color, that it was too bulky in the room and that it wasn’t worth keeping around. It was only a coincidence that it was the closest thing within reach at the time. Or maybe it wasn’t. She can never be quite sure. There have been so many accidents that she doesn’t know when exactly they started being on purpose.

“Besides,” she continues quickly, noticing the dark flicker in Sweet Pea’s eyes, “it was time for a change.” Her smile feels too bright, too forced, unnatural in the way it pulls at her lips, and she hopes he doesn’t notice it. “I’ve been thinking about redecorating,” Rosie tells him, “and it was hard to do with that lamp it here.” Her smile dampens into something a little sad, a little bitter. “It really was an ugly thing.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and then, “you love that lamp.”

“Yeah.” And that’s the end of it. She’s clammed up and Sweet Pea knows her well enough to know that’s all he’ll get out of her even if he doesn’t like it.

He hesitates, still halfway across the room, and Rosie thinks he might press the subject, but then Sweet Pea sighs, seeming to deflate entirely, the tension draining from him like water. His footsteps are loud against the floor, and as he gets closer she’s overtaken by the smell of gasoline and wood smoke and the cologne he always wears that she can’t remember the name of, but has branded in her memory regardless.

“All right, Sweetness,” he murmurs, voice low and softer than usual, “move over.”

Rosie’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?” She barely gets the word out before he drops onto the couch next to her, nearly on top of her. Rosie shrieks softly in surprise, barely moving her feet out of the way in time to not be squished by him. “Sweet Pea!” He only grins in response and it startles a laugh out of her, Rosie’s shoulders shaking with the force of it.

He reaches out to ruffle her hair, making the curly strands an even bigger mess, and she swats him away playfully, leaning into the familiar contact and making him smile wider. Sweet Pea’s hand leaves her head, instead falling to her bare leg, his hand on her calf. “You still have your trashy musical stash?” he asks, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“They aren’t trashy,” she scoffs, nudging his thigh with her toes in a halfhearted kick that only makes him laugh.

Sweet Pea ignores her comment, giving her leg a pinch that’s more surprising than painful. Rosie jerks her leg away, shooting him a playfully sour look, the two of them falling back into a natural rhythm together, one that a few months of distance can’t break them from. “Go grab it,” he tells her, knocking his leg against hers and jerking his chin towards the stairs.

Her head cocks to the side, eyes narrowing in slight confusion. “Why? You don’t like musicals.” He never has, though he’s begrudgingly suffered through movie musical nights, outnumbered by Rosie, Toni, and Fangs.

The look he sends her is almost surprised. “You do,” he replies, as if it’s that simple. One of his shoulders tilts up in a half-shrug, his eyes locked with hers.

The easy answer cracks something inside of her.

The next few hours drift by, slow and warm and more at ease than she’s been in days. The two of them slip into a comfortable silence, a musical neither of them are really paying any attention to playing on the old TV. Sweet Pea has his gaze on the screen, the flickering lights casting shadows across his face, his eyes so much darker in the low light. He isn’t watching the movie though, and they both know it, but he pretends to be sucked into the characters on screen anyway.

And Rosalie pretends she isn’t glancing at the clock every few minutes, worried that Matt might come home and catch her wrapped up with Sweet Pea on the couch. It’s not that they’re doing anything inappropriate. They’re barely touching aside from her legs tossed across his lap and the fingers he has curled around her ankle, anchoring the two of them together with a loose grip, but Matt would pick a fight over it anyway. He’s always hated how close she is with Sweet Pea, how well he knows her and how easily the two of them fit together, slotting against each other like it’s right. And maybe they are too close, but he’s always been home to her. She couldn’t cut him from her life if she wanted to, not without losing herself in the process.

Sweet Pea’s thumb traces slow circles against her ankle as they watch the movie, and slowly, hesitantly, she relaxes against him, letting out a breath she’s been holding since Matt threw the lamp. She presses tighter against Sweet Pea’s side, just enough to curl her fingers around the sleeve of his jacket, the leather familiar beneath her fingertips. Maybe he doesn’t notice, or maybe he just pretends not to, but he doesn’t react to her movement, letting her do what she needs to.

He’s always known when she’s needed words and when she doesn’t, and right now Rosie is content to just sit here with him, to not be alone.

She doesn’t notice when her sleeve rides up, her wrist dark where Matt grabbed her earlier. Sweet Pea does.

He goes still against her side, inhaling sharply through his nose. The sudden sound draws her attention, and she glances at him, only to find his gaze drawn lower, his eyes wide with a confusing mix of emotion. “Rosie, what the hell happened to your arm?”

She doesn’t flinch. Barely breathes. Tries not to let her hands tremble. “It was an accident.” It tastes like a lie on her tongue, and her throat grows tight, but she swallows it back, not wanting to worry him. “I must have bumped into something.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing further. “And you didn’t notice?” He snorts softly, shaking his head, and lifts her wrist closer to his face, his hand gentle as he cradles her wrist in his much larger palm. “You don’t bruise that easy,” Sweet Pea mumbles, more to himself than her, and for a horrifying moment she thinks he might recognize the faint lines around her wrist as being from fingers, but he only smooths his thumb across the bruises that decorate her skin like an ugly bracelet, attached so neatly to her skin that she can’t rip them out.

“Maybe I need more iron in my diet,” she jokes, shrugging. Gently, she tugs her wrist free from Sweet Pea’s loose grip, letting her hand drop back into her lap.

His brows furrow, his thumb still tracing circles against her ankle. “I keep telling you that kale isn’t a meal.”

Rosie huffs a laugh. “Sorry I don’t eat three burgers in one sitting like you do.” She nudges his ribs with her knee, poking at his soft spot and making him jerk away from her. She’s watched him put away more food at once than she would ever know what to do with, and she’s never sure if she should be impressed or disgusted by it.

Sweet Pea snorts, fingers squeezing around her ankle just enough so that she can feel it. “Oh please,” he scoffs back at her, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ve seen you put away enough fries to put Jughead to shame.” He bumps his shoulder against hers, eyes bright with amusement. “You only started eating like a lady when you started dating The Northsider.”

She prods at his side again, squirming against his lap and making him release his grip on her ankle. “I’ve always been a lady, Sweet Pea,” she argues, clicking her tongue at him and shaking her head, unable to hide the smile growing on her face.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sweetness,” he says, patting her leg to placate her, “but I’ve seen you make grown men cry before.”

“If they cried they deserved it.”

Rosie can feel his laughter echo through her bones.

She wakes up to a heavy hand shaking her shoulder roughly, the smell of whiskey thick in the air, and Matt’s voice low in her ear. “Rose,” he slurs, shaking her again. “Rosalie. Wake up, Baby.” The hand on her arm is incessant, grip too tight as she’s dragged out of sleep.

“Matt?” she murmurs back to him, shifting on the couch until she’s facing him. “What time is it?” Dimly, Rosie is aware of Sweet Pea leaving at some point after the sun had gone down, the sky black and the house quiet as he shut off the television. The entire room was dark, a thin sliver of moonlight creeping in through the blinds, just enough for her to catch the outline of Sweet Pea’s body as he slide out from underneath her, laying her legs down gently against the couch. She was only half awake, exhausted by the days events, and a part of her wanted to ask him to stay with her, not wanting to be alone in the house, but her thoughts were slow, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

Sweet Pea mumbled something she didn’t catch, brushing the hair from her face with a gentle hand, his fingers lingering against her cheek for a heartbeat too long. Something warm and heavy was draped over her frame, covering her like a blanket. Then he was gone, slipping out of the house without waking her.

She can’t help but be relieved that he left before Matt came home.

“Hey, Baby,” Matt repeats, tugging her around to face him. “I’m sorry it’s so late, but I didn’t want to leave this until morning,” he tells her. There are roses on the table, a dozen of them, and she never has liked roses much. Matt continues before she can say anything, forcing her to sit up as he speaks. Something slips from her lap onto the couch, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. “I shouldn’t have broken the lamp. I shouldn’t have thrown it at you, but god, Rosie, you just make me so damn angry sometimes,” he tells her, and something about the words makes her sick, but she’s caught in his blue gaze and it paralyzes her. “I never mean to hurt you, Baby,” he continues, practically cooing. His hands come up to cup her face.

She sends him the best smile she can manage, nodding her head. “I know,” she whispers, allowing him to pull her to her feet, her mind still foggy with sleep, everything slow.

He continues, but she’s only half listening, already knowing what he’s saying. That’s he’s sorry. That it won’t happen again. That it was her fault. That if she would just stop making him mad, they wouldn’t have to fight. “I just… what the fuck is that.” The break from the routine makes her jump, Matt more angry than she’s ever heard him before. He sucks in an angry break, his hand on her chin gripping tight enough to leave a mark. She thinks she asks what’s wrong, but she can’t be sure if her mouth forms the words with the way he’s squeezing her jaw. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he sneers, “what the fuck is this, Rosalie?”

She’s confused until he forces her head around so quickly she hears a crack in her neck, the leather jacket resting on the couch the only thing that could be out of place.

Rosie lets out a breath, not understanding the severity of it when she’s only just beginning to wake up. “Matt, it’s just a jacket,” she mumbles back to him. She stiffens as soon as she says it, snapping awake as she realizes what’s wrong, realizes that Sweet Pea left his jacket behind, either on purpose or not.

The angry green snake patch glares back at the two of them, and Rosie wishes it would leap off the fabric and swallow her whole.

Matt jerks her back around to look at him, blue eyes a hurricane as he glares down at her, a storm swirling in his eyes that promises nothing good. “You screwing a serpent now, Rosie?” he sneers in her face, breath thick with alcohol. He’s drunk.

“No,” she gasps back. “No! God, Matt, it’s Sweet Pea’s!” She realizes it’s the wrong thing to say just a moment later.

Matt goes still, so still she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. His grip on her goes slack and she stumbles backwards away from him, nearly tripping on the edge of the couch as she backs up against the wall. Matt only stares down at the leather jacket on the couch, expression blank. “Sweet Pea was here.” It isn’t a question and they both know it.

Rosie wets her lips, arms curling tight around herself. She bunches her sweater in her hands, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. “He stopped by earlier,” she whispers, unable to look Matt in the eye. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk or maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling anymore, but there’s something unnerving about him, like a single word would set him off.

Something that isn’t quite a laugh spills from his lips. “What,” he mumbles, “so we get in one fight and you…” he doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication is there.

“We’re friends, Matt,” she spits back, straightening and forcing herself to look at him, all wildfire. Something about Sweet Pea being here earlier makes her feel braver than she should. “He’s allowed to come to my house.”

Matt’s eyes snap to hers, his gaze just as intense as hers. He straightens to his full height, barely six feet tall, but still towering over her. He doesn’t say a word, barely blinks, and then suddenly she’s shoved back against the wall and his mouth is on hers in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, lips practically bruising against hers. He lifts her straight off the ground, forcing her legs to lock around his hips, and his hands are everywhere: her thighs, her hips, around her throat and squeezing. And maybe she tries to push him away once, but when he doesn’t budge she relents, and then her hands are being held above her head and she’s too lost in the sensations to think that something isn’t right.

The sex that follows is bruising, less make-up and more make-a-point. His hands are careless and bruising, containing none of the soft wandering as usual, and he practically hisses in her ear: possessive things, humiliating things, snarls of “do you think Sweet Pea could make you moan like this?”. And in the morning he’ll chalk it up to rough sex, like always. And he’ll give her a look that would make her feel stupid and small for even mentioning it, because she always had liked it rough, hadn’t she? And she’ll never be able to find the words to address the satisfaction that would flash in his eyes whenever she’d wince in pain, like he wants to hurt her.

And for a moment Rosie wonders when love began to sound like a sudden gush of vitriol and her favorite lamp shattering against the wall behind her head, when it started tasting like bourbon and blood in her mouth from where she bit her cheek. She wonders when loving Matt became a one-sided screaming match and bruises around her wrists, dark marks dotting her thighs from where fingers squeezed to wound, backhanded comments breathed against her collarbones. She wonders when love started to hurt.

More than that, she wonders when she started thinking that was okay.

[littlecrookedheart]

Hold Onto Me, Chapter 1

Pairing : Damien Nazario x Ryan Park

Rating : Mature. This is very suggestive but is NOT NSFW. There is no sexual activity in this, but it is mentioned and hinted at. Please read at your own discretion.

Time : 1.5 Years after the Eros business has ended.

Word Count : 4,015

Author’s Note : This is the beginning of a series I've been working on. I really hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if you'd like to see more. (I'm currently on part 4!) Also, I'm posting this on my phone so I apologize in advance for any weird formatting.

Disclaimer : I do not own these characters. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

A cool breeze drifted through the buildings, all awake and bustling on this early September morning. Damien Nazario walked along the sidewalk, effortlessly dodging passerbys, his hands in the pockets of a warm black jacket. The wind whipped through his hair, messing up what ever neatness he'd worked toward before heading out. It was growing a little longer than usual, as was his stubble. He normally kept himself a bit more clean cut, but not totally, giving a little freedom to his locks. But now he had Ryan, who, for the past year and a half, had made it her mission to coax him into growing it. 'If anything,' she'd say, 'please grow the beard. Just a small one! I'm not asking for father time.' Truth was, he really liked it. The idea may have been born from her requests, but he'd keep it either way. It felt more him, which was exactly what he needed.

A year and a half after the adventure from hell had officially ended, and he still woke up in the middle of the night, calling her name in fear. These nights, though, she was always there. She'd always wrap her arms around him, allowing him to bury his face into her chest, running her fingers through his hair, humming to him gently. He'd always come back down within seconds of her reassurance, but she'd keep him there, close to her heart, relaxing his mind into a gentler rest. And every morning, he'd wake up refreshed, having had better dreams. Every morning, she'd kiss him and hold him, and neither of them would ever say a word about the nightmares.

He was working through them, seeing a therapist three times a week and keeping a journal. The dreams had gotten less intense, and less common, but still haunted him a few times per week. Therapy said that was normal.

Therapy also said that it would be normal for him to create barriers between himself and loved ones, and taught him a healthy way to try to prevent that, and an even healthier way to work through it when it did happen. It was always easier said than done, and it never felt normal.

She'd never say it, but he knew Ryan noticed his slight withdrawal from her. They'd gone from being magnetic toward each other to being hit and miss magnets, pulling one another in, but never at the same moments, always missing the mark by the smallest amount. Things had been lackluster for a couple of months.

Ryan never looked at him differently. She never even showed the slightest annoyance, only gratefulness, only hope, only love. Damien had known for years that she was all he wanted, that he'd do anything for her, and that he wanted to be in love with her for the rest of his life. He knew that they had that, he knew her love for him and saw it constantly in all of the ways she showed him, but despite all of it, this hiccup scared him to the core.

He wasn't sure how things spiraled so quickly. He could even think back to the middle of July, their bodies tangled within one another, unable to keep their hands and mouth away from each other. He knew that it was his doing, his shifting - that was creating a gap. He'd kiss her, and she'd return it, but the feeling would fizzle out, being replaced with thoughts he'd rather not have. She'd touch him, and he'd feel a surge of electricity in his body, the need to have her completely to himself. But then, as if by magic, the feeling would dissipate.

Instead of giving in to what they both needed, he'd focus on the darkness in the back of his head. He knew that was what was pulling him back, and from that realization he'd been working on it and through it, determined to mend it. Ryan had been staying with Hayden and Sloane for a couple of nights, a sleepover weekend that they'd planned for months. It gave Damien the space and time to prepare and gather his thoughts. He knew what he needed to do, and he knew he'd never stop trying until they were themselves together again.

He pulled out his phone to check the time before sending Ryan a message.

I'll be there in about 10 minutes

His phone chimed almost immediately.

Door is unlocked, cinnamon rolls are almost ready! See you then. 💕

He smiled to himself before putting his phone away, his mind drifting to her, and all of the words he wanted to say.

-------

"Yeah, that sounds ideal," Sloane softly spoke, holding her phone to her ear with one hand, the other scooping coffee into a French press. A sweet, autumnal fragrance of mocha and warmth was wafting through the halls. Hayden peered around the corner, their hair sticking up at wacky angles.

"Something smells amazing," they said, plopping into one of four breakfast stools at the counter island.

"Morning, bedhead," Ryan giggled, "I've got cinnamon rolls baking. Shouldn't be too long before they're finished." She tapped her phone, replying to a text from Damien, smiling to herself before sliding it back into her pocket.

Hayden's eyes lit up, a sweet smile across their face. "That sounds divine."

Sloane tapped her foot, still on the phone, repeating herself, "Yes, Auntie P, I think that'll be fine."

'What's up?' Hayden mouthed toward Ryan.

She slid into the seat beside them and whispered, "It's her aunt again. Her cousin's wedding is on Saturday and this is probably the fourth call this morning."

Hayden's eyes widened, accompanied by a roll and sigh. "How does she do it?"

Ryan shrugged, hopping up before pulling on two oven mitts and lifting the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Hayden smiled as Ryan placed a fresh one onto a dish and slid it across the surface of the island. "You might want to wait a second, it's super hot."

Hayden and Ryan both noticed how much steam was rolling off of it, Ryan quietly laughing at herself before Hayden joked, "You don't say?"

Ryan swatted Hayden's shoulder with the oven mitt as she passed, handing a dish to Sloane, who was now pouring three mugs of coffee.

"Auntie P, I swear to you, I will do everything I can once I arrive, but until then, my hands are tied. I've already emailed the florist and caterer several times and they've asked me to relay that, yes, they do remember Shelly's wedding in five days, and yes, they do plan to be there with both floral arrangements and many servings of food." Sloane's tone grew agitated, as did her face.

Hayden walked over to her, pulling her into a one armed hug. "All is well. You can do this," they whispered, Sloane nodding in response.

"Auntie P, if you'd like me to call the venue, I have to get off of the phone with you, first." Sloane smacked her hand to her forehead. "Yep. Yes. I know. I've got it. Okay Auntie P, I'm going to hang up now, bye!" she touched the end call button and slid her phone across the counter, leaning on the surface with her elbows before resting her head in her hands. Hayden reached over, rubbing comforting circles on Sloane's back. "Remind me why I volunteered to help with this?" Sloane said, flatly.

"You're generous and kind and you want to help people," Ryan said, walking over to wrap Sloane in a hug. Hayden grabbed their cinnamon bun, gesturing for the two girls to follow them to the living room. Ryan slipped a large heat resistant pad beneath the pan of cinnamon rolls and set it down on the coffee table, sitting cross legged on the floor across from the couch where Hayden and Sloane were.

"Hey," she said, turning her head toward Sloane, "You've got this. Even if you don't, you've got the both of us, and we can help you."

"Plus, we're really fun, too. Not only do you have two of the world's best wing people to help you hit on formally dressed cuties at the wedding, you also have two of the most sleuthy cake smugglers in the game." Hayden laughed, throwing an arm around Sloane's shoulder.

"Oh, for sure!" Ryan said, serving herself a cinnamon roll. "First things first, always ganache. Make sure you get center pieces! Second, and arguably most importantly, it'll all work out."

"Yeah! You're right," Sloane said, "I hope so. This time I do actually know that I'm not the one over thinking this. As for that cake? I have a feeling it'll be just as extravagant as the rest of their lives." She smiled, sinking her teeth into the warm bun. "Also, this is delicious!" she exlaimed, pointing at her mouth. "So good!"

Ryan smiled. "It was my granna's recipe. She taught my dad, and he taught me. The secret ingredient is-"

The front door swings open, revealing a very rugged looking Damien, flipping a wave of hair out of his eye and smiling. "Let me guess," he closed the door and turned back to the three of them, "I'll take 'love,' for 500, Alex." He scooped a cinnamon bun into his hand and collapsed into a chair.

Ryan rolled her eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "Actually, it's vanilla."

Damien cocked his eyebrow. "So...basically the entire opposite of you?" Ryan playfully shoved him, puckering her lips. He smiled, pressing his lips to hers.

"Morning, by the way," Hayden laughed, giving Damien a small wave, which he reciprocated, mouth full of pastry.

"Jesus, this is delicious," he said, sounding muffled through his chewing. Ryan sat in his lap, slinging an arm around him and resting her head on his. He swallowed his bite, looking up at her.

For a second, Ryan caught her breath, taking in the details of Damien's face. She'd done this before, having memorized all of the emerald and tawny flecks in his dark eyes, and the fullness of his long lashes. Each time she got caught in his face like this, she could feel her eyes and heart well with emotion, unable to think about a single thing apart from how much she loved him.

She noticed every detail, like his eyebrows that were naturally well kempt, but the left one always had a few extra wonky hairs on the tapered edge. She loved those the most. Damien's stubble was growing in thicker than it had before, which she adored. She knew he'd done it for her, which made it all the more beautiful, and she loved the way it felt against her skin when he kissed her.

There were the faintest formations of smile crinkles at the edge of his eyes, and she thought to herself, If I ever give this man anything, I want it to be smile lines.

"Earth to Ryan," he said, redirecting her attention and gesturing toward Hayden.

"Sorry," she said, quietly, her mind obviously elsewhere. Hayden held out a dark gray, unmarked envelope. She took it and ran her finger under the seal, popping it open. "What's this?"

Hayden sat back on the couch, saying, "Remember that favor you asked me for?"

Ryan quickly stood to her feet, rushing to Sloane's room, leaving both Hayden and Damien in a whirlwind of confusion, and daresay curiosity.

Sloane was on the phone again when Ryan ran in, frantically closing the door behind her. "I'm going to go now, bye!" she exlaimed, pressing the end call button. "Should I ask?"

Ryan grinned. "Hayden gave me these right in front of Damien." She handed Sloane the envelope, resting her back against the door. "They're not really tame, so beware."

"Oh my god, Ryan. These are amazeballs!" She exlaimed, sorting through an arrangement of polaroids. In all of them, Ryan posed seductively, holding a birthday cake with candles reading '31.' Some of them pictured her wearing Damien's favorite jacket, her bare skin exposed underneath, others had her wearing lingerie. "He is going to die!"

"You really think?" She asked, sitting next to Sloane, reviewing them over her shoulder.

"Um, yes. Hayden really did a good job on these! Do you think I should do something like this? I don't have as much confidence as you do, but maybe this would help."

"You should be able to feel free and sexy! The cconfidence boost is really just a bonus. I think everyone should do these while they're young. One day, we'll look back and think about how hot we were."

"I think we still will be!" Sloane said, a big smile on her face.

"I hope you're right! I think we will be, too." Ryan took the photos, closing them within the envelope and stuffing it into a high place within Sloane's closet. "I really want his birthday to be the best he's had yet."

"It's next Thursday, right?" she asked, Ryan nodding in confirmation. "I'll help with anything you need!"

"Thanks, Sloane. What would I do without you?"

"Probably exactly the same things, but a little less fun."

"You've got me there. Definitely less fun."

Sloane's mouth curved to a small smile before she flopped backwards on her bed and pulled a pillow over her face.

"You okay?" Ryan asked, resting a hand reassuringly on Sloane's arm. Sloane slowly pulled the pillow from her face and adjusted her glasses, letting out a big sigh.

"I don't know how one person is supposed to do all of this planning," she said, "I feel like my head is going to pop off! I agreed to help because I love my cousin, but the rest of my family has been so negative. They just keep harping me, trying to change plans last minute, and making me feel confused about things I normally wouldn't feel confused about! It doesn't help that they're like, extremely rich. They have the highest expectations of anyone I've ever known. That's why I'm helping plan the wedding, they couldn't find someone they thought was good enough. But now they're acting like I'm not good enough, either." Her eyes welled with tears, but she quickly slid her hands under the frames of her glasses and wiped them away. "I just feel overwhelmed."

"You're perfectly justified for feeling that way! Weddings are supposed to be fun, not miserable. You were kind to offer to help your cousin, and your family needs to back off a little. Making you frazzled will only result in issues within the planning, which is the opposite of what they're going for. They have to realize that."

Sloane sat up, leaning her head into her hands and rubbing her temples.

"Even if they dont," Ryan continued, "they should. And they should also appreciate everything you've done and everything you're doing. I know I would." She wrapped her arms around Sloane, giving her a tight hug. "Don't let them get you down. If you feel lost, you have us," she said, putting her hands on Sloane's shoulders and looking at her face, "and we will never, ever treat you that way " she pulled her into another hug, rocking side to side. "You're one of my best friends. I will always be here for you."

Sloane grinned, her eyes still a bit misty. She laughed and crossed her arms over her chest, saying, "Thank you, Ryan. Honestly. I am really happy to know you! And thanks for staying over for the sleepover, I know Hayden loved it. So did I! I didn't mean to make it sound like only Hayden had fun. It was a blast!"

Ryan raised and eyebrow and giggled. "Sloane, you are the silliest person I know. I had fun too! I don't think I will ever pass up on a slumber party, no matter how old I am."

A quick, small knock came from Sloane's bedroom door before it opened slightly, Hayden peeking their head in.

"We're coming," Ryan said, pulling Sloane out of her seated position and onto her feet. "This one just needed a little pick me up."

Hayden entered the room, giving Sloane a hug, and they both made their way back into the living room. As if on cue, Sloane's phone started ringing. She excused herself with a sigh, this time Hayden following her out of the room. Ryan gathered the dishes from breakfast and set them on the counter, covering the remaining cinnamon rolls before setting them to the side. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a hair tie, whipping her hair into a messy bun and rolling her sleeves up to start the dishes.

"So, did you have fun?" Damien asked, sidling up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Her scent was hypnotic, an airy but dark floral aroma with hints of cinnamon. He started to contemplate how long it had been since he paid attention to how good she smelled, but pushed it away from his mind before it became daunting. He pressed a kiss just beneath her ear, his breath on her neck just as he pulled away. Her skin erupted in goosebumps as she rolled her neck to the side in reaction. Damien chuckled before placing his chin back where it had been.

"It was great," she said, her hands full of suds, "Hayden really hasn't done the traditional slumber party things, so we tried to do a little of everything...including prank calls. We watched a few movies, had popcorn, and basically just lounged around in various face masks and whatnot."

"Face masks? No wonder your skin is more radiant than usual today. You look a little extra beautiful."

"I'm not sure how much that has to do with those face masks, I think it might be a little extra happiness!"

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Are you asking me why I'm happy?"

"Yes, but mostly because I'm hoping to be on that list of reasons."

"You're a big one of those reasons," she said, feeling Damien's chin move as he smiled just before turning his head into her neck to leave another kiss. "You'd better stop that, mister."

"Mm? And what happens if I don't?" he taunted, a smile still across his face.

"Oh...you'll just have to see."

Damien deepened his kisses, running one hand up the side of Ryan's top, trailing it on her skin and resting it on her hips.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ryan said, a mischievous smirk on her lips. She spun around, quickly wrapping her arms around him and looking into his eyes.

"You look naughty," he breathed, leaning in to kiss her. When they broke apart, Ryan devilishly grinned at him before plopping huge, drippy handfuls of soap onto his head. Damien jumped backwards, touching his now wet hair, covered in bubbles. He scooped them up and rubbed them on Ryan's chin, catching her in his arms before she could get away. He tickled her sides, her body writhing beneath his fingers. She slumped to the ground, trying to catch her breath, soap splotches down her outfit and on her face. Damien plopped down on the floor next to her, grabbing a towel from the counter on the way. He wiped the suds off of her face, handing her the towel to get the rest.

"How are you feeling now?" she giggled.

"Like maybe I need to learn your variations of naughty," Damien laughed, running his hands through his hair to brush out the rest of the bubbles.

"I couldn't help myself," she smiled, using the towel to dry Damien's damp hair. "You looked like you needed a bath!"

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically. "You know just < what I need." He winked at her. She smiled, but they were both silent for a moment.

"...You wouldn't have actually done that in our friends' kitchen, I know that much."

"You underestimate me, Ryan." He kissed her, deeply, longingly, his hand on the back of her neck. After a moment, he pulled away, leaving her speechless. "I've missed you." Her eyes met his, softly smiling before looking away.

She got to her feet, straightening her clothes. She grabbed a new towel from a nearby linen drawer and began drying the clean dishes. "I've missed you too," she said, quietly. "I didn't know how much until just then, though."

Damien stood up, taking the dry dishes from her and placing them in their cupboards. "What exactly did you miss?"

Ryan glanced sidelong at him, biting her lip. Before she could respond, Sloane reentered the room, setting her suitcase on top of the dining table and unzipping it. Damien cleared his throat.

“Is everything okay, Sloane?”

“Hm? Yes! Everything is fine. Thank you, Damien.” She said, not making eye contact.

“You sure?” Ryan asked, uncertainty across her face.

“Yeah! I’m sure. I just spoke to my cousin and she’s expecting me in town tonight.”

“I thought we were leaving in the morning and arriving tomorrow evening?” Damien said.

“Well….apparently someone bought me a ticket for a flight that leaves in an hour,” she said, frantically running between the hall closet and her suitcase, filling the inner pockets with extra toothpaste, floss, and other bits and bobs.

“Okay,” Ryan exclaimed, shutting the last of the cabinets, “are you okay to go alone? We can come with you for moral support.”

“Oh! I couldn’t ask that of you. You can just leave in the morning.”

Hayden came down the hall, a garment bag holding Sloane’s bridesmaids dress in hand. They set it on the table before saying, “Sloane, what I think Ryan meant to say is that we’re coming with you whether you like it or not, because we are your friends and you don’t exactly hide your stress.”

Sloane stopped and glanced at the three of them. “Is it that obvious?”

Damien nodded. “We care about you. So if that means we’re leaving tonight, I don’t think any of us are objecting.”

Sloane smiled. “Thanks, guys. This means a lot to me.” She immediately went back to frantically packing. Hayden sighed before gesturing toward their room to pack as well.

“We’ll see you guys soon,” Damien said, gathering Ryan’s bags.

“Yes! I will text you, Ryan.” Sloane yelled back as she ran down the hallway.

—-

Ryan unlocked the door to her apartment, stopping short as she noticed a bundle of wildflowers on the table in front of her. Damien set her bags down and closed the door, handing the bundle to her. He ran a hand through his hair. “I really did miss you.”

She looked around the space in her apartment, all of which was tidy, a light seasonal scent emitting from a nearby wax warmer. “Damien, this looks so nice. Thank you for this,” she said, turning to kiss him. Their lips met, both of them entranced with one another. Ryan’s hands instinctively moved to the buttons on Damien’s pants, but before she could take action, he broke the kiss.

“Ryan…we have an hour to pack and get to the airport. As much as I want to-”

She sighed, “I know. Let’s just pack.”

Damien turned away, rolling his eyes at himself. Two months ago, he would have done anything to have those moments with her. He would have cut it close on time, throwing punctuality out of the window. He wanted to, he just seemed to trip over himself these days, no matter how hard he kicked himself afterward. He wasn’t sure how to break away from this weird pattern. You love this woman. What is your problem?

Brushing it off, they both grabbed travel bags from under Ryan’s bed, folding clothes and filling them. Ryan had been thinking about the space between them, what seemed to have abruptly grown since the start of the month. How many times in just over two months did she fight back tears? In such a small amount of time, she felt like Damien had separated himself from her. What had she done differently? Maybe if I do more for him. Maybe if I try something new in bed. Maybe if I give him space. Nothing seemed to fit the mold.

For going on two years they’d had a marvelous experience learning each others desires and fulfilling them, having the best sex life that either of them had ever had. Not only that, they’d both found connections and love in deeper ways than ever before, probably more than they realized. The romance was there, the friendship was there - but there was no intimacy, and that didn’t speak for just sex. All of their moments seemed to be hit and miss. What if I’m over reacting? All she knew, at this point, was that whatever it took, she wasn’t giving up.

[yourjughead]

Ghosts Part.2

Pairings: SweetPeaxReader

A/N: Interesting little part. Toni is a lil psycho in this but I imagine if her friend turned her back on the Serpents she wouldn't be far off this.

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

3rd Person.

After his encounter with you, Sweet Pea fled to a house party with his friends, there's quiet in the chaos for him. People we're abuzz with talks of your return, yours was the name on everyone's lips, yours was the face everyone wanted to see, yours was the voice everyone wanted to hear. You did not disappoint your audience.

The party was in full swing when you strutted in, Serpent jacket on, ready to deal with the whispers. Fangs had to drag Toni out of the house before you could see her, that was a bridge you'll have to rebuild from scratch. While at first the other Jrs were apprehensive they soon acted as if you hadn't left, accepting you back in.Sweet Pea kept his distance until finally it was too much and he stormed outside, going for his car.

“Sweets...Sweet Pea what's wrong?” You followed him closely outside.

“Everything is fine” he went for the car door handle but you slid your body between his and the door, blocking him from running away.

“Sweets are you okay?”

“I was 3 days ago, when you were still a ghost and only haunting me!-” You looked down at the ground when he raised his voice and stood back from you slightly

“-and don't pretend to start caring for me now that you're on redemption road!”

“I DO CARE ABOUT YOU!”

“THEN WHY THE FUCK YN-why did you leave?”

“I just had to get away”

“You just had to get away? YOU JUST HAD TO GET AWAY?!” Sweet Pea’ temper was his biggest down fall but in this case it was justified.

“IT WASN'T EASY FOR ME EITHER SWEET PEA! I BROKE MY DAD'S HEART LEAVING THE SERPENTS!”

“YOU BROKE MY FUCKING HEART!”

“YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT TOO?! BECAUSE I DO! I DO! I HATE MYSELF FOR IT AND I HOPE YOU HATE ME FOR IT TOO BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I DESERVE!” your eyes started brimming with the unfamiliarity of tears.

“That's the problem yn-” he stepped back in closer, you could feel the warmth of his breath break though the cold Riverdale air.

“-i could never hate you and that, that is why you need to leave again” his eyes searched yours almost frantically.

“I could never leave again”

“You said you'd never leave in the first place” the pure hurt in his eyes stung you and he knew it.

“I promise I'll never leave again”

“I don't know if I can believe that yn”

“I promise I'll never leave without you again” Sweet Pea gave the smallest of smiles.

“I'm sorry Sweet Pea and I know it might mean nothing to you but I am sorry and I'll do whatever it takes to fix it. I want to do the work and I'm back now so that has to mean even a little”

“Why are you back?”

“Ghosts always have unfinished business”

“No riddles, the truth. No crap.”

“I came back because of you, I don't want to be sad anymore Sweets and I just was without you”

“You abandoned the Serpents”

“I can fix it with them, I'm more concerned with fixing it with you….fixing us, i want to be an us again” Sweet Pea smiled softly again before stepping even closer in to where you both were almost touching, your back pressed against the cold car door.

“I want to fix things too and this is such a bad idea but...” he leaned in and kissed you then, an instant flood of feeling crashing over you both like a colossal wave. Your hands wrapped around his neck pulling him deeper into the kiss, his warm hands on your hips under your shirt and jacket. It was like the first and last time you kissed all over again, floods of memories and comfort with sparks lighting the way.

“This-is-such-a-bad-idea” he managed between kisses. You just hummed against him, his arms tucking further around you, shielding you from the cold.

“Sweet Pea?!” He jumped, still holding you to see Toni and Fangs on their way back from their walk to calm Toni’s temper.

“Umm hey Toni, long time no see” you gave a small wave.

“ILL FUCKING KILL YOU” she dove, Fangs swinging her over his shoulder, Sweet Pea stepping in front of you slightly.

“FUCKING TRAITOR! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO WEAR THAT JACKET! YOU'RE A TRAITOR! A DISGRACE TO YOUR  NAME AND OURS!” She grasped the air towards you, you looked down at your leather jacket, running your hand across a worn leather sleeve, you pushed her hurtful words away, you had heard worse. You've said worse.

“Fair enough Ton, you're right” you pulled the jacket off you, air biting your arms like wild dogs. Toni seemed to relax in Fang’ grip while looking confused as you.

“Yn put it back on you'll catch your death”

“Might be a more painless death than I want to give you” Toni spat.

“Listen Toni, I'm sorry I left-” Toni scoffed and you pretended to not hear her, you just stepped fully out from behind Sweet Pea.

“-but I'm back now and I'm not going anywhere so you're just going to have to grow up, move on and fucking deal with it”. What started off as an apology almost became an order, the feeling of authority over her you once held flooded back.

Fangs looked at Sweet Pea and forced down a smirk at the power shift. She exhaled loudly before tapping Fangs arm for him to drop her which he reluctantly did. Toni pushed her hair over a shoulder and stepped towards you silently, glaring at Sweet Pea. The two of you locked eyes and practically came square to one another then.

“Fine but you have to redo initiation, for a start” Toni ripped the jacket from your hand, eyes still locked on yours.

“She's not doing that Toni don't be stupid” Sweet Pea said from behind you but you held up your hand to silence him.

“Done”

“Oh and one more thing”

“What is it Toni?” you were already fed up with her attitude. Toni smiled before swinging her fist to clash bang on with the side of your jaw sending you to the floor. Fangs grabbed Toni, you weren't a moment on the ground before you hopped up again, Sweet Pea trying to help him but you once again waved him off. You opened your mouth and moved your jaw around, hearing it click back to where it should be.

“That was cute Toni but you need more practice for the gauntlet my darling”. Toni tried to break from Fangs again and Sweet Pea pulled you back.

“Okay that's enough for one night, I'll take you home YN" Sweet Pea guided you with an arm to the car door, opening it for you.

“I doubt they even want you at home, traitor” Toni seethed and saw how it got to you before continuing “your mom would be so disappointed yn, her star Serpent a traitor. Tsk tsk.”  If there was a medal for fastest escape of a Mazda, you'd win it. You shot out of the car, hauled her from Fangs grip before he knew what was happening and then swung her against the bonnet of Sweet Peas car.

“Don't.talk.about.my.mom. I'll.end.you.” you bit, holding her by the collar before practically tossing her to the floor and getting into the car. Fangs assisted her back off the floor while she caught her breath and you glared. Sweet Pea and Fangs exchanged worried glances before Sweet Pea got into the car as well and backed out the drive..

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

Much love Xx

Please please tell me what you think!

[derryrosie-archived]

A little thing for @magneticmarsh

“I’m asking you now, right now, if you love me… or even… like me?”

His words rang through her head like a bell, the gentle tone he always used with her in moments like these. It hit her heart harshly, waves of tears preparing to flow easily down her rose colored cheeks in front of him. The words would catch in her throat, causing the silence to last almost too long.

“You are so perfect. I’ll never be good enough for you…”

It stung. On both ends. Oliver took it as a rejection, heart shattering into pieces as the two of them stood in the dark street. Elizabeth kept calm, something that seemed so odd for the girl holding back tears. She did love Oliver, she loved him so much but this wasn’t something he deserved. Oliver didn’t deserve to be in a relationship with a girl who was bound to self destruct and destroy everything around her.

“Ellie that’s not-”

“Please don’t call me that Oliver.”

She was unable to hold it back, a tear streaming down her cheek. A soft goodnight escaped her before she turned around, walking the rest of the distance to her home before he could stop her. When she arrived she went straight to the bathroom, ignoring her brothers’ questioning. She strips herself of her finery before stepping in the shower, black makeup smearing on her face. Her eyes close, shaky breaths escaping her.

“Are you gonna come study or what?”

Elizabeth questions with a smirk as she leans against the door to the now almost empty classroom where Oliver, arms crossed on his desk. His lips curl up into a smile, one that sends butterflies swarming in Elizabeth’s stomach.

“Can’t, I’ve got football.”

He admits gently, running a hand through his dark red hair, a signature Marsh look. Elizabeth scoffs, turning to leave and almost doing so before she stops again and turns to face him once more.

“I’ll meet you after practice?”

A cough escapes Elizabeth as she opens her eyes, breathing quicker than usual. A small sob bubbling past her as she lets her head rest on the wall of the shower. When she’s done, she’s silent walking to her room and getting into bed. Her eyes stare at the ceiling and she tries to sleep but she’s not tired. Nonetheless she closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to fall into a dreamless sleep.

“I’m just not the biggest fan of parties Oli.”

Elizabeth sits at the edge of the pool, despite the freezing temperatures outside. Oliver sits next to her rolling his eyes.

“You’re a natural Lizzie…” He admits, bumping shoulders with her gently before shaking his head.

“You’re great at beer pong and flip cup and you’re an awesome dancer!”

The girl rolls her eyes this time, nudging his shoulder with a scoff and a hint of a laugh.

“You’re just drunk Oli…”

He doesn’t respond, just shakes his head and wraps his letterman jacket around her before going back inside to rejoin the party.

She presses her face into the pillow and lets out a heavy exhale, tears now staining the pillow case before she turns onto her side and takes in a shaky breath. Richie and Ricky open the door quietly, thinking she’s asleep and leave a plate of cookies on her desk, not wanting to disturb her.

“You don’t have to keep driving me to school Marsh.”

Elizabeth leaned against the brick wall, looking up at the tall red head boy who was clad in his football uniform. He lets out a breathless chuckle and shakes his head.

“But I want to Tozier, so I’m gonna keep doing it until you tell me to stop.”

“You’re real stubborn, you know that right Marsh?”

Elizabeth quips, resulting in another laugh before Oliver ruffles the girl’s hair and runs off, shouting he’d pick her up at eight in the morning the next day,

She walks to school the next day. Leaving early before Oliver shows up and lying to her brothers saying she had a project she needed to get done. She holds her books tightly, soft eyes with barely visible bags under them glancing around the halls as she just wandered aimlessly, with no real purpose, waiting for classes to begin.

She makes a turn down a hallway and immediately spots the red hair, but it’s too late to turn back now. He’s talking to one of the cheerleaders but stops when their eyes meet. The grip on her books tighten as he sends her a smile but she only walks faster, quickly getting out of the hallway and to her own class.

Oliver runs over, sweaty and still in his football uniform. He gives Elizabeth a small smile as he pants and catches his breath.

“You know, we’d spend more time together if you were a cheerleader.”

Elizabeth holds back a howl of laughter, letting a giggle loose past her delicate pink lips. He couldn’t be serious, not with her and cheerleading.

“Yeah cause you just wanna see me in a skirt.”

She retorts, looking down at her outfit, dark jeans, a dark green turtleneck and a black leather jacket.

“And what if I do?”

“No way Marsh, I’m not gonna be a silly cheerleader.”

Elizabeth sits at a lunch table alone, reading one of her books. Well not really reading, more so using it as a cover to look over at Oliver, across the crowded cafeteria, where he sat with the other football players. His eyes glance over at her and they stare for a moment, a fleeting moment before Elizabeth turns away and sighs softly to herself.

The day passed quickly, much to Elizabeth’s wishes and even though she didn’t have any extracurriculars after school she found herself unable to leave. Leaning against her locker she lets out a soft sigh and runs a hand through her hair, eyes closing.

“So will you tutor me for chemistry?”

Elizabeth lets out a soft laugh, looking down at her AP Chemistry textbook before back at Oliver.

“I can’t believe Oliver Marsh is asking me to tutor him for chem.”

She teases, causing the boy’s cheeks to go red.

“Yeah yeah, shut it Tozier, not everyone is as smart as you.”

“Who said I was smart?!”

Her eyes open and fill with tears, shaky breaths escaping her as she tries to think of something other than Oliver. Everything reminded her of him, she hated it so much. Hand comes up to her lips and she begins to bite her nails, a nervous habit.

“Ouch! Be gentle Liz.”

Oliver whined, looking down as the brunette bandaged up his cut hand.

“It’s not my fault you weren’t careful, now be still.”

She huffs, finishing up the wrapping. There’s a soft silence between them before she gently runs her hand over the bandage until her fingers are against his. She looks up and blushes softly, quickly pulling her hand away.

“All good to go, but be more careful next time!”

The next day was just as awkward as the first, filled with quick glances and avoidance. Oliver keeps trying to talk to Elizabeth but the girl is quick, always two steps ahead of him. That night he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. He check his phone, but there’s no new texts from her. All he could do was think about her, their memories together.

“Elizabeth-”

“Not all of my attention is on you Oli.”

The brunette mutters a little harsher than she intends, looking back at the study group that’s waiting for her.

“I just thought we were gonna go for milkshakes…”

He seems hurt but Elizabeth doesn’t seem to notice that much, looking back over at him and shrugging softly.

“We can do that some other time. I’m trying to make friends Oli, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well yeah-”

She cuts him off, giving a gentle smile before turning.

“Then I’ll text you later! Bye Oli!”

He lets out a groan, checking his phone one last time. The next day, everything blew up. Thomas, who’d been begging for a fight since the week started, confronted the two in the lobby of the school.

“So Elizabeth, since you and Marsh are obviously done being a thing, can I have a go?”

Elizabeth starred in shock, jaw dropped as she tried to stutter out a response before Oliver beat her to it.

“Cut it out Thomas…”

But Thomas doesn’t listen, stepping closer to Elizabeth and smirking before looking over at Oliver.

“What? She’s not exactly virgin territory.”

There was a pause, only for a moment, Elizabeth’s heart racing as Oliver glared. After a moment he pushed Thomas, who pushed him back into a vending machine. Boys began to chant the word fight over and over and over again.

“Stop it!”

Elizabeth tried to call out over the shouts but it was unheard to either boy. Oliver sent a harsh punch to the boy’s jaw, while Thomas landed a hard one to his eye, which would definitely result in a black eye later.

“Both of you! Stop it now!”

Elizabeth pleas before the teachers came and pulled the two apart. Elizabeth rushed off to the bathroom, closing one of the stalls and bursting into tears. Hours later Oliver was running onto the field to start football practice when Elizabeth, much calmer, stopped him.

“Your eye…”

She whispered, instinctively reaching up to touch it. Like she thought, it darkened, giving Oliver a harsh black eye. Oliver flinched away from her touch and her cheeks lit up realizing what she had done.

“I’m sorry, I should go-”

“There’s a party tonight. Please come.”

Oliver cut her off, taking her hand gently before she could run off. Elizabeth’s heart races as she looks over at him, eyes scanning his face.

“Please…”

He murmurs gently before letting go and letting her walk off. The party was in full swing when Oliver spotted Elizabeth in a corner, arms crossed and obviously uncomfortable. He walked over, took her hand and pulled her outside before she could protest.

“Oliver, wait-”

He stops in the sidewalk and steps closer to her, looking down before he presses a soft and quick kiss to her lips.

“Elizabeth I know you think you’re terrible, I know you think I don’t deserve you…”

He’s soft, gently cupping her cheek as he breathlessly talks, the smallest of smiles creeping onto his face.

“But I could care less about that. I love you and I want to be with you. I can’t handle you avoiding me. I need you in my life Elizabeth Tozier.”

Elizabeth looks up, heart aching, arms wishing to wrap around him and hug him, tears preparing to fall. Her breathing is shaky as she soon looks down, scared to face him. There’s silence once more, before she pulls away and takes in a deep breath. Looking up with teary eyes she presses her lips to his and chuckles gently against the kiss.

“No matter what I do… I can’t stop thinking about you… I love you…”

She whispers quietly, pulling away and gently wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. His arms wrap around her waist and hold her close, face pressing into her shoulder.

“I love you Elizabeth…”

“I love you too Oliver…”

[etoilesdephan]

Set me ablaze, don't let me drown

Read the first part here: Ignite the fire of a thousand suns

Summary: Two years after returning to Adrailia, Dan's life has changed and he doesn't belong. Daily yearning mixes with fear and exhaustion and he wants out. But is there anywhere left for him? And how can he get there?

Word count: 4.8k

Read it on ao3!

A/N: Woo! I actually went on and write a sequel to Ignite the fire of a thousand suns! I felt like I needed to tell more of the story, though it might not compare in quality to the first part. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoy reading it <3

=====

The stars shone brightly in the velvet sky above him, but Dan paid them no mind, his dark eyes drawn to the metallic plates that made up the pavement leading him to his work place.

He'd still dreamed of them, far above and beyond, for a while. He'd still dreamed of //him// - the man so warm as the sun itself, and always so bright and happy about the smallest things in life. He knew that it was dumb to hold on to that memory, as one month had turned into a dozen and before he knew it two Adrailian years had passed and he was still stuck in time.

It had been one week, even less than that, that they had spent time together.

Had laughed.

Had drank.

Kissed.

He shut his eyes and heaved a sigh, breath turning into a white puff and it caressed his cheeks in a way that made him feel colder than he already was. Dan had felt more cold than not, ever since Phil had last touched him. It was like once Dan had learned of the true warmth, there was no way of going back.

Some days were better than the others, and he enjoyed life, spent time with his brother and the few people that came close to being his friends, all those he had left behind when he'd departed from Adrailia having had moved on by the time he'd come back. So many days, especially during the dark seasons, when either or both of the suns were constantly staying behind the horizon, only peeking out just enough to not let the life disappear from the side of the planet, Dan felt himself wonder. How it would be to try and leave again, to travel to someplace warmer, where people were not cut in steel like the world around them.

It always ended up with him glancing at his arm where the currencies barely reached four digits at the best months. His allowances were melting away quicker than time, and the scrap collection point job could only keep him above the water so much. There was no chance to save up, not when they had cut him off.

His own family had put him in front of a choice. Either get a job and they would support him with the missing difference in rent and necessities, or to bum out with no support.

Dan had seen the way those unfortunate souls that were left homeless would always roam from city to city, running from the merciless cold of the metallic planet, freezing on the panels covering everything or huddled up in the ditches where the soil peeked through, only a little bit warmer than the steel.

He was so much, but it didn't matter in the world ruled by the coin, the copper and the steel.

“You're late,” An angry, gruff voice addressed him when Dan pushed through the door, and instantly Dan curled in on himself a little more.

“He's always fucking late,” The voice continued and it didn't need looking up to know that the old Crastean had turned to complaining to one of the other staff members, his voice soon falling into the familiar sound of hissing that was the language of his species.

It was a thankless job, sorting through the different scrap that people from all over would deliver to the scrap metal point in search of a couple of added digits to their currencies. At first Dan had been wary of cutting his knuckles, but eventually the scars had began riddling his skin, the colour milky against his slightly tanned skin.

“You were late,” Dan stopped in his tracks, suddenly faced by the alien, the mane of the other male ruffled in a manner that made him look more scary than usually. No matter how many times Dan had seen the other male, the sight sowed dread into his being, and a shiver began somewhere in his core, extending the cold to the very tips of his digits. “You'll be working overtime. Do a good job and I might even pay you,” There was a sinister edge to the alien's voice, and a hiss that followed reduced Dan mute in an instant though words of protest had begun forming on his lips.

It was far too late that night that he fell face first into his bed, exhausted and aware of the fact that no matter how long the sun would be beyond the horizon, there wouldn't be enough hours to rest.

Was it really who he would remain for the rest of his life? Almost a slave, working through scraps only to be paid ones too. Always afraid. Always cold and miserable, his dreams dying as much as every passing day did without a notice.

He closed his eyes, and it was like magic that the scene before him was painted. The greenery of Earth 2.0, the soft wooden tones of the hallways, the colours of the arcade, the warmth of a body pressed up close to him, holding him near. That single look that had once made him feel so hopeful about his existence.

Dan curled up on the bed, wrapping the blanket around himself to cocoon that imaginary warmth close as the sleep began to take over, his limbs exhausted and the new scratches across his arms stinging familiarly.

===

“Three currencies per piece, I told you last week already,” Dan hissed clumsily under his breath in the Crastean dialect that he had a poor grasp of and the words that were thrown back at him were a violent mess of what he could only assume were curses. Before he knew it, a piece of scrap metal was thrown at his face and it was by sheer luck that Dan managed to duck out of its way, the metal clattering behind him.

“Out. OUT!” Dan hissed at the angry alien while jumping over the counter, the heavy boots landing him rather painfully but it didn't matter. It rose a cloud of metallic dust in the air, and Dan used the moment to grab the considerably smaller but also so much more vicious creature by the scruff before tossing it out the door. “Don't return before you've got it in your head that you can't force currencies out of us!” He yelled after the creature as it scuttled away.

His limbs heavy and soul spent, he flopped down onto the icy cold ground, back pressed against equally cold wall behind him. Dark eyes looked up at the planetary ring lighting up the dark season sky, where all the space debris was floating in sync with the planet in a manner so harmonic that he dreamed of falling apart and joining the space dust on a day much like this.

To move away from the place he felt detached from, watching it from the above, shining with the light of the hiding suns.

His lids were heavy, and finally when he blinked, he couldn't find any more strength to open them though the chill was seeping through the fabrics, numbing his limbs.

“Dan,” The voice was full of urgency, or was it with amusement?

Warm hand in his, he felt the lightness in his body as he was lifted up and when he followed the length of the arm, it was familiar. He trailed the gaze over it and up to the shoulder, across the collarbone and towards the jaw. It was slow that he looked up properly but when he did, his heart felt like it had forgotten how to beat correctly.

Phil was staring at him, smiling that same silly smile that lit up his whole face.

Dan knew, it was just a dream. Even so, he let his heart take afloat in that way that it had felt without him knowing before it had dropped heavily when the spaceship had disappeared from before his eyes. He reached forward, trying to envelop the other man in his arms, to hold him close to his chest, to his heart. He wanted to latch on and never let go.

He saw Phil's lips part, to speak again, and all he wanted was to kiss the words away before they could form.

“Lazy trash,” The tone was rough, bordering a snarl and suddenly there was a kick against his side sending sharp pain through his cold and numb body. It jolted him right away and he scrambled to his feet clumsily, shrinking under the gaze of the Crastean male.

“S-s-sorry,” His lips were blue and teeth clattering, skin prickling with needles.

“Your sorries won't get the job done,” The snarl was aggressive and it cut like hot knives, making Dan want to pull away even more, “Last warning and you're on the streets.” Dan could only nod, shivering though his hands were rubbing over his arms to find some heat again. The look he was regarded was full of hate, and it was something alike to 'Filth' that Dan heard the male hiss when he, the messy mane swaying, turned and disappeared into the building.

His core had turned into that dead frozen giant again.

===

“You know that they mean well, right?” Adrian, feet swinging as he sat on the high stool, suddenly interrupted the silence between the brothers. Dan didn't look up, and instead focused on tending to the bleeding scratches on his knuckles, fingers numb and clumsy as they tried to place the scraps of the remaining healing patch on them accurately.

“They just want you to learn to be stable,” Adrian continued on when Dan remained stubbornly silent, tapped his heels against the metal legs of the stool, ''After the whole thing with the university--”

“I get it. They aren't over the fact that I'm not the perfect son that they envisioned,” Dan interrupted, dropping the patch on the table in frustration and defeat when he couldn't apply it correctly.

He could hear the frown in Adrian's voice, “That's not what I meant...”

“But it is what it is. You know it. I know it. I had a mental breakdown and dropped out of one of the most prestigious law universities in our galaxy.” Dan felt the tiredness drum against the inside of his skull as a headache. He hated these conversations. Though he loved his brother dearly, Dan often wanted to avoid meeting him, because it always ended up with them discussing this.

“I'll work at the scrap collection until I can get into some technical studies and make sure they aren't as ashamed of calling me their own offspring anymore,” He continued on while reaching for the water cube. Tossing it into his mouth, he began chewing thoughtfully, feeling his thirst quenched gradually, but it didn't do anything to help his headache.

“Dan,” Adrian sounded so grown up and sometimes Dan felt like it was the younger brother that actually was the older one. “I'm not here to discuss the disappointment of mum and dad how you call it.”

The word 'disappointment' echoed in the back of his mind, and he tried to push away the words that were forming on his lips, full of anger. He didn't want to fight about this. Not again.

“So why are you here then?” He answered instead, a strain in his tone, dark eyes burning holes in the metallic wall of his small apartment.

“I'm here to offer you a way out of here.”

It took about three silent seconds before Dan finally looked at his brother who was sitting on the stool slouched in that relaxed manner that their parents hated so much.

“What?”

“I still get currencies from them, too much of it now that they refuse to give you any. It's only fair that I give it to you.” Adrian began explaining, equally brown eyes staring back at Dan; an oddity of a kind on the cold world of Adrailia where most people had black or grey gazes that matched the onyx and steel of the world itself.

“Adrian, no, it's yours,” Dan began to protest after he found his voice again, “I don't want you to get in trouble with them over me.”

But the way Adrian was smiling was clear that the younger Howell had made up his mind already, and there was some secret hiding within that expression too. “It's not mine, Dan. And trust me, even if they cut me off, which they probably won't, I'll survive.”

Dan was full of fight though; as much as he wanted this miserable existence to end, he couldn't risk extending his fate to his brother just because the younger one had the heart of the purest ingots.

“I got it,” Finally Adrian admitted and it took a single tick of the old mechanic clock on the room wall for Dan to understand the meaning behind the words. And when he did, his face felt like it was about to split from how wide he was grinning.

“You got the job?? Shit, that's amazing! Congratulations!!!” Adrian was grinning back only to flinch a little when Dan threw his arms around him to pull him in a hug, a custom so much unlike their world that Adrian could see the change in his brother. In the end though, he only laughed and pat Dan's back lightly until the older brother pulled away.

“I did. Which means that I have all the currencies that should've been yours,” Dan tried hard not to frown at the change of the topic towards the funds again. He opened his mouth, to turn down the offer again but stopped when Adrian motioned at his arm. When Dan looked down, the number that had been nearing a zero once more was replaced by seven digits.

More than enough to leave, twice of what he had had before he left on his journey.

“Adrian--”

“Shut up, Dan,” It was said with a laugh, “You were completely changed and so hopeful when you left and came back. The least I can do is help you get back to that. Let's be honest, you're wasting away here and I hate to watch it happen after I saw what you can be.”

“I--” Dan tried to find words, but it was something else he was feeling - it was an overwhelming sense of relief, as if a tight knot in the core of his being that he hadn't known of had been unraveled all of a sudden. His knees felt weak and suddenly he found himself sitting back down.

When he looked up at Adrian again, his sight was blurry in a way that it hadn't been for years.

“Thank you.”

===

His face was blank but his heart was racing as Dan lied in his bed in the darkness of his tiny abode, his arm up in the air and he stared at the seven digits on his arm though he couldn't actually see them.

He found himself afraid.

Here was all the freedom he yearned for, but he recalled those nights over three years ago, when he had laid in his bed back at his then home in a manner much like this, hopeful for the future, unaware of how it would come full circle, lead him through the heights of happiness all the way into the ditch of the wastage.

He was afraid that it would happen again.

The blanket rustle felt incredibly loud in the silence of his home when Dan finally threw it aside, like the crinkling of metal when it was pressed in the disposal, and sat up in the bed, the floor beneath his feet freezing, but his mind was buzzing too loudly for anything in the world to matter. A single click and the light came up in his room and Dan brought up a giant screen on his wall, where he map of the known galaxy was displayed.

Suddenly he felt more alive than he had in a long time, his cheeks warming and though he was cold, the warmth in his chest kept him pushing on. His fingers, bit by bit, located the region, the galaxy, the federation and the stars. One star left behind the other, he continued his search, though he knew that come morning he could find the exact coordinates from the info androids at the Cornucopia. Yet he couldn't wait, and the search felt more rewarding as he neared the one place that was on his mind when he let his mind wander in wishful dreams.

Dan stepped aside, slowly, when the green and sandy planet appeared before him, and the information formed a list on its side.

3 billion inhabitants.

Average temperature between 23 and 40 Celsius.

Democratic Republic.

Best known for the underground spring vacation spots and some of the best galactic diplomats.

Before him was Dromia N442.

===

“The filth's back,” The hiss was familiar, but the hope that had ignited in his soul kept his stance proud and brave, which seemed to annoy the Crastean, as the giant alien suddenly emerged from behind the counter, and Dan nearly bumped into the chest of the humanoid. “Why'd you bother showing up at all today, if you're not even going to try and apologise?” He could feel the electricity in the air, charged with annoyance and the increasing dishevelment of the rusty mane.

“Are you now mute, too, human?” When Dan didn't reply, the creature took a step forward and Dan retreated, all whilst meeting the yellow gaze with a blank expression.

“Get out,” The creature snarled and jabbed a finger towards the exit.

“I came to collect what is mine,” Dan finally spoke and it caused silence to set in; he'd never spoken this clearly, his voice so steady, when addressing the other male, and it seemed to have a direct effect on the other male as he lowered his arm, instead crossing both over his chest now.

“What in the seven hellish suns do you mean?” The tone was demanding, but a mixture of discontent and annoyance began budding behind Dan's brow. He tried to push past, but when the creature blocked his way again, he had to ball his fists to keep himself from losing his temper and try shoving the other aside, knowing well that it would end in rough treatment that Dan couldn't measure with.

“You want me gone? Good. I will be. But I have my tools in the locker and I'm not leaving without them,” Dan shot the other a glare and there was a gleam in those yellow eyes.

“No. Get out.”

“Not without what is mine,” Dan pushed on and tried to push past again only to be roughly shoved back, making him stumble into a lousy scrap replica of their central symbol of the world.

“You were fired before you got here, nothing left here is yours,” The Crastean snarled and the mane seemed to grow with every growl, like the fur on an enraged wild animal. And to Dan, this creature was barely any different from one.

“I paid for it, it's mine.” He pressed on, once more but as he tried to step closer, he felt himself grabbed from behind, several pairs of arms holding him back.

“Get. Out.” Was the last thing he heard when he was suddenly thrown backwards and out the building, the heavy door shut right after him, immovable in their statement. Dan scrambled to his feet, his goal important to achieve and he banged his curled fist against the steel door.

“Give me back my stuff,” He demanded, realising how pathetic he looked and sounded to a pair of scrap gatherers that appeared around the corner, carrying their bags over their hunched backs, probably to leave with nothing but a couple of dozen currencies added to their existence.

A sound caught his attention, and he looked up where the small window had opened just to shove a beaten up metal box out; Dan's toolbox. It hit the ground heavily, and the lid popped open and all the contents spilled across the ground.

He knew it before he saw it.

One of the scrap gatherers dropped their bag, jumping for several items that had spilled from the container, and Dan instantly launched himself at the creature, roughly shoving it away. “Fuck off,” He hissed in the clearest Crastean that he'd ever spoken, the malice similar to his ex-bosses’ in the sound, and though it was clear that the scrap gatherer wanted to try again, there was enough hesitation for Dan to quickly pick up the variety of the intricate tools and the box before he collapsed against the nearest wall, sorting through the items. He completely ignored the looks he was getting as he carefully, hands shaking, replaced the items in the box until all of them had been replaced but one. Another, smaller, very beaten up aluminium container. He popped it open and poured the contents out on his open palm, a variety of what would seem like useless wood and bone jewelry.

A certainty of his past. Something he always tried to have nearby, for it reminded him of the better times.

He curled his fingers around them securely, a gentle sigh escaping his lips.

It was time to try again, and he held onto the little pieces of what had been left of him.

===

He hugged the worn backpack to his chest like his life depended on it, and in a way it did. Stitched up and extra layers covering the holes, the backpack was much like him, a one true companion in everything that he had gone through. He knew that he could have and probably should have gotten a new one, but there was a certain necessity for the continuity that Dan felt when he'd pulled the old thing out from a corner full of the metallic dust.

The sun was peeking from beyond the horizon, making him blink a little blindly at first when he glanced at it, but soon he felt the way the rays caressed his skin, gentle and warm, private. It made him almost unworthy of its attention, but as it was, he accepted it and relished in it.

The entire world slowed down around him, the frosty cold still strong in the surroundings, but lightened up with the bouncing of the light between the shiny panes.

“Desired destination?” The robotic  voice besides him repeated, making him jump a little. He knew most androids were programmed without actual annoyance modules, but there was something about the repeated request that expressed the feeling quite pointedly.

“Dromia N442,” As soon as he finished talking, he could hear the ticking cogs and the silent hum in which the information was analysed and the appropriate response - generated.

“Fifteen thousand currencies,” He had expected a high price, after all it was so far away, but his throat dried up at the sound of the actual price.

It had been two years. Did Phil even remember him? What if the other man had moved on, maybe even away from his birth planet? What if Dan appearing would make him uncomfortable? What guarantee did Dan even have that he could find Phil between three billion people and so many more tourists?

His tongue dry, he cancelled the request and slumped against the side of the android booth. His head in his hands, he tried not to think about the fact that he could just up and leave, freely. He had enough to work with, but he had no plan. His dreams had been dreams, a wishful thinking that it would continue just like that from where they left off.

In reality he was just a speck of steel dust floating in the endless universe without a home, without a certain path nor knowledge of where he belonged or how to get there. He was just a cold ice giant set to self-destruct without anyone taking notice, only ever loved by something that regarded all as one.

Dan understood that he had to get away, but he was unsure of where to go. All he ever truly knew and owned was on Adrailia, though it had disowned him years ago. He was a stranger to it and all he knew wanted him gone.

He sniffled, and felt the cold prickle all over his skin as the sun disappeared behind the horizon once again. A part of him wanted to just remain there, to freeze and cease. A part of him did not.

“Excuse me,” The voice barely registered in Dan's ears with the background of the ever-chattering crowds at the space station and the rolling of the wheels from ages old suitcases and the droning of the technology. It was sweet, smooth though it had a roughness lining the edges in a manner that Dan could not describe.

He didn't want to look up, to disturb the dream that his sorrows created in that tone, so he remained unmoving, not responding though another sniffle escaped him without him willing it.

Something warm settled on his shoulder, something that set his skin ablaze in a manner that should have hurt with how cold he felt in contrast, but there was no pain to it. The feeling was lapped up by his skin, allowing it to expand beyond the contact.

It made him want to curl up, to dissolve and become one with the feeling. To turn into a gentler kind of space dust that could make somebody else feel like they belonged.

“Are you alright?” The voice returned and Dan finally raised his head, but he didn't dare to look up at the stranger who had taken the time of their day to stop with him. He wanted to believe, that perhaps he was not sick and delirious and what his heart was aching for was truly happening. He'd been always taught hard facts though, and reminded the logic's importance, how feelings were good until they began to dominate you.

“Dan?” The softness and disbelief in the tone finally caught his heart and tugged it along with his gaze up, to face what he feared and hoped the most for.

A cacophony of colours and the milkiest skin, where the onyx of dark hair contrasted in the most perfect manner. The warmth in the blue gaze, the little lines around the eyes where laughter had set in as a permanent tenant.

Same as the dreams, but different. Calmer. A little older. Somehow wiser and more reassured.

Full of emotion written right across the face.

“Oh Gods, Dan,” The hand left his shoulder and two cupped his face, causing redness to take place with how warm his skin felt under the gentle fingertips. “It's actually you,” There was an equally watery quality about the voice and the eyes, and Dan was rendered mute as he stared at the other man, unable to believe it, unable to move enough to reaffirm reality.

Until he was drawn forward and he clumsily sprawled his legs on either side of Phil's kneeling frame, his face drawn in close against the collarbone, warm arms enveloping him securely, like nothing in the known universe could break through them to hurt him again.

“P-Phil,” Dan finally managed out, when his heart jump started again and in an instant, he wrapped his frozen arms around Phil's waist, drawing him in as close as he could and held on as tightly as he could muster.

The crowd shied away from then, more so where Adrailians were seen, the display of affection almost offensive to them though mostly ignored in the space station.

All Dan cared for though was that he was holding onto the one person in the known universe that he had longed for.

He had found him. Somehow. Even when Dan had lost his hope.

===

It was the rapidly disappearing steel and cold that he watched through the small window of the space ship. A place which had birthed and raised him, expelled him from its life to give him another chance at living. A place which Dan had sent the name of to Phil, only for a corrupted version to settle in Phil's inbox, one that took far too long to decrypt.

Persistence had prevailed though.

His fingers tightened around a warm palm, and Dan looked away from Adrailia and at the one person who had rapidly become his one real home, watching the way the blue eyes were a mixture of adoration of Dan and worry of the trip, how the pale lips were reddened from the numerous kisses and teeth raking over them in the past days. He saw the way these same lips bowed into a genuine smile, as the engines roared beneath the two men and all those in the space ship.

He felt the way the two of them had fallen into a comfortable middle ground beneath the burned and the frozen.

He felt lifted far above and beyond, not drowning anymore.

Phil held on tight and somehow Dan knew; this time they would not part away so easily.

[aron-caer]

Here is an excerpt from my story "Beloved Dolor" It is the first in a series of stories for my strange and wonderful world. If you would like to purchase the full story, it can be found on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B088DD7FS1

The city of Arxora was a bustle of life that was full of secrets, governed by the Aronite Order, it was a city of faith and peace held together by little white lies. Veronika grew up in this city, tried to find all its secrets as an investigative journalist. Yet it was only in the past few starcycles that she had discovered the greatest secrets. As she walked her eyes caught the many different forms of dress, ranging from overtly clad to overly covered. This was for many reasons, the most important of which to keep with the status quo. For in this city, the normal and abnormal thrived. 

Humans who worshipped the light, immortals who feared it. Secret spiritual beasts, beast-kind who either showed themselves proudly or hid the embrace of shadows on their skin. All coexist in tensioned acceptance, under the guise of visual ignorance. All of which hid the true secrets that only chosen few had realized.

And Veronika Chambers was cursed to be one of those few. 

To everyone else, an alleyway was just an alleyway, but Veronika spotted a small bloom peeking along the upper wall of one of the buildings that formed it. A black rose that shimmered violet in the sunlight, the Dolor Rose. Walking into the alley she followed the vine that the rose sprouted from, all the way to a chain of blooms that formed the shape of a doorway against the dull brick. 

"Shaduul." 

Veronika shuddered at the tingle of her life force draining from her, a small trickle of weakness at the corners of her perception as her own shadow began to warp at her command. It was a feeling she knew intimately, sending new pangs of sadness against her heart as the umbral mass to the form of an owl that somehow perched on one of the bricks set into the wall. 

A black nebula etched into feathers and down, small novas surge with turquoise light as they shift and dance. Blue-green suns but in their sockets, looking to her for its purpose. The woman refuses to look into them, with how much they resemble the eyes of another.

“Open the way home,” The owl trilled happily in affirmative, taking flight and beginning a circling pattern within the alleyway. The shadow owl suddenly dove to impact against the wall, erupting into a cloud of interstellar smoke as a door began to shape itself from within the frame of roses. 

"What do you want Tholanar?"

The figure stood a few feet from her, taller than Veronika, and adorned in a heavy hooded trench coat. The hood had a slit in the middle, fitting around a single black horn. Two colored eyes were somehow visible as they looked at her with contempt, one a dark chocolate, the other a deep cerulean. A scarf hid his flesh from the sun, and his body twitched at the utterance of his name as he removed it to reveal a short equine muzzle.

“ We need to talk, Veronika,” his voice was smooth, a very faint but lurid hiss served as undertone, a clear sign of Ceadra lineage. “ The Court is going to-” 

“I don’t care what the Court wants, they made it clear that I had nothing to do with Mentior and did not want me involved, apparently 5 loops means nothing to them.” She looked up at the sound of a click, the door that was now present opening on its own. The owl hopped gleefully on the steps leading upward. A part of her knew that this is what she truly needs.

Veronika sighed, looking away from the happy shadow owl to face Tholanar,” The Court has forbidden me from coming back.” All pure-blood Ceadra like Tholanar were crafted to be handsome, his body lythe with dense musculature beneath his coat. Tholanar removed his scarf, revealing short equine snout.

“I know, they told me when they offered me the position of Headmaster.” Veronika gave him a look of utter disgust, yet she refused to move. ”That...makes sense, you were Elijah’s son. However, your sol-mother would have wanted otherwise.” Veronika smiles slightly at the sight of the stallion wincing at her words, anger flashing in his eyes as a hand reaches up to rub against his temple.

“That…imp…is dead, and isn’t going to protect you anymore. Now I’ve got to clean up Hir mess before the Court will allow me to take control of the Academy.” 

The pupils of his eyes suddenly twist into reptilian slits, causing Veronika to look away. "Oh no you don't,"  with supernatural speed the vampiric creature closed the distance between them, one hand gripped the woman's rear as the thick hoof-like nails of his other dug into her cheek and chin. His strength, comparable to the strongest of human capabilities, forced her face back to look into his gayze. Jacinth fire now burns within his slitted pupils, attempting to magically force dominance upon her will.

"Open your mind to me..." Tholanar's words lose their hate, becoming sickly sweet and full of eerie song. Yet Veronika was ready for him, a faint turquoise light shimmering beneath the white of her blouse. “Bassalaste,” an opalescent shimmer flowed across her eyes, solidifying into an opaque crystalline pink that protected her from his gayze.

"You will not make me forget Hir, Tholonar." Veronika hisses the words, looking into the male's eyes without fear. The male growls in response, an animalistic sound that belies more than just anger. Veronika takes note of this, her mind growing sharp amidst danger as she begins to notice other things. 

“How long has it been since you’ve fed?” 

The equine’s eyes squinted at the words, failing to hide how the fangs that were unique to the lazmya subspecies were fighting to stay folded within his maw. "I can smell lust dripping from you, feel its heat on your skin," Veronika gasped when the hand at her rear moved to her front, pressing into the still moist panties beneath. "I can satisfy that desire, I can help you forget all that she ever was to you and free you from all that pain…"

"All you need to do is give in to me…"

Closing her eyes, she imagined The touch of her companion again. As the woman felt Tholanar's cold breath against her neck, tears began to well up at the realization that Shi would watch her be molested by this monster. “Is that what you told her? Every time she lusted, every time she desired but was kept starving for your own selfishness?”

Veronika's fingers move to guide the hand at her cheek down to the curve beneath her blouse, allowing him to cup her modest breast. Tholanar let out a pleased whinny, tenderly squeezing with trembling fingers in a struggle to give in to his own eagerness to indulge. As she responded to his words, she pressed her hips against his, seeking to keep his guard down.

"Yes..." Veronika's hand moved out of sight, and Tholanar groaned as he felt her fingers fumble with the button of the stallion’s pants. "I am very wet," she smiled as her pelvis ground her wetness against his probing fingers. This is her plan, to take advantage of all Ceadra's greater weakness, a constant hunger.

She bared her neck to the Immortal, letting him see the pulsing of her blood beneath her light olive skin. Only when she felt the burn of his scrutiny on her throat, the stiff throbbing in his pants, does she make her move. Resting the back of her head on his shoulder, Veronika's voice became cold, and the marks on her skin began the glow again.

"My wetness comes from thoughts of Hir, touching me, not you." The fog of many pangs of hunger slowed the hybrid's mind. In expecting her to comply, she easily slips from his grasp. "My blood boils at the thought that she would step aside if you commanded her, after everything you did to break her mind!"

“Vacaray Mofka!"

Three crystalline feathers emerged between the knuckles of the woman’s closed fist, which swings around to slice into the flesh of Tholanar’s cheek. Hot tears fall from gleaming skin as she spoke with bile in her throat, "As Powerful as Shi was, Shi would obediently wait her turn to be used, just for the false hope of you one day showing the smallest spark of the love you once had!" 

With an avian screech of rage, Veronika put all her pain, her hate, and her grief into a single uppercut to the equine’s jaw. "Even if you could make it all go away, someone has to remember everything you did to Hir!"

Triumphant relief filled Veronika as her conclusions were not unfounded, the Ceadra staggered back as near-black blood gushed from the wounds. Normally such an attack would be considered a minor injury, but Tholanar must not have fed in days for his regenerative powers to be non-existent. The male coughed up blood as he tried to pull the bladed feathers free, only to have the barbs of the feather extend and hook, causing more pain than he was able to ignore.

"Now go tell the Court that if they want me, they can come get me themselves.” Veronika looked down at the immortal, watching with cold contempt as he whimpered like a beaten dog. Yet it is all she can do to keep her body from collapsing, all her remaining power going to keep the feather-blades fully manifested.

She looked to the open doorway again, leading to home, to sleep. Yet it isn't what she wanted, she wants to feel Hir again. Veronika knew that waiting for her up those stairs was painful memories and nightmares of what is now gone forever. She was not going to get what she wanted by going through that door, she wasn't going to get it anywhere.

However, anywhere was better than where she was now. The owl waited patiently, her guardian, her gatekeeper, the manifestation of her bloodline that had long since been forgotten by the world. Veronika walked through the door, which closed behind her before vanishing into the shadows trapped within the many rose blossoms.