#I touched the banister when going downstairs and it was Wet

[cr0wc0rpse]

It is so incredibly miserably humid today. The air is soup. The postcards/prints I have hanging on my wall are starting to bend and warp

#one just fell off the wall #I am absolutely dreading having to shower later. I will never get dry #genuinely miserable #I touched the banister when going downstairs and it was Wet #and the wood door to the pantry has expanded because of humidity so it’s hard to close #it sticks #at least it’s raining? we’ve been in a drought. so rain is good #dead text

[ebxx456]

Daddy’s little girl part 1

Minors DNI

This is my first time posting on here and first time writing a really smutty smutty story so I’m really sorry if it’s absolutely shit but I’ll try my best.

Ok so for the plot, your dad’s best mate is coming to stay with you for a bit as he just got divorced, you haven’t seen him in about 6 years (you’re 18 now). Hayden is 41. You also have an older brother called Ezra who is 24 (your dad was 16 when they had your brother making your dad now 40).

It will be Hayden Christensen x y/n female ( everyone’s of age!!)

Warning TW: idek yet, smutty filth. Extreme daddy kink, dirty talk, virgin reader, large age gap ( 23 years), everything sexual( idk the terms for it I’m sorry)

Part 2^ !!!!

You woke up that morning with a sense of emptiness running through you. You craved something that you sinned yourself for wanting so badly. You decided a long time ago that you would save yourself for marriage, deeming all boys your age unworthy of having sex with you. You wanted it to be special, fulfilling, hot, steamy, wet.

However, lately you felt yourself becoming needy, desperate to be touched. You knew that any boy in your year would be ready and willing to give you what you craved but your pride didn’t allow you to stoop so low. You wanted a man. You needed a man.

After putting on some very low waisted flared jeans and a small light pink crop top, an outfit that you knew your father would be very distraught about, you sat down at your vanity decided on how to style your hair today.

It was the first day of winter break and you were almost bored already. Your best friend Maya was in the Hamptons visiting her grandparents leaving you alone. You had other friends, quite a lot of other friends actually but you didn’t like them very much. You weren’t rude or bitchy but they just didn’t understand you like Maya did, they were boring and only cared about High school boys and buying juicy couture tracksuits, which don’t get me wrong you loved to wear to. The autonomy of a high school senior.

“Y/n! Come down please!” You heard your mother yell from downstairs. You were very close, you would tell her everything. Normally. Recently your sinful thoughts and needy cunt were only known to yourself. You and your father however were not so close, he judged the way you dressed and acted. It was obvious to anyone that he favoured Ezra, comparing you to your brother at any chance he got.

As you made your way down the down the stairs, sliding your hand slowly down the banister, your heard an unfamiliar voice. A mans voice. Deep and seductive.

No.stop.

“Ah sweetie, you remember Hayden, he’s going to spend Christmas with us.” Your mother said as you took the final step down the stairs.

Your eyes immediately met the blue orbs of your dad’s friend. You felt a spark ignite inside you as you examined him. The way his biceps were almost ripping out of his shirt. His sharp, jaded, jaw which led into his pursed soft lips. Kissable lips. No. His hair, long and scruffy, slightly curly. Easy to grab. no.

“It’s nice to see you again sir.” You finally spat out. His gaze shifted down across your body sending a shiver across you. You heavily regretted your decision to not wear a bra as you felt your nipples hardening at this single look. You knew they must be protruding through your shirt by now. Oh god.

“You too sweetheart, you look completely different since the last time I saw you.”

You felt your pussy throb at the pet name, You were practically dripping without even a touch from yourself or him.

“Can you believe it, my baby’s 18!” Your mother smiled at you kindly.

“Wow. 18.”

Whether it was your soaked underwear beginning to seep into your blood and turn you crazy or it was really said, you don’t know, but the way he said 18 was hot, almost as though he felt as riled up as you do now.

“y/n go take Hayden to the guest room and make sure he knows where everything is. Then change your outfit, we are going out for a nice dinner, Ezra and Brooke(your brothers girlfriend ) will be joining us too.”

You smiled and nodded at your father’s bossiness and bluntness. A word out your mouth would only reveal your desperation and neediness, exposing you to everyone. Yet what feared you was being alone with this man. He had changed in six years also, you always found him attractive, even as a twelve year old girl yet your mind wasn’t so clouded with sex back then as it is now. But still now he had more fine lines spread across his face, he seems taller? Is that possible? You never realised your love for dilfs until this one was standing right in front of you as you leaked.

You began walking up the stairs sending a look back to make sure he was following you, which if course he was. Your eyes met again when you turned but not before realising that his eyes were previously glued to your ass.

You smiled to yourself, realising that maybe your insane thoughts were not just one sided. You continued to make your way up the large staircase but this time moving your hips slightly, just enough for him to notice but not to much that would make you look like an idiot in case the attraction was still in fact one sided.

As I followed behind my best friend’s teenage daughter, I couldn’t escape the thoughts running wild inside my mind. My eyes felt glued to her ass the whole way to the guest room yet I just couldn’t peel my eyes away. The one time my eyes did drift away was when they met her own, I noticed the slight smirk she had. Was I crazy? Or was she as hot and bothered as I was?

I could practically smell sex on her, or my nostrils were going as insane as my body was. no. She’s 18!

legal. Highly frowned upon. But allowed. She can’t even drink yet. But I bet she can drink up my cum when her mouth is wrapped around- no.

She probably thinks I’m a pervert. She probably has a boyfriend too.

Does she have a boyfriend? Why would it anger me if she did? Jesus Christ pull it together.

“So do you have a boyfriend yet?” he asked you nonchalantly once you had reached the bedroom. You opened the door and walked inside before turning to face him. Your eyes meeting once again and your body melting into a puddle.

“No, high school boys aren’t for me, I want a man you know.” You empathised on the word man, practically whispering that word out, and pulled your lips into a smile.

He chuckled at your words, his laugh practically vibrating through you. What was wrong with you?

“So where is your wife then sir?” You asked, quickly changing the topic to something you were desperate to know. If you were going to obsess over a man older than your dad, you at least needed to know if he was single, lonely, needy.

“Did your dad not tell you?” He asked as you shook your head.

“We recently split up.”

“Oh I’m sorry sir.” You weren’t the least bit sorry, if fact you literally had to fight away the smile attempting to steal your lips. “What happened?”

“She cheated on me, with the pool boy.” He replied and you noticed the sadness across his face. “That’s horrible, I’m so sorry sir.”

“No need to feel bad for me Darling, we fell out of love a long time ago.”

As sad as his words were you could practically feel yourself pulsating at the way he said darling. Yet he still hadn’t even touched you. You needed more. You needed to see if you weren’t crazy.

Even the way this girl spoke turned me on. The way she called me sir at the end of almost every sentence she spoke. It was going to be a long day, if not week. I don’t even know if I could last a day let alone the whole Christmas holiday.

I watched as she bent down in front of me, picking up one of my bags. Her ass was literally displayed across my face. Her red thong showing at the top of her jeans making my cock twitch at the sight.

After you bent down to grab the bag you lifted it up and then moved it on top of the dresser. You heard him exhale a breathe once you had stood back up. So maybe you weren’t crazy?

You turned round to face him, your back against the dresser as he made his way towards you. Your eyes meeting once again, his blue orbs practically drilling into your soul. If you weren’t dripping before you were definitely dripping now.

“I just need to get something out my bag.” He told you as he came even closer yet you didn’t move an inch. Your breathe hitched as his front clashed with yours as he reached over you, unzipping his bag. You were practically squirming under his body, biting your lip to fight of the moan ready to escape your lips.

He pushed into even more as he rummaged through his bag, his hips practically almost thrusting into you.

That was when you couldn’t control it anymore, when his cock practically brushed over your clit. And a soft moan escaped your lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up as he let go of his bag, placing his hands either side of you on the dresser. Caging you in.

He nelt down his face inches away from yours.

You parted your lips in anticipation, was your fantasy really going to come true. All you wanted was his lips on yours. All you needed was his cock buried deep inside you as he whimpered.

But he didn’t put his lips on yours, instead he spoke. The proximity of the two of you made you feel his hot breathe on your face turning you on even more.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

After the soft words left his lips he moved them to your ear, nibbling slightly as you put your hands around his waist, feeling his toned back under your fingertips beneath his tee shirt. You pulled him into you, his hips meeting yours as another quiet moan left your mouth.

You felt his bulge hardening as you pulled him closer one again, his mouth now moving to your neck as he peppered kisses across you.

He circled his fingers around your hard nipple through your tee causing a louder moan to escape you. Fuck.

“You’re so sensitive, have you ever been touched before?” He asked as he looked directly at you. You shook your head shyly as he tutted. Why the fuck was that so hot?

“I’m going to need words sweetheart.”

“N-no sir” you stuttered as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Have you ever even touched yourself?” He asked as his fingers trailed across your stomach towards your core.

“Words y/n.” He practically commanded as he traced a circle over the crotch of your jeans leading you to moan once again.

“No sir. Never”

He kissed his teeth, shaking his head slightly as he ran another circle over your area. You needed the jeans off. You needed to feel him.

He pulled his hand away completely as you felt yourself growing needy. Desperate for his touch once again.

“Please.” You begged as you rubbed your hand over his pants, you felt his large cock practically twitch at your touch

“Please what?” He smirked, teasing you even more.

“Please daddy, I need you.” you practically moaned out. You didn’t even think twice before the word left your lips. Embarrassed began to wash over you, but it left as you noticed the spark in his eyes up the moment you said the word.

you pulled him towards you again as you dipped your hand inside his chinos. Only his boxers separated your hand and his cock as you slid your hand up his now hard length.

His head moved towards your ear again as he let out a very quiet whimper. If his mouth wasn’t so close to your ear, you probably wouldn’t have even heard it.

But then there was a switch in him all of a sudden and he pulled your hand out by the wrist and backed away from you.

“No, no we can’t do this.” He muttered as he practically paced the room.

“Who’s going to know sir?” You asked desperately. You were past the point of trying to maintain your pride.

“Stop no we can’t. We need to get ready for dinner.”

“ but-“ you began to say but he cut you off harshly.

“go get ready for dinner.”

“I-“

“Please y/n” he practically begged.

“Fine.” You sighed brushing past his shoulder as you practically stormed out of the room and went straight into your bedroom. Fine.

#smut #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #daddy's good girl

[animeomegas]

Kinktober - Day 9

[Light (Death Note) + Fuck to Survive]

Summary: There’s a new anti-Kira hate group on the rise. They have taken to taunting Kira by attacking innocent people but keeping their identities a secret. I wonder what they would think if they realised that they just so happened to pick Kira himself as their newest victim? Alpha!Dom!Reader

Warnings: Dubcon, referenced assault (but not described, of Light and of other unnamed characters), this one is a little different to what I’d normally write, please be aware (and yet somehow it still ended up mostly hurt/comfort, why do I do this??)

You were lounging on the bed and flicking through channels on the TV, waiting for Light to return with some takeaway. Nothing was jumping out as particularly interesting… Well, you could always just watch the news.

“-have continued to rise. The anti-Kira group, as of now still unnamed, has been taking credit for the attacks. The new chemical developed by this-“

You switched off the TV in disgust.

This new ‘anti-Kira’ group had been causing havoc for a few weeks. The fact that they were outspoken against Kira was not unusual per se, but they were taking it further than any other group. They had developed a chemical that, when in contact with an omegas skin sent the omega into a faux heat so powerful it could kill them if they didn’t have an alpha to help them deal with it. You were extremely glad that Light’s identity as Kira wasn’t public yet, because as much as your relationship wasn’t typical, you would still hate for your omega to get hurt in any way.

It was disgusting what the group was doing. But you knew that one day they would slip and Light would have enough information to kill them all.

Suddenly, you heard the front door slam open, scaring you half to death.

What the hell?

Running downstairs, you almost paused to grab a weapon before realising that it was only Light that you could smell… and it smelt like he was in heat?!

Picking up the pace even more, you reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Light  half collapsed on the flood of the entrance hall, choking and growling in front of a still wide open front door. Without pausing to think, you slammed the front door shut, wary of whose attention Light may have garnered smelling the way he currently did.

“I’m going to kill them all,” Light suddenly shouted, staggering to his feet and knocking into the banister.

“Light, what the hell is going on? You’re not supposed to be in heat, you’re on suppressants,” you ran up to support him only to realise that his shirt was soaking wet. The moment you touched him, Light leant into you with a low keening noise before he growled and pushed you away, falling to his knees on the floor.

A lightbulb went off in your head.

Oh shit.

“Those fucking lunatics got you, didn’t they?”

Light didn’t respond. He was panting heavily while slowly returning to his feet once more. He winced violently, pressing a hand to his stomach.

Oh, shit, you needed to help him, your mate was hurting. Your panicked mind was a little muddled. Bed. You needed to get him in bed.

Light allowed you to drag him upstairs while you dutifully ignored his enticing scent and sizable wet patch on the seat of his trousers, knowing that for your own safety, it was best you didn’t point either of those things out.

You laid him down on your bed (Light didn’t nest so this was the best you could do) where he lay panting and wincing. You rested a hand on his forehead for a moment. His temperature was already through the roof. Cooling him down was probably a good idea, but as your hand touched Light’s belt buckle, he growled you away from him.

You sighed and removed your hand. Was he seriously going to be difficult about this? You knew better than anyone what he was like, but did he seriously not understand that this could kill him?

“Light, you need my help,” you started, holding up your hands in surrender when he turned to glare at you. “I know you don’t like that, but unless you want all of your work creating this new world to be for nothing, you need to let me help, you know that.”

Light only continued to glare at you through his sweat soaked fringe.

You held back your own frustrated growl. You needed to do something!

You cast your mind back to the interviews you’d seen with the omegas who had been hit with and survived the chemical, how they said that physical touch from an alpha had soothed immense amounts of pain and an awful burning sensation.

You looked over at Light. He definitely looked like he was in immense pain. He wouldn’t like this, but you couldn’t let him die simply because of pride.

Before he could protest, you slipped a hand around the back of his neck, cupping it firmly, and then wriggled another down the collar of his shirt, pressing just as firmly against his bare chest.

Light tensed for a moment before every muscle in his body seemingly relaxed at once. You kept your hands there, hoping to continue providing relief, until Light came to his senses and his eyes snapped up to yours. He seemed to struggle with words, battling against everything that he was feeling, everything those bastards forced him to feel, and make a coherent sentence.

“I’m not… weak,” he said hoarsely, looking a little lost. “I’m not weak.”

“You’re not weak,” you agreed easily. “You’ve been assaulted, but it wasn’t your fault, and as soon as you’re better, you’re going to give them ten times as much as they gave you.  But you have to feel better first.

“Let me help you,” you implored, squeezing the back of his neck where your hand was still resting.

Light let out something that sounded suspiciously like a whine, but eventually he nodded his head.

“Okay,” he agreed with an edge to his voice. “Help me so that I can destroy them.”

“Of course,” you kissed him on the forehead. “We need to hurry before this gets any stronger.”

…

And get stronger it did.

“It hurts,” Light moaned, curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his stomach, cradling where the pain was at its most unbearable. You had only left him for a moment, but the pain apparently did not waste time in coming back the second you stepped away.

“I know, I’m sorry, omega, I’m sorry,” you rushed back into the room with a pitcher of water. “But you need to drink something Light, your temperature isn’t going down and you’ve lost a lot of fluids.”

“Surely three times is enough?” Light said, desperation lining his voice. “I can’t-“

“I know, I thought it’d be enough too, but please drink something first, then we can figure out a plan.”

You crawled back onto the bed, still naked, and pulled an equally naked light into your lap, visibly easing his pain.

You tried to hold the glass up to Light’s lips, but he snapped at you.

“I’m capable of doing it myself.”

“Okay,” you soothed, handing him the glass, not wanting to cause any more turmoil than strictly necessary.

Light reached out to take the glass but the second he had a grip on it, his hands started to shake. It you hadn’t been so fast the take the glass back, he would have dropped it all over the bed.

Humiliated tears started to gather on Light’s waterline. You’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“It’s okay, Light.”

Light shook his head.

“It’s okay,” you whispered again. “You’re not weak, you’ll show them. We just need to burn this out of your system.”

“We’ve already done it three-“

“I know,” you cut him off. “But I thought about it and it’s possible that I need to knot you properly, Light, and I know you don’t like it, but I can’t think of anything else.”

Light pressed his lips together, displeased, but he relented.

“Fine, anything that will just make it stop.”

You smiled at him, grateful that he was letting you take care of him with less of a fight.

Light preferred to be on top, but he was too weak to hold himself up right now, so you laid him gently back on the bed and slipped between his legs. The previous three rounds had left Light’s hole relaxed and open, so you effortlessly slipped back inside his warmth.

He choked on a groan as you pushed in but quickly quieted down and relaxed shortly afterwards. Sexual contact with an alpha was the only thing that was soothing his pain right now.

You sorely hoped that this was the last time you needed to do this. As much as it was novel (and if you were being honest, nice) to have Light be so pliant and vulnerable, you’d rather he was comfortable and happy, something which he was currently decidedly not.

Light had a dazed and faraway look on his face as thrust inside him methodically. To try and bring him into the moment, you wrapped a hand around his cock and rubbed your thumb over the end in quick but consistent circles.

Light jolted at the touch and bucked up into your hand, and you, having successfully engaged him, switched to long sweeping strokes up and down his cock, just the way he liked it.

“It burns,” Light whimpered suddenly. “I want it over, I’m going to kill them all.”

“I know baby, I’m almost there, it’ll all be over soon,” you tried to soothe him, hoping you were right about knotting being the way to fix this. You needed to hurry up and end this. So, you did.

You hiked both of Light’s legs up to give you a better vantage point and increased the power behind your thrusts, ending up somewhere between missionary and the piledriver position. To make it feel even better for Light, you leant down and sucked and bit at his nipples. They were incredibly sensitive and Light normally forbade you from playing with them because he was too embarrassed by his reactions, but right now it was what you needed to end this.

Light gasped as your tongue made contact with his chest, hands leaping to grab your head, pulling it roughly against his rosy flesh. The biting and sucking quickly made his nipples a swollen red colour which proved to only make them more sensitive.

At his admittedly arousing reactions, you knot started to swell, catching on his rim and forcing you to bury inside him before it was too late. The moment you became locked together was clearly too much for Light who wasn’t used to the sensations, and he clenched tightly around you as he was knocked over the edge into his own orgasm while you filled him up. His fake heat pheromones had impacted you more than you realised, and it’d been a long time since Light let you cum inside him, so your instincts went a little crazy and cumming for much longer than you normally would, a small bulge appearing on Light’s normally flat stomach.

As you came down from your high, Light was just laying back against the bed and panting with his eyes firmly closes. You were overjoyed to see that he already looked better.

“We’re going to be stuck like this for a while, my knot wants to make the most of it, I think,” you joked, shifting you both around so that Light could sit comfortably on your lap while you leant against the headboard. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” Light sluggishly snapped, resting his head on your shoulder. From the interviews with other omegas who’d been splashed, once they dealt with the heat, they felt completely exhausted. You could tell that Light was losing a battle against the fatigue.

You started to purr and rock Light gently back and forth, and for once, Light didn’t argue with you coddling him, he just fell asleep on your shoulder, with you still buried inside of him.

#kinktober #n-sfw #light #light yagami #death note #sub!light #sub light #som!reader #dom reader #reader insert #a/b/o #omegaverse #light x reader

[mountswhore]

Hey can you do one with mase where in the middle of the night you started moving and wake mason up , and when he kissed your forehead he realized that you had a very high temperature , which is not normal because you were in décembre. And he took you to the hospital even if you told him that you don’t need

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 — mason mount

summary: after putting off your health all day, it takes mason to finally realise you were sick.

notes: requests are CLOSED. also, i changed the ending, so instead of going to hospital, mase just looks after his sick gf.

You had an early morning start today at work, and it felt criminal to be out of bed this early. You felt freezing, but put it down to the cold, winter air during the night. The shower had warmed you up, as well as the tea you were sipping on as you did your makeup. But now you felt too warm. It hadn't crossed your mind once that you might be ill, your mind too clouded with thoughts about your presentation later today.

Have a good day at work, doll, Mason texted, yawning as he dragged himself out of his own bed. He knew you had to be up early this morning, as you spent yesterday's facetime telling him about your presentation. So a small boost of encouragement wouldn't go amiss.

You felt like death warmed up all day, finally sat in the staff room on your lunch break, cradling your thermos. I'm probably just overworked and really tired, you thought, trying to stomach your pasta but you couldn't. At all.

Mason was at training, his mind couldn't leave you all day. He could feel something was wrong. Usually, you were texting him when you got to work, when you're on your break, whenever you could, really. But he hadn't received a single text from you, only a small heart in response to his morning message. Maybe you were busy preparing for your presentation? He decided to leave you be, he didn't want to bother or stress you any more.

But the moment training was over, he was straight over to yours. You finished at five, meaning he'd get there an hour after you'd gotten home. The house was quiet when he stepped in, not hearing the tv like he usually would, or hear the small sizzling of a pan. He jogged upstairs, to find your hair a mess on the pillow with the duvet surrounding you. Not how he expected to spend his evening, but he took it anyway. Time with you was precious, no matter what.

You'd woken up an hour later, your clothes stuck to your body with sweat, and you felt disgusting. Not to mention, still exhausted. You swung your feet over the edge of your bed, immediately heading to your bathroom to shower and get rid of this horrid feeling. It had relaxed your muscles, and you felt partially better as you walked downstairs.

Your living room tv was on.

You could hear your washing machine and dryer going.

And the smell of food.

What on Earth did I do in my sleep? You thought to yourself, throwing your hair towel over the banister and walking towards your living room. And there he was. Your boyfriend sprawled out, spooning M&M's into his mouth whilst watching some Netflix show. He'd given you a quick glance, before pausing the show and standing up to greet you.

"I put some washing on, made some dinner, also," Mason mentioned, holding your hands and leading you to the kitchen, "I think I should look into signing up for The Chase, I was on fire with the questions today." You just chuckled, expecting nothing different to come from his mouth, as he lifted you to sit on your island.

He placed his hands on either side of your thighs, giving you a look. "How was your presentation?"

"I think I did okay," you replied, leaning into to touch your foreheads together, the pair of you joint in laughter, "we had our new department manager in today, and she seemed quite happy with me."

"I expect nothing less from you, my love," Mason commented, lifting a hand to brush the wet hair away from your face, his eyes tracing the outline of your jaw, noticing your paler than usual skin.

Mason had served up dinner, sitting beside you at the island as you, well he, ate. He was eating like he hadn't seen food in months, whereas you were just dragging your fork around the plate, trying not to offend him as he put so much effort into this meal. Little did you know, Mason noticed something was off, he just didn't know what.

"Not hungry?" He asked, placing his cutlery down and smoothing a hand over your partially dried hair. You shook your head, leaning it onto his shoulder and closing your eyes, the horrid, icky feeling returning. Mason said nothing, but he had his arm around you as he tried to eat with one hand, struggling at first but managing to get the hang of it.

You fell asleep pretty quickly, before Mason could even return back to your room after brushing his teeth. With a kiss to your head, he decided to get some rest himself. And it was a pretty successful night of sleep, Mason usually has nothing short of a brilliant sleep at your home. Until the early hours of the morning, when he felt your leg rest over his. With his eyes still closed, he frowned at the feeling of your skin in contact with his. It felt as if you'd gotten straight out of the bath and into bed.

Mason gave you a quick glance, seeing you were sweating buckets now. He was sat up with concern, placing his hand over your forehead gently, and then onto your chest. You were burning up, and you hadn't said a work to him about it at all. He felt stupid for not realising, that's why you weren't eating, that's why you weren't replying, that's why all you've done is slept.

He gently woke you up, cooing your name until you stirred in your sleep. "Come on, baby, wake up."

"What, Mase?"

"Come with me." Mason instructed, his voice still soft as he got out of bed and jogged round to your side to assist you. You sat up, that horrible feeling returning. You wanted to lay on a blanket of snow, you felt so hot. Mason helped you up, and you weakly followed him to the bathroom, where he had gotten a tepid bath started.

As it was running, Mason was brushing your hair from your face, rubbing your back, just overall comforting you. And at two in the morning, this man was helping you into the bath, helping you clean yourself, before making you some water and sitting with you in the kitchen, still exhausted from a heavy day of training. But anything for his girl.

#mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount smut #mason mount #mason mount blurb #mase #money mase #mm19 #mason mount request #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fic

[girlmeetsliv3]

Strawberries

As I work through the creative block on Sandman, I thought I’d focus my attention elsewhere. So here you go: a new story. I am planning on making this an anthology of sorts. I hope to have the next part up by Tuesday next week. Sorry for the grammar mistakes, trying something new out. Hope you enjoy ~~

           Yn crossed off the date on the calendar with a bright red marker, drawing the end of the summer and bringing forth winter. Though the temperature had only recently dropped, the cold had long seeped into her heart. It would’ve been our anniversary today. Not that he cared, she reminded herself. Downstairs she could hear her parents bustling about, likely discussing how their day had gone. YN could almost feel their piercing glances through the wooden floor - they were worried. She hadn’t been the same since he left. Hadn’t been the same since his betrayal. It didn’t matter though YN was better now: she was participating again, communicating again - it wasn’t the same as it was before.

She didn’t smile as brightly, laugh as vibrantly, but it was something; and that was always better than nothing. YN sighed, sitting down at the edge of her bed. The long thick cardigan she wore pooling around her. Her fingers delicately traced the cotton fabric, feeling each bump and seam in the material. YN should have gotten rid of it long ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She always wore it. It was all she had left of him - all he had left her with. It doesn’t make it easy to forget him. YN didn’t want to forget him though: his grin, laugh, bright eyes, soft warm skin.

           YN never wanted to forget. If she forgot the only person who had ever loved her, that only proved that she wasn’t worthy of love. To her that was worse. So much worse. She shook her head thinking that would push away all the negative thoughts gnawing away at her and it worked for a bit. Her focus then lied on tracing the patterns on her ceiling, the little dots making different figurines: faces, constellations, words, secrets. Slowly the patterns began to blur, her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier until they finally closed. Consciousness slipping away from her.

Nayoung: I’m so sorry YN. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.

YN analyzed the picture over and over again, her vision becoming more blurry each time due to the tears brimming in her eyes. There in front of her was the evidence of all her suspicions. She had been stupid to believe that he would remain faithful or even interested in her. Why would he? He hated this small town, left the city in hopes of excitement and a new adventure. He claimed nothing would change, but how could it not. She was the embodiment of everything he didn’t want to be. “It’s no wonder he found something better.” Everyone was always leaving YN. Eventually he did too, she shouldn’t have been surprised yet it still hurt. It hurt so much that she exited out of her conversation with Nayoung and clicked on his contact. The last message he sent glaring back at her.

Babe: Miss you. Love you.

High off the pain and strung on the pain, she quickly sent him the photo of him in the arms of another - his betrayal clear to see. YN wanted to scream at him, curse him to hell and back, call him everything in the book. Instead all she managed to ask was the question bouncing around her head, the one that would plague her for months on end until she saw him again. YN quickly typed out the message, before muting him and turning off her phone.

YN: Why?

When YN opened her eyes, her face was wet and teeth aching from being clenched too hard. From how groggy and quiet the rest of the house was, she assumed it was extremely early in the morning. She felt around her sheets for her phone, confirming her suspicions when the numbers three-zero-zero stared back at her. A sudden breeze entered her room leaving YN confused, as she never opened her window. When she turned around, her vision focused on the street in front of her home where a street lamp illuminated an otherwise dark road. Though there was nothing there, her attention didn’t sway not until the light flickered off. Weird. YN leaned closer to the window, her hands gripping the banister ready to shut it closed until the light suddenly turned on again.

Someone was standing there. He was standing there. YN’s eyes widened in shock. Despite the distance it felt like he was right in front of her, like if she wanted to she could reach out and touch him. Come. YN found her body and feet moving before her mind could even process what was occurring. She ran downstairs, practically slamming the door open before running towards him. YN could feel the way her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline that flowed through her veins, the levity in her steps. She hadn’t felt this way in so long. Hadn’t felt happiness in so long. It wasn’t until she was just arms length from him that something else seized her - fear. It made her halt right in front of him, leaving her swaying slightly on her feet.

“What’s wrong darling? Didn’t you miss me?” His voice sounded hoarse, pained. Like he hadn’t drank water in a long time. Perhaps he’s overwhelmed? He remained frigidly still, but his eyes beckoned her forward. He wanted her to come closer.

“What are you doing here Taehyung?” YN hated how unfamiliar his name felt on her tongue, as if he were a stranger; not someone she had given her body and soul to.

“I-I did miss you. That’s why I’m here.” His voice croaked, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “My love, so much has happened. So many things that you wouldn’t understand. Things I couldn’t tell you because -”

“I know about her Taehyung. I’m not an idiot.” She interrupted him, angry that he would try to ignore what he did. He doesn’t get to come back and pretend. YN willed herself to be strong, but her courage was as weak as her heart.

“No, no baby. Let me explain - I -” Taehyung took a deep breath, locking his jaw, and pressing his fingernails into his palms, drawing blood. It looked like he was at the verge of a breakdown. YN had never seen Taehyung like this, he seemed ill. His short brown hair was now a mess of dark curls, though he seemed weaker physically his features were also sharper. The musky scent she had long associated with him was gone. “Tae?” She reached out to him hesitantly, fingers brushing over his. That was all it took for him to capture her in a tight embrace. Immediately sobs seem to wreck throughout his body, as his hold on her tightened.

“I love you so much YN. I made a huge mistake. I love you and will always love you.” He dug his head into her neck breathing in deeply, as he continued to mumble apologies into her neck. YN didn’t even realize she was crying until she tasted salt on her lips. It seemed Taehyung was crying too if the wetness on her neck was anything to go by. Don’t fall for it. If he truly loved you, he would have come back sooner. But he was back now and that was all her broken heart cared for. Kim Taehyung had come back. He was the only one who had come back. “Please baby. Please YN. Please my love, forgive me.” His grip on her tightened, making it difficult for YN to breathe but she didn’t care.

As she took a deep breath, YN nodded reaching to pat him on the back. “I forgive you Tae. I love you.”

His sobs stopped and she felt him smile against her neck, “I love you so much YN.” There was something in his tone that sounded off, then she felt a sharp pain on her neck. A hot flash swept across her body, as she felt him sucking harsher on her neck. YN tried to push him off her, but his strength far outmatched hers. After several minutes, her legs became weak and head began to spin. “T-tae s-stop.” As a last ditch attempt to get him off her, she tangled her hand in his hair and pulled. Taehyung moaned and finally detached from her, the streetlamp above showing all the blood covering his mouth and down his face. He caressed YN’s face gently, cradling her cheeks between his hands before leaning down to place a peck on YN’s lips.

Taehyung smiled, pearly whites stained with blood as he whispered lovingly. “Has anyone told you, you taste like strawberries?”

#bts x reader #yandere bts x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #vampire bts #bts yandere #yandere kim taehyung #yandere v #vampire kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #anthology #girlmeetsliv3 #bangtanarmynet

[crimsonrae]

Disintegration

Chapter Two

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Warnings: Mentions of Domestic Abuse.

Rating: Mature

Chapter Two

2009

Amber liquid sat almost tauntingly within its iced tumbler as Camille stared aimlessly at the wall. Low chattering echoed dimly in her ears, but she registered little of the subdued crowd. She felt angry... no, she felt numb. Like a spindly serpent lying in wait for its prey, her anger lurked beneath the surface – its coil hardly tolerable.

Her fingers clenched around her glass, silently reveling in the wet dew that had coalesced on its exterior. It anchored her to the present even as she drifted in her scattered thoughts. Small bursts of Saturday played in her head, stuck like a broken reel. It was both a blur and all too clear. She could still feel the slick feel of Scott's blood on her hands, even as quips of conversation broke her reverie. Hours spent in the county jail had been nothing compared to the cold words from her mother and the stony silence that had followed her back to her dorm.

It had all become too much. She needed to get out.

It had occurred to her there was a certain amount of irony that she had taken refuge inside a bar. Not the one that she had beaten Scott to a pulp in – she was firmly banned from that establishment, but one across town. Away from campus and anyone who knew her. Camille tried not to pay too much mind to the fact that she was employing less than stellar coping mechanisms over the mess she had made of her life, but really, she was already on a roll of bad decisions. Why stop now?

Still...it was amazing how quickly everything had spiraled out of control.

One minute she had been a junior, set to finish her bachelor's degree with honors in the next year – now, with a court date set for next week and a meeting with the Dean's office tomorrow, it looked as if expulsion was on the horizon. And somehow that was at the bottom of her priority list. Felony assault and battery charges hovered over her head like an impending noose, not to mention, two parents infuriated with their daughter and the shame she had brought her family. She hardly cared that Scott was breathing from a tube in a hospital, she did care that Marnie hadn't called her.

Had she lost a friend as well as her academic career? She hadn't foreseen that... though, in truth, she hadn't put much thought into her actions. She had simply reacted and that – that wasn't like her.

"Penny for your thoughts, love."

Camille nearly jolted at the honey grizzled voice that chimed next to her table. She glanced up into a pair of oddly familiar cerulean eyes that shined curiously at her. It took her a moment to place him, and it was only as his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk that she remembered.

He had been there.

Entertained by the entire debacle.

Now, that's what I call a show.

Her hidden ire rumbled in the face of her spectator. How she had hated his delight. It annoyed her that he had found her now when she wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Pursing her lips distastefully, she arched a brow, "They're not for sale."

Her irritation was not lost on Klaus, if anything her dismissal amused him, "Come now, that's not true. Anything is for sale; it all depends on the price."'

"Well unless you have a time machine, I don't think you'll be able to afford my thoughts." Camille muttered wearily as she sipped from her glass. She pointedly turned her gaze away, making it silently clear she was done with him.

Yet, Klaus had never been one to let a challenge go untested. He found himself slipping into the chair across from her, much to Camille's exasperation, "Now why would you want a time machine? Please tell me, it's not to go back and stop yourself from beating that pillock from the other night half to death. Such passion should never be undone or regretted."

Camille arched a brow, nonplused by his words, "Not everyone views such acts of violence with the same enjoyment as you did... I don't believe that I invited you to sit. I'm not particularly in the mood for company."

"Yes, you've been quite rude." Klaus intoned almost cheerfully as he signaled for a waiter – now he was making it silently clear that he had no intention to leave, "That's alright, I don't mind a bit of surliness. I've been known to be a rather temperamental creature myself... but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more."

She hated the truth that rang in his words. Stifling a sigh, Cami tossed back the rest of her drink and dropped a few bills on the table. She came here to get away, not to be harassed.

She wasn't granted the chance to stand as his fingers entrapped her wrist, "Let me go."

"Stay." Klaus implored, loosening his grip, but not removing his touch, "I won't speak of your little... incident if you do not wish it. I have several hours to kill, and you are by the far the most interesting person I've run into today. Please, keep me company."

Despite her desire to depart, her curiosity glimmered faintly at his words, "Is that why you seemingly tracked me down? Boredom?"

"Hardly tracked you down, love." Klaus said after placing an order for two more drinks with the waiter. "You're in the pub of my hotel. Merely, came downstairs and saw you."

Camille blinked before she sat back and viewed the bar through new eyes. There was an entranceway toward the back that she now realized led into a lobby. Marble floors and polished banisters gleamed through the glass door. It fairly screamed expensive. It also explained the quietness of a bar... the stillness that had drawn her inside.

Klaus watched her perusal with muted amusement, "You have no idea where you are. Not that you're in a bad neighborhood, mind you, but it is foolish to not have your bearings about you."

Camille silently stifled her unease as again his words rang true. A sense of danger lurked with his presence that she was only beginning to acknowledge, but something kept her survival instincts from fully sounding off.

"I wasn't really..." She trailed off as she realized her words would only reinforce his point about being foolish.

He knew it too.

His head tilted to the side and his eyes softened with an understanding that she swore he shouldn't have. It was similar to the way he had looked at her as she had been carted off by the police... Cami didn't understand why it had seemed to soothe and irritate her then, and she still didn't understand it now.

"Running away, were you?" Klaus intoned sagely, "I know a fair bit about that, but you don't strike me as the type to run from a situation. What demons plague you, aside from the obvious?"

Cami snorted and wondered if this counted as talking about her incident, but found herself replying, "Demons is a bit harsh... and why would I tell you, Nosey Stranger, anything about my demons?"

Klaus grinned and was stalled from answering as their drinks arrived, "Well conversation is easier when at least one party opens up, no? And you can call me Klaus. Niklaus Mikaelson."

"Cami." She returned softly, "Why don't we focus on you, instead? What brings you to my little corner of the word, Klaus?"

"I am not nearly that interesting."

"I somehow doubt that."

"Doubt all you like, but I could say the same of you."

"Could you?" Cami said almost teasingly as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Klaus huffed a low laugh as he conceded, "Well, I could if you told me about yourself."

They were flirting, Cami noted distantly as they exchanged not-quite-shy smiles again. Her head spun – how had this happened? She had been thoroughly annoyed with this man not even ten seconds ago. And while some of that sentiment still lurked, she now could only think about how handsome he looked when he smiled... actually smiled, not smirked.

One thing was for certain, she wasn't feeling quite so numb anymore... and she wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing. Despite how handsome the man before her was or how charming he was turning out to be, she had the distinct impression that she was a match strike away from playing with fire.

"How about a question for a question?" She proposed almost absently and nearly cursed as soon as the words left her tongue.

Klaus considered her offer with shrewd eyes, "Any question?"

A reluctant sigh left Cami, "Let me guess, you have a question about Saturday night?"

"A few." Klaus acknowledged with a sly quirk to his lips, "But mainly one pressing one."

She shook her head and dragged the untouched drink he had bought her to her side. If they were going to play this game she would need the alcohol, "Fine. Ask."

"What did he do?" Klaus asked quietly as she hesitated, her glance almost suspicious – he explained, "In two minutes of conversation, I've ascertained that you are not a rash person. A bit foolhardy perhaps, but you've been moderately cautious since I've engaged your interest. You also don't strike me as the type to attack someone without reason. So, what was your reason? What did he do?"

There was a long silence as Camille gauged what she wanted to impart. Several glib answers rested on her tongue, non-answers that would dismiss his question and move their conversation on, but the truth burned in her throat. It would be nice to tell someone who didn't know her, who didn't know Scott or Marnie, who wasn't there to judge her actions as just or fair what her motivation had been...

"I have a roommate. We've roomed together the last three years – and she's great. Sweet, shy. I couldn't have picked a better roommate... or friend." Camille started quietly. She ignored the lick of angry flames that sparked in her belly, "She met him a few months ago and they hit it off immediately. I liked him. He was funny and he brought her out of her shell."

A wave of nausea swarmed her simmering fury and she paused as she remembered the carefree way Scott would greet her. The little presents that he would bring for Marnie. Those gifts seemed so more insidious now that she realized those parcels showed up after every incident.

Klaus waited patiently, somehow knowing not to speak as she sought the proper words. Her jade eyes had deepened to a sparking emerald, imbued with dark emotion.

"Then one day she came back to our room. Her shirt was covered in blood, a plaster taped over her nose, and two black eyes. He had hit her. Only once she said. It was an accident she said, but he broke her nose." Camille swallowed and resisted the urge to ball her fist, "She refused to go to the RA or the Dean or any other official and just waved me off. It wouldn't happen again, and I knew that was bullshit. I knew..."

The shiver of rage in her tone struck a chord within Klaus as he watched her. Any hint of his earlier joviality and curiosity had vanished in the face of her anguish. His own anger growled in answer to hers – he had never been one to shy away from violence, but brutish nonsensical abuse had always been and always would be a sore point for him.

"How many times?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

If Camille had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed the almost eerie calm that had leveled his voice. Instead, she shook her head, "Too many."

Another sip from her glass, "He sent her to the hospital Friday night. Two broken ribs and a concussion. I had been with her all night, and I just couldn't go back to our dorm, so I wandered. I wandered and before I knew it, I was inside the campus bar and there he was... Scamming on a freshman. Both of them laughing at some stupid funny joke he had said, as if it were just another Saturday. As if he hadn't just pulverized his girlfriend and left her to rot in a hospital as if he hadn't been getting away with much of the same for months. I was so incredibly angry and all I wanted was to make him stop."

Warm skin brushed across hers and she glanced down to see he had cradled her hand. She was trembling. It was so faint, but the box that she had been stowing all her wildly out of control emotion into had been pried open with his question.

His fingers curled into her palm like an anchor into the seabed and she smiled bitterly, "Still think you received a good show?"

It took Klaus a second to remember his words from that night, but he didn't scowl.

No.

His smile was tinged with undue pride and awe, "I think you just made it even better. I had initially thought you to be some hellcat. Sent into a jealous rage at capturing your boyfriend cheating. The truth is far more satisfying. You're a protector. If anything, I stand by my earlier sentiment. Do not regret your actions, Camille."

She blinked at hearing her full name cross his lips, most assumed her name was Cameron when she introduced herself as Cami, "My name, how...?"

Klaus smirked, "Camille O'Connell, you are under arrest."

His voice was flat with an American intonation, but what part of America she was unsure as his little gimmick threw her from her despair into a baffled disquiet.

Slowly she cringed, "Okay, one – don't ever do that accent again. Just... no. Two – no one calls me, Camille, unless I'm in trouble. It's a grandma's name."

Klaus bit back a laugh as he pressed with his fake accent again, "What? You mean this voice? I think it's uh, rather convincing."

Camille shivered; it was almost like nails on a chalkboard when he spoke like that, but the tension her little story had engendered dissipated, and she felt a coil within her loosen.

She couldn't stop her snicker as she begged, "Stop, please. It's just not right. It doesn't fit you at all. Smarmy Brit is much more your style."

"Smarmy Brit?" Klause threw back almost indignantly, "You wound me, Camille."

"Somehow I think that's hard to do." She countered sagely, but she couldn't keep a grin from her mien. She appreciated his levity.

Klaus arched a brow, "You'd be surprised. Sometimes it doesn't take much at all to wound me."

"Oh?"

"A beautiful woman maligning my character five minutes after meeting me. Stings a bit, love." He answered indulgently, but there was a mischievous glint in his gaze that belied his words.

Cami giggled quietly, "You don't think you're smarmy?"

"I prefer the word charming." The faux innocent look he flashed her had them both grinning, "And I believe it is your turn to ask a question."

There were several that had erupted in her thoughts as they had spoken, but it was hard to choose just one. Part of Cami was grateful that he had lobbed such a hardball as a first question because it gave her clearance to do the same.

"What are you running away from? You said you had some experience with it earlier." Cami finally asked, figuring it would also answer the question of what he was doing here. Two answers for the price of one.

Like with Cami, Klaus sat in a long silence as he thought over his answer. Now he was the one who wished he had placed restrictions on these questions, but unlike Camille, he had no compunctions about lying. After all, they were still strangers, and he was still debating whether to continue their acquaintanceship after they parted ways. He had half a mind to seduce her, drink her, and dump her... but the more time he spent with her the less he wanted to dump her – at least right away. Camille was proving to be very intriguing indeed.

"Family. I'm running from family." Klaus announced, surprising even himself with the truth, "More specifically my father... though my brother is currently a close second."

Camille frowned, not liking the shine of pain in his eyes before he shifted to something more blank, more superficial. Perhaps her question wasn't the gem she had originally thought it to be.

At her muted concern, Klaus smiled bitterly, "My father has no love for me. Even less after it was discovered I was a product of my mother's infidelity. He's been bent on making my life a misery for as long as I can remember. The more distance I can put between him and myself the better."

"And your brother?" Cami pressed almost reluctantly, at once curious and hesitant about requesting such personal information.

"Has a great love for me actually and I, him. But I've... upset him and he needs some time to calm down." It was the most tactful way that Klaus could think to say Elijah was furious with him for daggering their siblings and supposedly dumping their bodies into the ocean. While the first part was true, the second was not... and he was not prepared for his older brother to discover that fact just yet.

An odd mildly entertained expression crossed Camille's face as she puzzled over his words. More questions surged to the forefront, but with great control, she managed to restrain herself... at least for the moment.

Klaus seemed to sense her desire as he cocked his head to the side and grinned, or she was simply terrible at hiding her thoughts, "You want more details."

Almost embarrassingly, she sipped from her glass as she fought a sheepish smile, "I really do."

"And you called me nosey? Sorry, love, you're just going to have to wait." He taunted lightly as she scowled at him.

He was saved from her retort as her phone chose that moment to sound off. Her previous merriment dulled in the face of the device's alarm and fell further as she glanced at the screen. Klaus watched as she reluctantly clicked the phone silent after responding with a text and turned remorseful eyes to him. This would be their parting it seemed.

"Such a dour glance. My last question then, who's beckoning you?" Klaus asked gently, an unexpected jolt of jealousy scoured his veins at her answer.

"My boyfriend." She quirked her lips self-consciously. She had no obligation to inform him of her relationship status and their conversation while personal, had always meant to stay a conversation... at least on her end. Yet, she felt a strange sense of guilt – she felt like she had led him on, "I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Klaus... and thank you for the drink."

Klaus tightened his grip over her hand, both had forgotten he had still been holding it, but now it worked in his favor. He wasn't ready for their conversation to end, "Stay, Camille. By the look on your face, it's what you would rather be doing."

Timidly, she squeezed his hand back, but her rueful smile told him that he was fighting a losing battle. He was tempted to compel her... but somehow that felt like the wrong move for this particular moment.

"He's worried about me. Everyone's worried about me. Or angry. This was a nice reprieve. One I really needed, but I have to go before that worry goes to def-con four." She said almost deprecatingly and moved to stand.

Cami was surprised when he stood with her until she felt him slip her phone from her other hand. A word of protest played on her lips at the theft, but she stayed her tongue as she watched him deftly enter his phone number. It was slightly embarrassing that he had caught her passcode pattern so easily. He must have the eyes of a hawk. He hit the call button and his phone vibrated in his pocket for a moment before going silent again.

Klaus returned her phone with a genial smile, "There. Should you need another reprieve, simply call. I'll be in town for a while and more than happy to indulge you."

"That was bold." She murmured, "Giving your number to a girl who just told you, she has a boyfriend."

He shrugged indifferently, "Fortune favors the bold, does it not?"

Cami snorted and shook her head, "Goodbye, Klaus."

"Goodbye, Camille." Klaus murmured, brushing his lips to her cheek.

The act startled her and brought a lovely blush to her smooth skin. He had no intention of this being their last encounter. Camille O'Connell would see him again. His cerulean eyes danced deviously as he watched her turn to go.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he was surprised to see a puckish light in her sylvan gaze, "Definitely smarmy."

Klaus choked on an unexpected laugh before he found himself calling through the pub, "Charming, love."

______________________

Hours later, Klaus remained at the little corner table in the pub. He had steadily nursed several drinks as he kept an eye out for a potential dinner – finding himself feeling pickier than usual about his fare. He was tempted to send Camille a text. She had been reluctant enough to leave that enticing her to return shouldn't have been much of a battle. He regretted not pressing his advantage earlier. They could have spent the afternoon in his bed, sated in every possible way.

Sighing in boredom, he ran an idle finger around the rim of his tumbler generating a low hum. His thoughtless gesture brought a few curious and annoyed looks from the nearby patrons, but no one had the gall to say anything. Something dark and angry lingered in Klaus's stiff presence that discouraged social interaction of any kind.

"Well, you look positively morose."

And yet not all were so cowardly.

Klaus smirked at the amused lilt that sounded behind him. He arched a brow as he awarded the young woman behind him a small smile, "Greta... you've arrived sooner than I expected. Fruitful day, love?"

"Yes and no." Greta answered loftily as she came to stand next to the table, "The witch we're looking for is proving rather difficult to scrounge up, though her boyfriend has been the source of a lot of gossip but..."

"But?" Klaus intoned softly, a dangerous edge tinging his voice. His mood for games had dissipated with the sun.

"He's in the hospital. Unconscious, someone caved his head in apparently. He would need some of your blood to be revived enough to get any information from him." She smirked, knowing how much Klaus loved to do such things, "That is if you're feeling generous."

Niklaus frowned; it would be too convenient... "What's the boyfriend's name?"

"Scott Nebroski." Greta answered simply with a raised brow.

The name had no meaning to Klaus. Camille hadn't mentioned any names when she had recounted her motives to him – and he didn't recall a name being spoken when the paramedics had arrived at the campus pub. Though to be fair, he had lost interest in the whole affair once Camille had been taken to the squad car.

Her fiery emeralds would forever be etched into his memory. There had been a moment where he had thought that she'd break from the officer's grasp and swing at him before something fragile... vulnerable had crossed her gaze and he had to fight the urge to go to her.

It had been an odd night.

"When was he attacked?"

Greta shrugged, "A couple of nights ago, I think. Some chick took a beer bottle to him. A lover's quarrel is the rumor. In which case, it should make him more willing to cooperate with us. He'd probably be looking for a little revenge."

A slow grin spread across Klaus's face – what were the odds?

"It wasn't our little witch who tore into him, love." Klaus murmured, "How long would we need to wait before you could conduct the ceremony?"

"The estival solstice isn't for almost eight weeks, that's when the spell will be at its strongest. We have some time." Greta replied softly as she watched the wheels spin in her master's head. She hadn't expected him to take the news of this current delay so well... but the calm, almost pleased smile playing at his lips spoke to plans with which she had no knowledge of, "The boyfriend?"

"He can enjoy his stay in the hospital for a while." Klaus said after a long moment. He refused to heal the cretin that had rightfully earned his beating at Camille's hands. He would not deny her victory, "Tomorrow I want you and Maddox to find out everything you can about Camille O'Connell. She's Marnie Taylor's roommate and friend... she'll lead us to our little witch."

Gently, Klaus reached out for Greta's hand, bringing her delicate fingers to his mouth as he pressed a kiss to her smooth flesh. He was feeling a tad grateful for the news she had delivered him, and she smelled sweet, like honeysuckle and ivy. His fangs edged at the inner muscle of his cheek, reinforcing his hunger... but he wouldn't bite her here.

Klaus stood and placed a few bills on the table, "Keep me company tonight."

It sounded like a request, but Greta heard the implied order to his tone. She could say no, and Klaus wouldn't bat an eye. She was under no illusion that she was more than a tool in his arsenal. Problem was, she had never been able to say no to him. Not to his power, not to his hunger, and not to his bed. She fully enjoyed being possessed by him. It was the shame that she could not possess him.

She peered slyly at him, "Merely company?"

An indulgent hum purred from Klaus's throat before he pressed his lips teasingly to the corner of her mouth, "You could never be merely anything, love... but I desire this luscious mouth of yours to be otherwise occupied."

Greta's smile turned sinful, "As you wish."

He breathed a kiss to her neck before turning to escort her upstairs. His soul ached for a taste of the hunt... something that Greta could not provide him – she was all too willing to fall into his clutches. She was decadence, chocolate, and champagne. Simply divine.

For tonight she would sate his baser urges, but tomorrow...

Tomorrow he would go after that which was not yet his. Fiery emeralds glinted in his mind's eye. Tomorrow, he would go after whiskey and smoke. Hidden passion.

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#disintegration #klaus mikaelson #Camille O'Connell #klaus x camille #the orginals fanfiction #the originals #fanifc #fanfiction #klamille

[majesticbrownjawn]

Delicate Part Two

Part One

Violet reluctantly goes to a house party with her bestie. Meets Erik. Is subsequently turned out. 😩

———————————

"The fuck you doing up here, babygirl?!" There was a look of confusion and remorse in his eyes.

The way he asked his question was scary up until the 'babygirl' part.

"I-I...I thought you wanted me to follow you." Her breath was incredibly short and she needed to minute—or maybe 20, to get herself together.

"Sit cho ass down." He pointed to an empty spot on a desk behind him. She climbed onto it, still out of breath, and watched him closely as he bent down below her. When his hand went towards her neck, she flinched.

"Chill." He grabbed Violet's chin and pushed it upwards, examining her. He could see the redness around her neck that his actions caused. He gently rubbed the area.

"I’m sorry bout that...Delicate ass."

"Excuse me? You just choked me."

"You shouldn't have been in my workroom snooping around. I didn’t know it was you.”

Her eyes bulged at him.

"Yea. This my shit. This my house. Told you yo ass wasn't as smart as you thought."

"You make computers? You must be...uh,"

"Smart," he finished. She smiled at him nervously. "Surprised you ain't running away."

He turned and walked to the corner of the room where a full-size fridge sat. It was an old school one that was a powder blue color. Had to be from the 70s. She watched as he grabbed a pack from the freezer and filled it with ice. She didn't realize her neck was on fire until he was heading back to with it.

He stood between her legs and placed it on her neck in one of the spots he grabbed. Violet winced in pain.

"Humph. Delicate."

"Don't call me that. I'm not delicate."

She looked at him suspiciously as he continued examining her.

"Like what you see babygirl?" He asked his question without looking up to see she was looking at him. She was staring though.

"No."

Of course I like what I see, you fine ass, homicidal nigga.

Shit.

More sirens.

"Why'd you do that to me?"

His nostrils flared and the air he let out through his nose ricocheted off her cheek and back in his direction.

"Thought you were tryna rob me."

"But even after I said your name, you still..." she absentmindedly rubbed the side of her neck he didn't have the ice on.

"Sometimes I just blackout. I don't know why," he shrugged. He studied her face and saw the fear in it, but more than that he saw curiosity and pity.

"I'm sorry. For real."

His repeat apology was unexpected but appreciated.

"It's fine. Just don't put your hands on me again—unless I ask you to," she joked.

"Oh word?" The slight raise of his brow was so sexy to her. "So what you saying is I can't touch you like this?" He pressed his fingers into her back, pushing her closer to him.

"No. Not without my permission."

"What about this?" His thick fingers gripped her upper thigh where her dress had risen up.

"You still didn't really ask."

She was leaning into him, hoping he didn't stop the path his hand was on. Violet had never been more attracted to anyone in her life. He was a mystery and every moment with him was absolutely thrilling. She'd already done things for him in the last hour that she'd never done—like lick her fingers on command or follow a stranger up a flight of stairs, into a dark hallway, only to be choked to the point of being turned on.

"Can I?" E bit his plump bottom lip, while his hand hovered just over Violet's hot cavern, her legs already spread wide. She looked down to see just what he was referring to and gulped slowly before replying.

"Yes... please."

His hand quickly reached into her amethyst-colored lace boy shorts. He was eager to see how wet she was for him.

"Damn, girl. I guess you do like what you see."

She was currently looking at his forearm as she held on to it, trying to stay upright on the table. Violet briefly looked up at him with the same curiosity she had earlier, asking him the history behind his scars without saying a word. He answered silently, shaking his head no. The number his fingers were doing on her distracted her enough not to care that he was unwilling to tell her about his scarring. She sank her nails deep into his wrist when he slid two digits inside her. Violet's face was so twisted up that he couldn't tell if she was enjoying his fingers gliding in and out her pussy.

"You aight?"

"Umph, ye-yea. Don't stop."

Her hips whined into his fingers as she laid back on the table to enjoy the moment. He smiled, knowing he had her right where he needed her—open and horny as hell. Her head popped up in surprise when she felt the soft pressure of his lips against her clit.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," was all she could say as he sucked on her bundle of nerves while using his fingers to pleasure her. She was seeing spots and was amazed she hadn't cum all in his mouth yet.

E was amazed he was actually eating this chick out—a woman whose name he didn't even know. It's not that he didn't like eating pussy—he loved doing that shit. Something about seeing a woman unravel just by a flick of his tongue got him off. His dick was painfully hard watching her squirm and wiggle with computer parts scattered on the desk around her. He hated to admit it, but his dick was hard the moment he saw the way she judged him. Breaking a girl like her down would be a challenge and nothing made his third leg jump more than a challenge. Still, of all the many partners he'd had in his life, he could count on one hand the number of women who had the pleasure of receiving head from him. They usually catered to him and then we’re ready to fuck.

Despite his mouth doing his best work on her, she hadn't cum yet and when he looked up, he could tell she was trying to hold it off. He watched her grasp for something--anything on the table to keep her orgasm from coming and it pissed him off.

"The fuck? Are you trying not to cum?"

She didn't answer, only looked at him pleadingly. He could see she wanted to cum badly but didn't want to give him the satisfaction, even though she willingly opened her legs for him.

"Aight, you better cum on fucking tongue by the time I count to five or I'm going to get one of my girls from downstairs to handle this." He grabbed his dick and stroked it through his gray sweats as he continued eating her out. She sat up on her elbows and watched his manhood grow and grow. Her mouth watered watching his strong hand pass back and forth over it, distracting her until it was too late.

"Four..."

She was close and had been for a while. The build-up was starting to become too much, but she knew she didn't want to cum on his mouth.

"Fi—"

"Wait!" the urgency in her voice startled her. She held him by his ears and what she said next had him momentarily shook.

"I wanna cum on your dick, E. Fill my pussy up and make me cum you hard... please." She sounded and looked so innocent, as if anything she just said was even close to that.

He was at a loss for words, stunned at her change in behavior. His dick was at full attention, but he had to teach this girl a lesson and show her who was in control. If she obeyed him and her pussy was as tight and gushy as it felt around his fingers, he'd fuck her fluffy ass into next week.

"C'mere."

Violet got up when told and followed him back out into the hallway, her underwear dragging behind her around her wobbly ankle. Her entire being was focused on him, so much so that the blaring music didn't sound as loud as it had before. E stood in front of the banister that overlooked the sea of partyers below. His eyes motioned for her to stand against the railing, so she stood there and waited for his next order.

"So you want this dick, huh?" She could feel him pressed up against her ass. His dick on her made her pussy throb so good. Violet needed him inside her badly. She had a fleeting feeling of shame come over her. Here she was a grown-ass woman, acting like a horny teenager at a party about to hook up with the jerky quarterback, simply because he'd given her touch-deprived self a little attention. But the feeling was fleeting. The sirens in her head were gone, too easily replaced by the thumping sound of her pussy.

He grabbed the front of her neck and pulled her closer.

"Answer me," he groaned.

"Yes, I want it." Violet's pussy lips were heavy with desire, desperate to suck him up inside her until she had her fill.

E had already started to put the condom on, being just as excited to get his dick wet up with her essence as she was to get stuffed with said dick. She gasped not only because of how fast he entered her after giving her consent but because of the sheer size of him. It had been a minute for her, but she jumped right back in the saddle, curving her hips like she'd done with her dildo, fucking E right back and using him to reach those spots inside her that drove her pupils to the back of her head.

He recognized what she was doing and smiled into her hair, grateful she knew how to fuck. He closed his eyes for a moment and let himself get lost in the rhythm of her pussy wrapped firmly around his dick. He could go all night with her like this. His hand unconsciously snaked around her front and under her dress, squeezing each of her fat mounds. He loved tits as much as he loved ass, and having her ass rippling against his abs with his fingers around her nipples was fucking incredible.

E opened his eyes, not wanting to relinquish too much control to her and was immediately reminded of the party—his party, happening below them. He wanted to remind her too, not so that she'd keep her moans down, but to show her how open he had her.

"Look at your bougie ass, letting me dig you out in front of all these people."

Violet opened her eyes and quickly peered into the crowd. They seemed to be in their own world down there. A couple off in a corner looked like they were about to engage in activity similar to what she and E were doing. She excused her unusual behavior in her head, telling herself they weren't actually 'in front' of the party attendees, but rather, above. The music was so loud that she was sure no one could hear her cries of ecstasy, at least that's what she hoped.

And the only way someone would know what they were doing was if they looked up.

Like one of E's homeboys was doing right now.

Violet must not have seen him, because E was sure seeing him would have snapped her out of the spell he'd carefully put her under. The nigga was watching her so hard that he didn't peep E had caught him lurking or notice the scowl on his face. E usually wouldn't give a damn, but the fact that he didn't like his boy looking at her made him fully aware of the sudden jealousy he felt for her.

E pulled out and turned them so his back was to the crowd below. Not missing a beat, he hoisted her up and gripped her big thighs, controlling how hard and fast his dick entered her. She held on to him around his neck and he whispered "Pretty ass eyes," to her before she kissed him sloppily and rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed in that position for a while, her in awe of the power of his strokes and him amazed at how good her body felt wrapped around him.

"Fuck, baby. This pussy..."

"OMG E," her words were so soft in his ear.

"You got a nigga feeling special. Yo shit always this warm?"

He could feel her tightening around him with each word of encouragement and each thrust he gave. His sole mission became fulfilling her request of making her cum hard on him.

"I feel you sucking my dick deep in that pussy. Shit feel good don't it?"

All she could do was whimper.

"You ready to cum, babygirl?" He felt her grip tighten even more. Her pussy was the one doing all the talking now.

"Go 'head and cum on me. It's okay, baby. Cum on this dick like you said you would."

Violet let out a scream that almost startled him. He'd never heard a woman make a noise like that and it made him want to hear it again, except with his name on her lips. He came hard too, to the point that he had to take a few steps forward and press her back against the wall to keep him from dropping her. He hadn't had a nut like that in a long time and he knew he had to have her again. E was ready for that action, but she pushed him off of her and hurriedly tried to straighten herself up. He followed her eyes and saw his best friend Devante coming up the steps with someone.

"There you are, girl. I was looking all over for you," Violet said. E chuckled at how shaky her voice was. Her attempt to act normal after getting fucked down was laughable.

"Were you?" the woman with Devante replied sarcastically.

"Uhh, E, this is my best friend, Trina." Violet didn't miss the way her girlfriend ogled him. He was fine and certainly deserved a second look, but Violet didn't appreciate how long she studied him.

But wait. This nigga was a literal fuckboy, who had just fucked her on a banister. Why was she worried about another woman looking at him? Her best friend of all people.

"What the fuck?!" E yelled suddenly, pointing into the crowd below.

As Violet, Trina and Devante looked frantically to see what he was yelling about, E squatted down and grabbed Violet's ankle, lifting it just enough to slip her lace underwear from around her foot. She gave him a confused look as he slipped them into his pant pocket and smirked.

They all looked at him for an explanation.

"My bad. I thought I saw my baby moms."

"Nigga you ain't got no kids," Devante replied.

"Anyway," he said, brushing off being called out on his terrible cover-up. "Y'all want some drinks? I know you want some Henny, babygirl." He cockily placed his arm around Violet and used his body weight to propel them forward a few paces. He was surprised when her feet stopped moving.

"I think I'm ready to go, Trina." She spoke without addressing him. The sirens were back, along with her conscience and they were screaming, 'We told you so!' She could think clearly now that she wasn't so horny, but Violet knew the longer she remained in his presence, the more susceptible she'd be to his charm. He was so overbearing and dominant and it scared her that she wanted to be submissive to him. To bend to his will and please him, even if it meant letting him have her any place he desired. He took control not of just her body, but her mind too—challenging her perspective and outlook. And she'd only known him two hours.

Good dick and brains.

A lethal combination.

She knew she had to get away from this E character expeditiously, so she flew down the steps, leaving Trina behind to decide if she would stay or not.

"You leaving without saying bye?" She hoped he wouldn't catch her, but somehow she knew he would. He was holding on to her forearm, back out on the porch where they met just hours before. She huffed, frustrated that this nigga had her running back to her car.

"I guess so," he laughed. "What's your name?"

Violet further stiffened in his grasp.

"So you don't want to tell me your name, huh? It's cool. I like to name my girls anyway."

Violet turned to face him abruptly.

His girls? The fuck was this, an episode of Flavor of Love?

But it made sense, actually. There's no way he could look like he looked and fuck like he fucked and not have a few 'girls.' She suddenly recalled him referring to getting one of his girls to finish the job when she wasn't cumming fast enough for him.

"Think I'll give you a flower name, since you all delicate and shit." She bit her lip and watched him think, acutely ashamed she was curious about what name he'd come up with for her.

E placed his hands in his pockets and rubbed his fingers against the fabric of her lace undergarment. It was soft, and fragile. Delicate--like her. As he thought of a name he was reminded of the color of the negligee intertwined with his fingers. They were a deep purple, like the color of his favorite African perennial.

"Aight, I got it."

She looked up into his eyes, her fingers sweeping across his raised forearm.

"Imma call you Violet."

——

Tags:

@queenflaws

#black women #killmonger smut #erik killmonger fic #killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger fanfiction #killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger #killmonger x oc

[rhysismydaddy]

The Bodyguard Pt. 5 (Elorcan)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

______________________________________________________________

This was bad. Really bad. They were completely surrounded, and even though Lorcan had fought off seven guys without much trouble, there were more than twice that amount now.

“What do we do?”

Lorcan walked around the place, locking windows and doors and pushing buttons on the device in his hands. “The landmines will take a lot of them out. Until they get within fifty yards, we wait. Then I’ll go take care of them.” His dark eyes met hers. “You’re staying here.”

Normally, she’d be brave and argue, demand to come along, but... there were a lot of dots out there. And she’d struggled earlier just walking through the forest. In the daylight.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“The windows are bulletproof, and when I leave I’m going to arm the house. Go upstairs to your room and lock the door.” He paused, seeming to have an internal argument with himself. “There’s a gun in the closet.”

She nodded again, turning to follow his instructions.

Lorcan grabbed her wrist, pulling her close to him. “Don’t you dare fucking shoot yourself.”

Was there... concern on his features? She smiled slightly. “Okay.” 

“I’m serious. Even if... even if the worst happens, it’s not over. I’ll find you. So if you shoot yourself, I’m going to be pissed.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, jerked his chin at the stairs, then headed to the door.

“Please be careful, Lorcan.”

He looked over his shoulder, giving her a rough wink. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

Then he was gone.

And she was very, very aware of his absence. Without him around, her situation became a lot more clear. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and they probably wouldn’t live through the night.

Well, Lorcan probably wouldn’t. Vernon hated her too much to let her die.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Elide ran upstairs, locked the bedroom door behind her, and went to the closet. Sure enough, there was a pistol in the back. She pulled it out, not knowing what to do other than make sure it was loaded.

She crawled next to the bed, practically throwing herself on the floor as she heard things start to explode. Good gods.

People were out there, fighting for their lives and losing, because of her.

More explosions went off, the sounds of gunshots joining the mixture. She pointed hers at the bedroom door, even though she hadn’t heard the house alarm go off.

Noticing her arm was shaking, she took a deep breath, replaying Lorcan’s earlier words. Even if the worst happened, he’d find her. He’d find her.

Unless he was dead.

She chastised herself for the thought. He wasn’t dying tonight.

If he died because of her, she’d never forgive herself. Yes, it was his job to protect her, but she’d put them both in this situation.

She’d get them out of it.

Elide made it about ten minutes before she decided she had to know what was going on. Keeping low to the floor, she crept towards the small, bulletproof window in the bathroom connected to her room.

When she looked outside, the woods barely visible even with the moonlight, it looked like the house had been picked up and transported from its peaceful spot in the woods to the middle of a war zone.

A fifteen to one war.

Lorcan had been right about the landmines and booby traps taking out a good portion of Vernon’s men. She saw at least five bodies on the ground, and she figured there were at least that many on the other side of the house. Hopefully.

Gods, what had her life come to that she was praying there were a lot of bodies outside?

And even if there were ten people dead because of the mines, that was still five trained killers. All after her.

She gripped the gun tighter, straightening her spine.

And that’s when she saw him.

Lorcan was sprinting through the woods, and she took the speed with which he was moving to mean he was unhurt. His arm extended, something glinted in the barely-there light, and then someone fell from a tree, crashing into the ground with a sickening snap.

Elide shuddered, not making a sound as she watched him keep running. He didn’t even slow down as he reached to the man on the ground and ripped his knife free.

Good gods. This was the man who’d kissed her scars? The man who’d held her while she cried?

Surprisingly, the thought that she’d had a natural, very skilled killer on top of her less than an hour ago didn’t bother her in the slightest. 

If anything, it made her feel special.

He was out there because of her, because he wanted to protect her and keep her safe.

Lorcan ran through the treeline, right below her window, and her heart stopped dead in her chest as someone stepped into view not twenty yards from him. He held a gun up, aimed at Lorcan, and pulled the trigger.

Elide made a strangled sound, pressing a hand over her mouth to keep it quiet, as she watched the bullet connected with his firm abdomen.

But he didn’t even slow down. He just reached to grab a gun from his waistband, and before she knew it, the man in front of him was on the ground, dead.

From the blood staining his shirt, she knew he’d been hit, but he seemed completely ignorant of the fact as he ran around the building out of view.

Elide, on the other hand, was not ignoring it. He’d been shot. 

Panic started to settle in, and she felt her throat start to close up.

No. 

She forced herself to calm down and remember his words from earlier, from all the times he’d promised her uncle would never touch her again.

This is Lorcan Salvaterre we’re talking about, she told herself. The devil himself couldn’t stop him from keeping his promise.

The thought brought a slight smile to her face.

It fell, though, as she heard a loud siren explode around her. The house alarm.

Someone was here.

Elide locked the bathroom door, pointing her gun at it once again. If someone came in to grab her, she wouldn’t go without a fight.

But then a voice called out, and everything changed.

“Elide. Come downstairs, please.”

Her uncle’s voice was completely calm, sounding as if he were asking her to do something easy. She stayed silent, and he made a tsk sound.

“I have your boyfriend,” he teased, and she tensed. “And unless you come with me willingly and give up this ridiculous fight, I’ll shoot him in the fucking head.”

Her body was shaking, but she knew better than to believe him. She’d just seen Lorcan outside, and besides the whole gunshot thing, he seemed fine. 

He had to be lying.

But then she heard something that sounded like a struggle, and a very familiar grunt met her ears.

Fuck.

Lorcan was really down there.

And he’d die if she didn’t go. Because of her.

Forcing her hands not to shake, she reached and unlocked the door, thinking at the last minute to tuck her gun into the waistband of her leggings. She walked through the bedroom with bravado she didn’t feel, then paused to peek around the banister downstairs.

Lorcan was standing in the foryer, and even though he was dressed in black, she could tell he was covered in blood. There was something around his mouth, gagging him and keeping him silent. Bruises and scrapes and cuts marked every inch of visible skin, and she shuddered as she looked at his torso. His shirt was stuck to it with blood from being shot, the sight making her feel sick. 

He looked like he’d been through hell.

But he was standing tall, and the look on his face was one of anger, not pain.

She saw the glint of a gun and knew Vernon was standing behind him, his slight frame hidden completely by Lorcan’s body.

Dark eyes met hers, and then ever so slightly, he shook his head.

Elide ignored him completely as she walked down the stairs.

Vernon peeked around his shoulder, wide smile forming when he saw her. “Little Elide. What trouble you’ve caused me.”

“Fuck you,” she replied sweetly.

His eyes narrowed, but Lorcan’s lit up with pride.

“Such harsh words, considering this-” he gestured around with his free hand, “is all your fault. All these people dead because of you. Lorcan at my mercy because of you.”

True.

Lorcan’s hands were behind his back, and she realized they were probably bound. Smart of Vernon.

“If I go with you, you let him live.”

Her uncle nodded, looking at her with a hungry, vicious look in his eyes that brought a cold sweat to her skin.

Lorcan glared at her, looking angrier than she’d ever seen him, and she knew exactly what he was trying to say. 

Realizing Vernon couldn’t see her all that well, she tapped her waist and made a little gun with her fingers. 

And she knew that if it weren’t for the bandanna around his mouth, Lorcan be smiling. He nodded.

Vernon made a disgusted sound, and said, “Let’s go Elide.”

She stepped toward him, keeping her eyes on Lorcan’s. All she had to do was get close enough and make sure he was out of the way. And then this would finally be over. She could do it, she knew she could.

Something in Vernon’s expression changed as he watched her come toward him, then a cruel smile filled his features. She stopped in her tracks, knowing in her gut something was about to go very, very wrong.

She heard a soft click, then a loud noise exploded into the room. Lorcan didn’t make a sound as blood exploded from his left shoulder. Right above his heart.

It sprayed onto Elide, and her head went empty as she realized what had happened.

He hit his knees, then the floor. 

She turned to look at her uncle in horror, fighting the urge to throw up.

“Did you really think I’d leave someone like him alive? You foolish girl.” Vernon pointed the gun on her and smiled. “We’re leaving now.”

A breath gasped out of Lorcan, and Elide realized right then there was no way in hell she was leaving him here alone to die. 

She didn’t think twice before reaching to pull the gun out of her pants.

But before she could pull the trigger, Vernon tackled her to the ground, knocking her gun to the side.

The floor below her was slick and wet, and she realized it was Lorcan’s blood. He was dying, and she had to do something about it. 

Elide growled, enjoying the look of shock on her uncle’s features. Then she used the oldest move in the book and slammed her knee up and in between his legs. His grunted and loosened his grip on her. Her hands were free, but she still couldn’t reach her gun.

But she could reach his.

She leaned as far away from him as possible, knowing that if she died now Lorcan would kick her ass in hell. 

Then she grabbed her uncle’s hand, the one holding the gun to her, twisting it away from her as hard as she could. And squeezed the trigger.

The gun went off with a loud bang, blood going everywhere. 

Her eyes flew open as Vernon collapsed onto her, unmoving eyes seeming to stare into her soul. A strangled noise escaped her as his blood oozed down onto her, and she shoved him off of her, trying to focus. The bullet had gone straight up through his chin into his head.

He was dead.

And even though she’d prayed for that for years, she currently didn’t care less. 

She crawled over to Lorcan, hands coming to press on his shoulder. Blood soaked her hands immediately, and she felt tears slip down her cheeks.

She had to do something, had to call for help. Her phone was upstairs, but he usually had one, right? Frantically, she searched his pockets, crying in relief when she pulled it out and called 911.

The operator picked up and somehow understood her as she told her what had happened. 

Elide looked down at Lorcan, his usually tan skin pale with blood loss. “Don’t you dare die. It’s over now. He’s dead. It’s over. Please, just stay with me.”

“People are on the way. Help is coming.” She pulled his head in her lap. “Don’t leave me.”

She pressed her hands harder to his chest, refusing to let him go. 

He was the first person in her entire life who’d made her feel like a survivor, not a victim. 

He’d taken care of her, fought for her. 

She’d be damned if she wouldn’t do the same for him. 

So she sat there, hands desperately trying to keep him from bleeding out. After a few minutes, sirens sounded in the distant, getting closer by the second. She willed them to come faster, knowing he didn’t have long.

Elide leaned down and softly pressed her lips to his. Maybe she could goad him into staying alive. “You’re not dying, you stubborn bastard. Not before you admit you like therapy.”

His eyes were closed, face expressionless, but she could’ve sworn his lips twitched in amusement.

~one week later~

Elide was sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair, drifting off to sleep, when she heard someone mutter, “Therapy sucks.”

It was barely a whisper, and the voice was raspy and tired, but she shot awake, almost falling out of the chair. She completely ignored what he’d said because he was awake.

Lorcan’s eyes were on hers, and he seemed to be taking in every detail about her, too.

“You’re awake,” she said happily. Finally. He’d been asleep for six days--which the doctors said was from severe blood loss--and she didn’t think her ass could handle one more day in this awful chair.

“I’m in a hospital,” he growled, eyes narrowing on his surroundings. 

She nodded. “I see your powers of observation are still in tact.”

“You took me to a goddamn hospital?”

He sounded... annoyed. A scowl was on his lips, and even though it was directed at her, the familiar sight warmed her heart. If he was scowling, that meant he felt normal. 

“You were dying, Lorcan,” she rationalized calmly.

“I hate hospitals.”

She slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it. “Tough shit. I wasn’t letting you die because of me.”

His features hardened as he remembered why he was here in the first place. “What happened?”

“You were shot. Twice. The doctors said the second bullet nicked your heart and that you’re lucky to be alive.” She took a deep breath. “Vernon’s dead. I told the police everything, and they said it was self defense. Although I’m pretty sure the CIA wants to hire you, considering the number of bodies found around the cabin.”

His lips twitched.

Elide looked down at their joined hands, running a thumb over the small cuts on his skin. “Thank you, Lorcan. I know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t... if you weren’t there.”

His hand squeezed hers again.

“But then again, since you got a job offer out of it, maybe you should be thanking me,” she joked.

Lorcan smiled at that. Gods, she loved that smile. It made her feel stupidly happy, knowing she was one of the only people to see it. He studied her face for a moment, then murmured, “Come here.”  

She sat on the edge of the bed and braced herself as she leaned over to kiss him softly. His arms wrapped around her, and he seemed to not care about having two gunshot wounds as he pulled her into him.

Elide heard the heart monitor start beeping and broke the kiss before the nurses could come in and yell at them. She grinned, running a finger over his strong jaw. “Therapy does not suck.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you used that to blackmail me into staying alive. But yes, it does.”

“I have a feeling you’ll change your mind soon,” she told him confidently, sliding her thumb over his bottom lip. “Because after such a traumatic event like getting shot and almost dying, you’re going to need a lot of it.”

He caught her meaning and leaned up to kiss her again. “Better get started now, then.”

______________________________________________________________

You already knew the ending was about to be cheesy as hell lol. Thank you for reading! I’m going to work on some stuff in my box next, so feel free to send requests. And make sure to wish @maastrash a happy birthday :)

@cursebreaker29 @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @studyliketate @cursebreaker29 @over300books @justgiu12 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @ladywitchling @sjmships @superspiritfestival @stardelia @keshavomit @illyrianwitchling13 @lord-douglas-the-third @blackjacks-donuts @hufflebird89 @sensitiveillyrian @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @empress-ofbloodshed @dottieadot @idontlikekale @se-ono-waise-ilia @tswaney17 @jlinez @wineywitch202

#elorcan #elorcan fanfiction #lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan lochan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #elide #tog #tog fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #sjm #sara j maas

[beyondconfessor]

Upstairs

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Zelda Spellman/Lilith

Summary: Alternate ending to Chapter IX. Instead of sleeping through the night, Zelda ascends the stairs to discover what Lilith is doing in her bedroom.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. Remember, this is just fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Zelda awoke in the night. Lilith had placed her on the couch, setting it up nicely with pillows and blankets––though it was obvious that she didn’t expect guests very often. In the moments leading up to their goodnights, she’d hunted for the extra blankets and had ended up taking the extra pillows from her own bed, apologising for the fact that she did not have any spares.

Zelda hardly cared. She was an unexpected guest.

Lilith had completed some of her administration work through the evening, permitting Zelda to sit by her as they discussed the semantic difference in the work between high school and college–there was still funding to be scavenged for, boards and parents to answer to. In the fine details, it sometimes seemed very similar.

And yet, discussing their work like that had been surprisingly enjoyable. It’d been a soft ending to an otherwise hard today, and somehow Zelda had fallen asleep tasting hot chocolate on her tongue with a yearning in her chest.

She hadn’t conversed with Lilith like that before. Furthermore, she hadn’t conversed with anyone in such a matter in some time. It’d been…nice if she was honest with herself.

Stirring, Zelda turned and faced the hearth, watching the red and gold embers glow in the last remaining log. The remains of the fire would die soon, but the heat held in the house, despite its age. Zelda shifted, moving against the pillow to get comfortable again as she closed her eyes and began to drift asleep.

Just as the edges of a dream touched over her, she heard a noise.

Soft, muted, like a whimper.

Zelda turned, looking to where the stairs were in the dark of the house and wondered if Lilith was having nightmares…or if she was doing something else. Surely she wasn’t. Surely Lilith knew that Zelda might hear her if she were doing such an activity.

There was the sound of floorboards creaking, shifting, and another vocal noise.

Zelda sat up, feeling her heart thud in her chest. She should turn over and sleep again. She shouldn’t stand up or creep across the cold wooden floors, across the rug, and ascend up the stairs.

She shouldn’t…and yet she did.

On the first step, she paused, looking up at the bedroom door. A soft light, likely a lamp, poured from the partially opened doorway. Here, Zelda could hear the soft, panting breath, though it didn’t distinguish if it was pain or pleasure.

She could be having a nightmare.

And yet Zelda was certain of what was occurring as she took another step, her hand on the banister, feeling her skin brush against the polished wood.

The stairs creaked, and she paused, but the soft noise didn’t cease. Instead, they sounded louder as if to pique her curiosity. Zelda continued up the stairs, feeling her throat constrain, her breath held in her lungs. Her mouth felt dry as she made it up to the second floor, trying to peer into the room and confirm her suspicions. Lilith wasn’t trying to be discreet-–she wanted her to see.

She shifted closer to the bedroom and hesitated.

There was a swallowed noise like a moan cut off, and Zelda stepped closer, nudging the door wider. She knew what Lilith was doing, and yet a curiosity to see it, witness it for her own eyes pressed her closer.

The door opened wider, and there Lilith laid, on top of her sheets, her fingers stroking between her legs, back arching as her heels dug in, grounding her on the duvet as she gasped. It was a sight to see, and Zelda felt stuck to the floor, her body unwilling to move as she watched Lilith’s body shift, muscles tensing before easing again.

And then her head turned to face her. It went from a moment of Zelda’s voyeurism into an intentional exhibitionist activity on Lilith’s part.

Lilith’s blue eyes stared at her, her hands continuing to stroke, her mouth parted before a smile tugged at the lips. “Enjoying the show?”

Zelda went to ask, “what are you doing” but the answer was obvious, so she held those words back. She went to inquire if Lilith deliberately tried to summon her, but that too was obvious. She stepped closer, and Lilith’s hand slowed its pace, her eyes unwavering as she watched Zelda stand before the end of the bed.

Zelda undressed from the nightgown before she crawled onto the bed, moving towards Lilith on all fours until she was positioned above her. And then, with one hand, she slid Lilith’s away from between her legs.

“May I?” Zelda asked.

“It’s been a while…” Lilith whispered. “Since I let anyone touch me.”

Zelda rested her hand on the bed, her body hovering away from touching her. “We don’t have to have sex. I can watch if you prefer, or I can go back downstairs––“

Lilith leaned up, capturing her mouth as one hand seemed to curl around Zelda’s neck, pulling her closer, as the other reached for Zelda’s hand, leading her intentionally between her legs. She wanted her to stay; even Zelda could take such a hint.

Zelda slid her fingers against the sex, feeling the wetness against Lilith’s vulva as she stroked. She kissed her deeper, feeling drawn closer and closer against the woman’s body.

Lilith’s words, it’s been a while rang through her head, leading her touch. It wasn’t fair to fuck her, to treat her like she was just fulfilling a need. If anything, Lilith deserved to be worshipped, to be shown that this wasn’t only about sex.

Zelda wanted her, wanted to experience this with her––and God, that should terrify her, but right now, her mind was clouded with the feeling of Lilith’s tongue against hers and how her arousal coasted her fingertips.

She pulled back, looking into Lilith’s eyes as she slid down the bed, kissing over the woman’s collarbone, down her clavicle. She paused, pressing her mouth over Lilith’s breast as her hand continued to stroke her sex before she began to kiss down her again, over the ribs, her belly, her hips––pressing light kisses against the skin as she felt feeling the woman’s breath rise and fall, desire palpable in the air as she moved her mouth down, low over the mound. And then she slid her fingers away, pressing her tongue between the slick folds to taste her.

Lilith’s hips arched up, a small whimper breaking through the air. Zelda did it again, flicking her tongue, sliding deep over the labia, tasting the arousal before she did it again, broader this time.

“Zelda––!“

Zelda paused, slowing between Lilith’s legs as she looked up to see the woman’s brow pressed, her mouth parted as she gasped long, deep breaths, rocking against her. Her hair was cast wild around her, and for a moment, Zelda was completely enamoured by how she appeared.

She hadn’t expected the sound of Lilith’s moan to strike through her like that, to bloom in her chest like that. As she ran the flat of her tongue against her again, she felt Lilith shiver, her hips shaking as she tried to urge the mouth where she wanted it to be.

“I like you like this,” Zelda whispered. There was a soft inquiry noise, shaken with a moan. “For once, I get to see how you look when you come.”

Lilith’s noises were…explicit. They rung through Zelda’s ears, electrifying down her spine––because of this, she couldn’t help but try to summon them over and over, seeing how many different ways Lilith could keen and whine as she licked and sucked over her sex, around her clit and back until she heard the sweetest sound.

Lilith began to whimper, a soft”Please,” coming out with short and sharp breaths from desperation. Zelda obeyed the request, sliding inside of her to feel Lilith’s sex squeeze around her fingers.

She could feel the duvet shifting as Lilith’s hands seemed to claw at the material, her feet pressing at the mattress as she arched against Zelda’s mouth––and Zelda felt this moment hold in her mind. Lilith was coming undone because of her; she was pleading into the air, saying her name, crying out because of what Zelda’s tongue and fingers were doing to her.

It was a powerful and humbling feeling. One she wanted to live in for a few seconds longer.

Zelda felt as Lilith squeezed again, her body getting closer and closer. The moans had cut to bright, sharp breaths as her movements became all the more jarring.

Zelda glanced up again and then watched as Lilith rocked, her head tilting back as she came gasping, looking like some goddess in the middle of worship. And then her chest rose with breath and fell again as she dropped back against the bed, the orgasm finalising.

Zelda pulled away slowly, taking care to sit up as Lilith remained panting on the bed, her chest rising and falling before her head tilted to look at her. She gave a small laugh and then smiled, shifting up onto her elbows despite the lethargy to her limbs. “I’m pleased you came upstairs,” she said.

“I should hope so,” Zelda advised. “Otherwise, this situation would be quite awkward.”

“No, I mean…” she paused to laugh, shifting so that she sat up properly, tucking her knees underneath her, though her shoulders sagged, her body still tired from activity. “I was hurt when you left because I enjoyed our time together…probably more than I should, but who says you can’t have favourite clients?”

To that, Zelda smiled, her chest warming. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No,” Lilith said. “I don’t. I don’t know what you’re after with me, Zelda, but if you’re honest, I am prepared to be honest, too, with what I want.” She paused there, biting her lip before adding. “For us.”

There it was, a shift in their dynamic. Zelda felt the words in her chest, the constraint pull. What did she want? She swallowed, feeling her mouth go dry, a panic rising. It was awful to feel so exposed, to be naked and tasting Lilith on her mouth and uncertain as to what she wanted. Was it a relationship? Was it sex? Was it the feeling of relief and crying and the words I’m proud of you whispered over and over?

“I’m satisfied with where we stand,” she lied.

Lilith seemed to pause, and for a moment, there was a pang of hurt on her face. With it, Zelda turned away, feeling the awkwardness pile between them. Gone was the casual relief, the fun and ease that had built between them, and now an awkwardness.

“Of course,” Lilith responded, and then, with a nod, she shifted, looking to Zelda. “And what are we? Because right now, you’re not my client. So what’s…this?”

Zelda blinked, shifting. “I–I don’t know,” she admitted.

Lilith nodded again, her face masking into the familiar expression Zelda had come to know of her dominatrix. “Perhaps you should think on what this is, and then let me know however you want to define it. But, I need to understand what parameters you’re setting when you advise that you arecurrently satisfied with where we stand.’”

Zelda swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

And then Lilith’s expression softened. “Good. Now…did you want a cup of tea before you return to the couch?” Zelda didn’t need to read between the lines to notice that she was being kicked out.

“No, I…I can make my own way.” She shifted off from the bed, moving to grab the nightgown and tug it on. The words continued to hum in her head, the inquiry from Lilith, and what are we followed by the soft, sweetened voice. It’s been a while…since I let anyone touch me.

Zelda realised that her heart was heavy with guilt as she made her way downstairs, moving to lie back on the couch. Lilith liked her, and Zelda had essentially recoiled away from that vulnerability. She wasn’t sure what that meant for them but knew that she needed to consider Lilith’s question fairly, take the time to consider it.

What did she want?

The next morning was quiet. Lilith was polite as she made breakfast and then offered to take Zelda home. Through the drive, Zelda sat rigid in her seat, feeling the last night run through her head. What had begun awful had slowed to becoming an almost nice evening and then somehow devolved to her feeling guilty over what had occurred.

She sighed, looking out at the window.

“You’ve huffed every minute for the last five minutes,” Lilith advised. “Either you’re trying to get my attention, or you’re still embarrassed about last night.”

“Who said I was embarrassed?” Zelda asked––despite the truth of the observation.

Lilith glanced at her. “I did, just then,” she pointed out. “Did you want to involve me in your thoughts?”

“Not particularly.”

“Suit yourself. But the only reason that I have been frustrated with you is that you’re not honest with me. Which, as you recall, was the only thing I requested from you.”

Zelda was silent at that. Last night, it had been her only request. And if Zelda looked back, on the first night at her townhouse, it’d been her only request then, too.

As the drive continued in the quiet, Zelda felt the words shift in her head as she realised that perhaps she was unnecessarily complicating this. She turned and looked to Lilith. “I enjoy your company,” she advised. Lilith blinked and glanced at her.

“I enjoy your company, too.”

“I––“ she paused then, trying to find the words. “I don’t know what I want. I enjoy the…activities we involve in. The sex. But anything further than that, is difficult for me. I have a full-time job that requires out-of-office hours for it to be effectively maintained and a niece who I’m raising, which feels like its own full-time job––not to mention Hilda and Ambrose. I can’t…I don’t have time for a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Is that the only reason? You don’t feel you’d be able to fairly share your time?”

“It is.”

Lilith’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “For clarity’s sake, if that weren’t an issue, are you saying that you would potentially be interested in a relationship?”

Zelda swallowed, feeling the familiar panic rise. “I wouldn’t pursue it at this stage.”

“That’s not a no.”

She turned, looking to Lilith, catching a strange hardened expression, as if Lilith was holding back something. “I enjoy your company outside of sex, too,” Zelda admitted. “But it’s not fair to dwell on maybes when my life isn’t ready for such a step.”

Lilith nodded, but she smiled nonetheless. “How about we uncomplicated this. Once a week, I’ll set a time for you and me in unpaid services on the weekend. We can engage in kink if you like, or we can just sit and talk as friends, or we can have sex. But perhaps instead of being client and service provider, we could be friends with some additional benefits.”

“Friends,” Zelda echoed, feeling the word on her tongue. “I’m happy to pay.”

“I know. It’s not about that. It’s unethical for me to continue to make you pay one half of the time and yet not the other half when I summon you for my own sexual desires. This way, I think we’ll both feel more comfortable.”

Zelda nodded. A set time she could pencil in. A friend. It wasn’t a situation she disliked, though a strange ache filled her chest––truthfully, she did want more, but she stood by what she said. There was no room in her life for a partner. The last decade of dating was proof enough for that. “I would like that,” she agreed.

“So would I,” Lilith said. “Because I enjoyed your tongue last night, and I want to see what other skills you have hidden from me.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, indeed,” Lilith said. “In fact, we’re not that far from my other townhouse. If you like…we could begin with this arrangement today. Test the waters, so to speak.”

Zelda wanted to advise that they probably tested the waters last night, but who was she to argue against Lilith offering sex? “I think that sounds agreeable––though if we’re ‘testing waters’ and checking for ‘hidden skills,’ perhaps I should take the lead this time and show you what I’m truly capable of.”

“I told you before, I’m more than happy to reverse our roles,” Lilith said before she gave her a quick glance. “But out of curiosity…what are you looking at doing?”

“Why don’t you pull off this road, and I’ll give you a preview?”

Lilith did, and Zelda showed her what she could actually do with just her hands as she fucked Lilith in the front seat, making her come as she ground against Zelda’s thigh, her hot breath fogging up the car windows to prevent any curious onlookers from peering in and seeing Zelda’s mouth wrapped around her breast as her fingers curled inside of her.

Perhaps the shift in their relationship was for the best––it at least eased the ache in Zelda’s chest, providing warmth and steadiness as she listened to Lilith make those most beautiful noises she’d ever had the pleasure to hear.

She didn’t know what the future held, but right now, Lilith was apart of that future, and that seemed to steady her.

“Just you wait, Zelda Spellman,” Lilith panted as she shifted back into her seat, adjusting her clothes. “I’m going to tie you up and fuck you hard––I know what you like.”

“And what’s that?”

“Control,” Lilith teased. “So what happens when I take that away and make you become a whimpering mess

#Zelda Spellman #lilith #caos fanfic #madam spellman #zelith

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 2

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Thank you all so much for your thoughts and comments. I enjoy them immensely. I thought this was all going to be from Rowan’s POV, but... I was wrong. CW: Drinking, swearing.

The first Monday after Ashryver Playland opens is always Aelin’s favorite day of the summer. It’s a silly tradition her grandparents started, but it’s been a part of her life as long as she can remember. That very first Monday after the park’s first successful week, the Ashryver Galathinius clan opens up their summer home to the Playland’s staff and families for an all day pool party and barbeque.

Summer has always been Aelin’s favorite season. It means spending three months of pure bliss in her summer home, overlooking the waters of Terrasen from her bedroom balcony. And there’s something about Ashryver’s opening week barbeque that always manages to sets the tone for her summer. Summer doesn’t really begin until the barbeque begins. It’s always marks her first something.

When she was eleven, Aelin met her first real best friend, Dorian – one of the board member’s sons. She’d left the party to hide in the music room, trying to teach herself how to play her favorite Death Cab for Cutie song on the large grand piano, when he wandered in, singing on top of her stumbling melody line with a flawless unbroken tenor. He’d flashed her a giant smile and pushed his floppy dark curls out of his face and sat down on the bench next to her. They’d been best friends ever since. And the firsts only continued from there.

As Aelin finishes drawing a perfect cat eye with her liquid eyeliner she wonders what first awaits her this summer.  

“Aelin, ten minutes til guests.” Her mother, Evalin, walks past her open bedroom door and does a double-take. “Wowww, someone looks especially nice today,” her mom says with a playful gleam in her eye. “Might I ask who you’re dressing up for?” she asks, taking in Aelin’s white eyelet sundress and full face of makeup. “Because I know this certainly isn’t for Dorian. Wisely.”

“I heard that,” Dorian says, bounding up the last few steps and onto the second floor landing. He sees Aelin and grins that very same grin he gave her that first day he spotted her a decade ago and takes off running. Aelin squeals as Dorian hugs her from behind and swings her around, lifting her off her feet.

“Dor, put me down, I just finished doing my hair!” Aelin says, shrugging him off, but she returns his smile fondly, even as he flops down onto her perfectly made bed, making himself comfortable and kicking off his flip flops.

“You do look suspiciously nice, Ace. What’s with the dress and the hair? Aren’t you going to swim?” Dorian asks stretching his arms up and placing them under his head.

Aelin ignores him and goes back to finishing her makeup. She uncaps a crimson red lipstick and leans into the mirror to apply it when –

“You know if you’re actually looking to make out with someone tonight then red lips probably isn’t the right choice.”

Aelin slides her eye to the boy on her bed and then straightens up again, putting the red lipstick away. He does have a point. Dorian bolts upright, eyebrows raised.

“We’re making out with someone tonight? Who?” Dorian asks, poking Aelin’s thigh with one of his toes.

Aelin’s cheeks flush as she remembers the name of the staff member she so thoroughly stalked the other night. So thoroughly, in fact, that she’s actually embarrassed about it. But also, who has a public Facebook profile these days? Rowan Whitethorn, that’s who.

When Aelin realized all she had to do was ask her five year old nephew for the name of the man who rescued him, she was easily able to find the man on the RSVP list for the barbeque. And from there, she sat in front of her computer for hours, soaking in every last detail she could find. Grew up in Wendlyn, went to school at Mistward and majored in computer sciences and graduated four years ago. His interests include photography and fitness and baking (what man enjoys baking and posts pictures of it?).

Aelin is extremely curious as to how he ended up working at Playland. A man with that kind of degree doesn’t usually find himself ripping ticket stubs, but she’s not complaining about it. Aelin really enjoys looking at his face. And his arms. And his back. She’s anxious to talk to him today, which is annoying. Aelin is never anxious around men. She’s fun and flirty and confident, but one look at Rowan had her excess nerves dancing in circles and turning her into kind of a bitch. She’s hoping her second impression is a lot better. Hence, the dress. And the makeup.

“We’re making out with no one.” Aelin shoots a warning glance in Dorian’s direction as she puts on a light pink lip stain.

“You and Chaol didn’t get back together, did you?” Dorian asks, and Aelin cringes.

“Of course not.” She turns to Dorian as she puts on the final touch – her favorite gold hoop earrings. “You don’t think your best friend would have told you if we’d gotten back together?”

“I don’t know, that last break up nearly took us all out, so if we could not repeat that, that’d be great.” Dorian stares at her, willing her to fess up, but Aelin refuses to give him anything in return. It’s way too early to tell Dorian anything.

“All right, then,” he drawls in a silly British accent. “Keep your secrets.”

Aelin sticks out her tongue as her mom calls out from downstairs, “Kids! Party guests are here!”

“Twenty-four-years old, and we’re still fucking kids,” Dorian grumbles as the pair make their way down the grand front staircase. Aelin hops up onto the wooden banister and rides it all the way down to the bottom, shouting “Catch me!” to Dorian as he runs and chases her to the foyer.

Evalin scolds them, but there’s no real bite to it.  Aelin fixes her banister-swept hair and makes her way out to the front stairs where she and her parents will greet all the staff members and their families. Her parents are all about making the Playland employees feel welcomed, and they make a point to learn each and every one of their names. Plus, they’re a stickler for etiquette. Aelin can’t remember a time when she wasn’t on the front steps to welcome party guests as they arrived.

“I’ll meet you out back in… an hour-ish?” Aelin tells Dorian. “Steal me a bottle of pink champagne?”

Dorian bows at the waist. “Yes, your majesty.” He chuckles softly when she flips him off.

Aelin is the last to join her family. Her parents and her brother, for all intents and purposes, Aedion, already perched and ready to welcome the first wave of guests.

An hour later and Aelin’s jaw already hurts from smiling. She’s shaken so many hands and met so many people and made polite conversation with staff members from years past, but there’s still one face that hasn’t shown yet, and Aelin is having a hard time not showing her disappointment. He RSVPed yes, which means he should be here. Not showing up would be very rude. Right?

Aedion shakes out his hands and cracks his neck loudly. “Who’s ready for a drink?”

Aelin is reluctant to leave the front stairs. Leaving the front stairs means they’re finished greeting people at the party, which means that party guests have stopped arriving, and she’s not ready to admit that defeat. She gives one last wistful glance down the long empty driveway before giving in.

“Yeah, I could use a large drink,” Aelin yawns, leaning into her big brother’s shoulder.

“You’re not allowed to be tired,” he says with a laugh, squeezing her arm. “You are a sprightly youth and don’t have a ten-year-old and a five-year-old waking you up every morning at the crack of dawn to fight about watching Cars or Disney Fam Jam.”

Aelin looks up at him. “That’s not a real thing.”

“I assure you, it is.”

“This guy needs a drink,” Aelin says loudly as she and Aedion make their way out to the back patio where the party is really happening, and Aelin relaxes a tiny bit. So what if Rowan isn’t coming and she got all dressed up for nothing? She’ll look extra cute in pictures this year. She’s here with her family on the first real day of summer, and she’s determined to have a good day, regardless.

She takes in the scene around her – everyone seems to be having the best time. Caterers mill around the stone patio, holding out trays of grilled meats and veggies. At the far side of the patio is a long bar with an ample crowd around it. Champagne is being popped and spirits are being poured, and there’s endless bounds of chatter and laughter from all directions. In the middle of it all, the pool is filled with children and adults alike, playing games and doing handstands and lounging on floats.

The edge of the pool fades into the perfect view of the ocean. Aelin takes a deep breath as she watches the waves break against the shore. She listens to the gulls cawing overhead and inhales the salty sea breeze. Despite her small bout of disappointment, Aelin is happy.

Aedion’s two kids squeal for his attention from the pool.

“Dad! Auntie Ae!” Evie calls from the far end of the pool, her usual strawberry blonde ringlets sopping wet around her shoulders. “Watch me dive!”

Evie dives into the side of the pool, her dolphin arms in perfect form as she splashes into the water. She emerges with a giant smile on her freckled face.

“Good job!” Aedion beams. “Okay, drinks, now,” he whispers to Aelin, guiding her toward the bar.

“Where’s your wife?” Aelin asks, looking around for the green eyed brunette, who’s usually hovering around her children.

Aedion points ahead, and sure enough the woman in question stands at the front of the bar, looking insanely glamorous in a black one piece with a sheer leopard kaftan, taking shots of tequila with Aelin’s favorite returning staff member, Elide.

“Lysandra brought our babysitter with us today,” he says with a devious smile and snakes his way through the crowds to wrap his arm around his wife’s waist.

“Aelin, come do shots!” Elide pulls Aelin up to the bar, her outstretched hand helping her weave her way through the throngs of buzzed staff members. “We’re celebrating my promotion!”

“Ellie is officially manager level this summer.” Lysandra and Elide raise their newly filled shot glasses and hand one each to Aelin and Aedion respectively. Aelin hates tequila but loves Elide, so she clinks glasses and downs the alcohol quickly, grabbing a lime and sucking as much of the juice out of it as she can.

She shudders and Aedion punches her in the shoulder playfully. “Lightweight.”

Aelin rolls her eyes and reverts the topic back to Elide. “So, big shot manager. Does this mean you’re spending all your time with Lorcan now?” Aelin raises her eyebrows, knowing about Elide’s not so small crush on the stoic manager. “Long nights, just the two of you, arranging schedules in the soft romantic light of the Playland breakroom?”

Elide covers her face with her hand and screws her eyes shut. “Oh my god! No! No that is not what is happening at all.”

“Your mouth says no, but your blush says – ‘Yes, Lorcan, yes!’” Aelin teases, poking at Elide’s rosy cheeks. Elide slaps Aelin’s hands away.

“I just had three tequila shots, of course my cheeks are red.” Elide’s hands go to her cheeks, covering them as much as she can, trying to will away the warm flush creeping over her face. “You’re a monster, Aelin. That’s not what’s going on with Lorcan,” she hisses.

“What’s going on with me?” Lorcan asks, approaching from out of nowhere with a beer in his hand, and if possible Elide’s blush grows even deeper.

“Nothing!” Elide shouts, exasperated. “I’ll be right back. Be good, Aelin.” She throws Aelin a warning glare as she stalks off, and Lysandra and Aedion bite back their laughter as a bewildered Lorcan muses out loud—

“Did I say something?”

“No,” Aelin says, turning all her attention to Lorcan. “Elide was just saying how excited she is to work as a manager with you.”

Lorcan’s face lights up as he takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, she’s been a huge help so far. Especially with such a new staff this year.”

“Yeah… a lot of newbies this year.” Aelin pauses, wondering if she should probe Lorcan about Rowan. It wouldn’t do any harm, right? “Anyone giving you any trouble?”

“Nah,” Lorcan shakes his head and pushes a long piece of hair behind his hair. “But you know me. I like them to think they’re all giving me trouble, so they act accordingly.” He snorts, amused with his own management technique. “There’s one new guy who is so jumpy around me. I love it.”

“You’re evil,” Aelin laughs.

“I prefer diabolical,” Lorcan replies. “Ah, and it looks like he just arrived,” Lorcan continues with a grin. “Want me to introduce you, so you can see it up close?”

Lorcan points in the direction of the sliding doors that lead out to the patio, and there, in all his tall blonde and board-shorted glory stands Rowan. Finally. But Aelin’s heart drops. Because Rowan isn’t alone. He’s arrived with a girl.

~*~*~*~*~

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#aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #tog fanfic #cruel summer au #amusement park au #charincharge writes #aelin galythinius

[marabrosca]

[REUPLOAD] No Rest For The “Wicked” (Iron Bull x Lavellan)

a commission for @silversong79

words: 2k

summary: Guilt follows the Inquisitor into her sleep, and Bull is there to bring her back to reality. But when reality and dreams are the same, what is she to do?

tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, soft, cuddling, red templars

Read it on AO3 

Summer was admittedly not the most favorable time of the year, Iolanthe would say. Between the rare waves of heat, the occasional crop drought, and the Halla being harder to keep track of as they sprung about the plains; she was happy it didn’t last long. But what good would she be at her job if she didn’t strengthen her nerve? Her clan and the Halla needed her to do her duty, to keep them safe, even when it meant sweating through her tunic until it needed to be peeled away from her skin. Even when her feet swelled in her boots and her back ached, she’d return them all home by nightfall. Nothing allowed her to sleep better than knowing her clan was safe, and knowing that they could come to her in their time of need.

When she saw the Keeper approaching, eyes set hard, she forgot about the Halla, and the pasture.

“Is something wrong?” “We need to speak.” The Keeper responded, disappointment in her voice.

“What happened? Did I do something wro-”

In a flash the staff she had been using to herd was ripped from her hands, and the Keeper shook her head with a tsk.

“Look at what you’ve done, child.” The words struck hard in the elf’s ears, even if she didn’t know why she was being scolded.

“Can’t even hold your weapon properly, and just look at what happened there.” The old woman’s finger pointed to a spot on the ground, but nothing seemed wrong with it. There was just grass and dirt. Iolanthe stared at the older woman in silent confusion, only being met with a steely glare, and the elder began to pace back and forth. Iolanthe bent down to examine the grass, then opted to kneel when she was sureshe had missed something.

“What…do you mean?” Iolanthe asked with a shuddering breath.

The Keeper didn’t answer, just continued to pace, eyes staring hard at the ground. Another tremble shot up Iolanthe’s back, and it was then that she finally noticed her breath- that it was, well, there. Visible. She shifted her knees, and the grass answered with a dry, miserable crack. She looked down, and it had all turned black. Was it burnt? Her hand reached down to touch it and, no, it wasn’t singed. It was quite wet, in fact, like it had just been smothered in snow. Iolanthe retracted her hand, lifting her head to focus again on the Keeper, who paced in deafening silence.

Cassandra now turned to face her, a hard expression pressing her features tightly together.

“I can not say I trust you with this,” the Keeper’s voice spoke from the Seeker’s mouth “but we have no other choice. You let everyone else die.”

Iolanthe was wracked with shivering now. Wind had picked up all around her and was beginning to slash her skin whenever it pleased. The cold, heavy armor laid on her like dead weight, and she could barely hear the Keeper’s words over her chattering teeth. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Without thinking she stood, suddenly, and when she focused her eyes again she was on a mountainside. It was so high up she swore she was in the heavens, above all Thedas and all life. The pitch black of the night left nothing to be discovered aside from the faintest twinkling of snow that piled high to her knees. Her breathing was ragged now, and once again she was left alone, waiting, in the dark. Her legs dare not move in fear of falling down a slope.

As she was about to cry out, desperate for any other presence, the Anchor on her arm lit up in a flash, making her reel backwards. Not a moment later, the snow glowed a dim, eerie red. It stretched for miles; and before she could process the image before her, the red shone even brighter. Harsh, red light illuminated every expanse of ground with such intensity that it could not be directly looked at. And there was heat. So much heat. Heat enough to burn the underside of her boots, to chase away the frigid mountain air.

She turned to run, not knowing exactly where, but away. Tears pricked the edges of her eyelids, catching the wind and making them sting. A rumble and the echo of rocks falling apart followed her heels, until she stumbled and fell to the restless earth. Cracks began to form in the mountain’s hard surface, that bright red light growing stronger.

“Stop! Stop it!”

The earth responded with a great split, and from it arose the tip of a crystal. The hue was a blindingly scarlet, and it seemed to radiate a vibration that turned Iolanthe’s stomach. Her hands made contact with the ground and she began pushing herself away from the intrusion, gasping as it rose higher, the mass of it uprooting the stone. With dawning horror she realized that the crystal in front her could only be red lyrium. The kind she had only seen one other time so far.

“No…oh Gods no…”

What she saw next nearly stopped her heart. Long, gray, craggily fingers wormed themselves from deep below, followed by sodden hands and arms. Bright red glowed in the veins of the rotting flesh. One of the hands shot up and grabbed her ankle, pulling her several inches forward towards the split that was gaping wider and wider. Iolanthe reached for her sword but it was gone. She tried to scream but it was drowned under horrid cries from the creatures down below. The creatures…

The Red Templars.

Guilt and shame and fear overwhelmed her as more hands yanked on her boots, moaning and wailing as if in harmony. “Help us…you did this…You…” Red smoke ascended into the air with each word, it stung like acid, and made Iolanthe choke.

Neon light blinded her as she was nearly dragged over the edge, not being able to find the strength to pull herself up.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

And then she fell.  

Iolanthe shot up and awake, letting out a shriek she barely registered, as it mixed with the still-echoing wails bouncing back and forth in her mind. Sweat soaked through her shirt, eyes darting wildly, breaking through the haze of her visions. She came-to enough to realize it wasn’t the hands of corpses constricting her, but rather the sheets she had tangled up, no doubt from thrashing in her unrest.

Gone were the moans and screams of the corrupted. Gone were their rigid, sharp digits on her skin. And gone was the red smoke that choked her through her tears. Iolanthe looked down at the sheets around her legs and felt her whole body quake. Only two breaths managed to escape before she dropped her head to her knees, sobbing. Was she being punished? Was she an offense to the Gods for fighting under this Andraste? How many more people were going to be hurt because of her?

The Red Templars had been her fault. Their corruption was the result of her taking up more power than she deserved, more than she could handle. And failing. Then they had come to kill everyone else, and were still out there. Corypheus would infect them, turn them into monsters like him, and she’d stand between them and the world, and do nothing. Because she couldn’t. Her whole life had become a joke, and the Anchor had become a death sentence.

She was about to cry again when a sudden crash and heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs ripped her from her grief, but her mind was still drowning in the visions, and didn’t even recognize the sound until a massive great-axe poked out from the lower half of the stairs.

“Boss! Are you alright?” Iolanthe’s gasp caught in her throat, mouth agape in confusion until Bull rose to her line of sight. His head swiveled, eye focused on the dark room for an assailant, but he was quick to see there was none.

“Boss?” he said again, chest heaving from the adrenaline, still not letting his guard down.

Silence stretched between them as she stared at him with wide eyes. Her breath came out in small puffs, mouth dry and face wet from tears.

“What are you doing up here?” her voice croaked in a whisper, a simple question, as if nothing had happened. The Qunari’s weapon slowly descended to his side, marking the confusion in her expression, and the glossy distance in her eyes. Had she not heard herself screaming? Another minute of silence passed, and he decided to place his weapon at the banister and walk carefully to her side.

“You were screaming for help. Were you asleep?” Iolanthe slowly turned her head from him, staring blankly ahead. He let her breathe and process what was going on, and when she did, it was evident. Tears sprang a new, and a shaky exhale left her lips. As soon as the sobbing returned, Bull sat himself on the side of the bed and pulled the Inquisitor to his chest. A massive hand stroked the back of her neck and black hair, and the other arm wrapped around her back. It was painful to hear this, but he had to let it ride out to find out what was causing it.

They don’t know how long the sobbing and sniffing and gasping continued; but when the storm was ebbed, blue-green eyes –now also mixed with red- looked him in the face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. The Qunari brushed some tears off her face and peeled away sticking wet hair.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he answered, softly, a part of him that was just for her. His arm didn’t leave her when she sat up, wiping her face roughly against her shirt-sleeve. There was frustration, then, along with distress. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to think about it- the dream. I-I don’t want to talk-” “Ssh, it’s alright. You don’t have to.” Iolanthe’s torso jumped with an involuntary sniff. She wished she could just stop crying already. The longer it went on, the more it felt like she lost, like the terror had gotten the better of her and wouldn’t leave. She’d never survive like that.

“How did you hear me screaming from all the way downstairs?” Bull’s eyebrows shot up, then he turned his head…almost sheepishly?

“I, um,” he coughed out “I wasn’t downstairs. You’ve been…off, all day, jumpy. It was bothering you to be left alone. Something was telling me to wait, just in case.”

Iolanthe rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, eyes stinging.

“Thank you.” it was a whisper, but she knew he had heard it when his lips touched her forehead. The kiss had been a surprise, much gentler and intimate than what they normally did, but she sunk into it.

“If you were in need of help you should have asked. You don’t have to put the weight of the world on your back.” “Yes I do, I don’t have a choice.” “No, you have people here that will help you. You have me.” “…I know. I just feel like…the more I talk about it…acknowledging it will make it stronger.”

“No. Keeping things to yourself until you fall apart is only going to hurt you. I’m here for you, and not just for the job.”

This time he kissed her cheek, barely brushing her skin, and she let out a relieved sigh. There was a warmth in her face now, and a feeling of change in that room. Her head rested back on his chest, breathing finally becoming smooth.

“Are you alright now, Kadan?”

She barely processed the name, opting to nod and squeeze his hand.

“Stay with me?” “I’ll stay here all night if you want me to.” “…I do.”

Their bodies moved until they laid flat, Iolanthe’s upper body now resting on his. She could almost purr at the gentle fingers in her hair.

She didn’t sleep that night, even with her eyes closed Bull could tell, and he stayed there all night. He’d be by her side no matter what. After all, killing demons is what he did best; be it on the battlefield or right there, in the heart of the woman he…

Loves.

#dai #my fics #bull x lavellan #iron bull x lavellan #red templars #i'm working on bringing back these fics #slowly but surely

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 26: Telling Stories

Chapter 25

Read on AO3

In late February, the Redcoats came back.

They were evidently not satisfied that Claire was who Jenny said she was the last time they were here, when Jenny had shown off the potato-baby.

Claire was in the middle of changing Brianna’s diaper in her bedroom when the front door burst open. Claire’s heart leapt into her throat and her hands froze for a moment. She carefully continued tying off the diaper as she listened to the hushed voices from behind her slightly ajar bedroom door.

“...rumors in the village…”

“...a healer that lives here…”

“How is your cousin, Madame Murray?”

Claire swallowed, feeling like prickly sand was running down her throat as she did so. Her bedroom was no priest hole, but she felt it would be wise if she and Brianna stayed hidden. If they decided to search the house, well...she’d worry about that when the time came.

“Kitty play!” Brianna shouted.

“Shh!” Claire hushed. “We must be very quiet, Brianna.”

In deliberate defiance, Brianna gave a loud shriek, and Claire thought she might vomit. Brianna dissolved into a fit of giggles, quite amused with herself.

The voices downstairs stopped briefly, and Claire’s pulse only returned to normal when she heard Jenny’s voice again:

“One of the bairns. Ye ken how they are.”

Once Brianna was dressed again, Claire rushed to the windowsill, where Lambert had been left.

“Let’s play with Lamb, darling. How does that — ”

She turned around and Brianna was no longer sitting on the bed, and the door was slightly more open than before.

Fucking hell.

Claire dropped the lamb and sprinted out of the bedroom and down the hall after Brianna, toddling with impressive speed toward the stairs. Claire hiked up her skirts and reached her in four quick strides, scooping her into her arms, eliciting a shrill yell from the toddler that halted conversation at the bottom of the stairs again.

Claire looked over the banister at the three Redcoats cornering Jenny, who remained calm and level-headed as ever. All four of them were now staring upward. Claire wet her lips, her heart bruising her ribcage. She forced a pleasant smile and curtsied slightly before quickly turning around with the intention of slipping back into her bedroom and keeping Brianna occupied until they were gone.

“Madame.”

Fuck.

“Do come downstairs, if you don’t mind.”

That is not a request.

Claire took a shuddering breath, and her chin began to tremble.

“Brianna, love, we’re going to play a game, alright?”

“Play game?”“Shh...yes, a game.” Claire was whispering into her hair, quiet enough that she barely heard herself. “A quiet game. You must not make any noise. If you win the game and stay quiet, you may have as many biscuits as you want.”

“Biscuit!”

“Shh...quiet, lovie. Yes?”

Brianna nodded silently, pursing her lips together absurdly. Claire slowly made her way to the stairs and descended, clutching Brianna tightly. No doubt the soldiers had heard Brianna’s half of the conversation, but thankfully what she’d said could pass as a child making unprompted requests.

The other children were likely in the nursery with Mrs. Crook, aside from wee Jamie, who was likely outside with Rabbie and Fergus. If only Claire had changed her diaper faster, had been able to get her to the nursery before they were noticed…

“Good day, Madame,” the captain greeted. Claire smiled woodenly.

“This is the very same babe ye saw the last time ye were here, Captain,” Jenny interjected before he could prompt Claire to speak. She stretched out her arms, smiling brightly as she took Brianna in her arms. “My wee Brianna Murray.”

“How very charming,” the captain said dryly.

“Lizzie is her godmother,” Jenny continued, flashing a secret look at Claire. “Ye remember my cousin.”

Elizabeth. Jenny’s cousin, Brianna’s godmother. The role I’m playing right now.

“Indeed,” the captain said, eyeing Claire suspiciously.

“Mistress Fraser is visiting us again just now,” Jenny went on, rocking Brianna gently, keeping her smile wide.

Thank God Brianna would do anything for a biscuit. If I hadn’t pulled the quiet game out of my arse she’d have called me Mummy eight times already.

“And does Mistress Fraser have any healing abilities?” he pressed.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said warmly. “Whenever she visits she offers what help she can to our tenants. We’re very grateful to her.”

“Tell me, Mistress Fraser,” the Captain said, turning to address Claire directly. “Where did you learn such abilities? Family trade?”

“She — ”

“I’d like to hear her myself, Madame Murray,” the captain said, clipped and aggravated. “Go on, Miss.”

Claire was trembling head to toe. She cleared her throat and answered in a raspy whisper: “Aye, Sir.” She took care to emphasize the ‘r’ the best she could.

“Do speak up, please.”

Claire exaggeratedly cleared her throat again, then touched her throat before forcing herself into a coughing fit. Jenny immediately caught on.

“Apologies, Captain. My cousin has caught something from one of our tenants, and she’s been having trouble wi’ her voice lately, ye ken.”

Claire carried on with her coughing, and the three soldiers unconsciously stepped back a few paces.

“Collins. Get the lady some water, for God’s sake,” the Captain ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dangerous for the child, is it not?” The Captain said. “Having a sick woman hold it so close?”

Claire finally let her coughing subside, and she allowed herself to start panting.

“Och, the bairns have all had the sickness already. Canna catch it again,” Jenny said offhandedly, and despite the situation, Claire swelled with pride.

She’s been paying attention when I speak of these things.

“Ah. I see.” The captain took a step forward, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “Such a...vibrant color.” He reached a hand toward Brianna, and wrapped a curl around his finger. Claire’s stomach lurched. “Quite...red.”

Red Jamie.

“Aye, my mother’s color,” Jenny said with pride, though Claire could see the fear in her eyes. 

“None of your other children have it,” the Captain said, amused. “It’s astonishing, really.”

Collins returned then with a glass of water, and Claire accepted it with a polite nod, having to concentrate very hard to keep the water from sloshing out with the force of her trembling.

“My wee Maggie has a bit of it as well,” Jenny said dismissively. “Bits of red woven in wi’ blonde — ”

“Remarkable isn’t it,” the Captain went on. “The resemblance. Don’t you think, Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Resemblance, Captain?” Jenny asked uneasily.

“To her...uncle.”

“Och,” Jenny said quickly. “Unfortunate that the traitor inherited much of our mother’s beauty as well. Suits the bairn much better, don’t ye think?”

“Indeed.” The Captain’s finger was still woven into Brianna’s hair, and Claire had never before felt such a deep urge to kill somebody.

Jamie would cut his bloody hand off.

“Are you a widow, Mistress Fraser?” The Captain said, abruptly turning his head to face her, his hand still touching Brianna. “And a mother, perhaps?”

Claire shook her head.

“Lizzie’s never been marrit,” Jenny said lightly. “I often tease her about it.”

Jenny made a move to shift Brianna, to inadvertently get her away from his grip, but he very abruptly seized a fistful of her curls and held on tightly, forcing Jenny to cause Brianna pain by pulling against his hand. Brianna yelped and began wailing. Jenny’s face turned white, and Claire’s vision went red, pressure building between her temples.

“Are you quite sure, Mistress Fraser?”

“Captain, please, ye’re hurting her — ”

“I’d like the truth, please, from Mistress Fraser’s tongue.”

Brianna shrieked again.

Claire forced herself to start coughing again, using all the breath in her lungs to create as realistic a hacking sound as she could manage.

“For Heaven’s sake, Madame. Enough.”

Claire let the glass slip from her grip and shatter at her feet, then rolled her eyes to the back of her head and dropped to the ground.

“Lizzie?” Jenny called. “Captain, please, she needs help, she’s ill — ”

“Get her up onto the sofa!” The Captain barked, beyond irritated.

Brianna’s shrieking was growing louder and louder, likely distraught to see her mother topple over. Claire’s heart was in her throat, tears gathering behind her closed eyelids, her arms aching to press Brianna into her.

Claire was roughly lifted by the two soldiers and laid out on the sofa. Jenny called for Laura and ordered her to take Brianna into the nursery with the other children. Claire bit her lip to stifle her sigh of relief; this meant that the bastard no longer had his hands on her daughter.

Jenny began fretting over Claire, putting a rag on her head, dabbing at her neck.

“She’s burning up,” Jenny cried, distraught.

In a different century, Jenny would make quite the actress.

“Captain, I’m heart sorry, I’ll be happy to answer any questions ye have, but my cousin is no’ well, as ye can clearly see.”

A heavy, tangible silence followed, and Claire could hear the Captain sigh heavily, almost giving way to a growl.

“Very well. When she wakes, offer her my well wishes and a fast recovery.” His voice was thin and tight.

Three sets of footsteps retreated, and then there was a great crashing noise that made Claire jump on the sofa. The footsteps continued and the front door opened and slammed shut.

Claire immediately shot up off the sofa, and Jenny firmly grabbed her shoulders. Claire vaguely registered that the contents of the mantle had been swept onto the floor, creating a mess in the parlor in the Captain’s rage.

“Stay, sister. In case they return.”

“Brianna...I need her…” Claire’s eyes were wide and frantic, her breathing shallow and panicked.

“She’s alright, Claire. She’s wi’ Mrs. Crook. He didna hurt her.”

“I could kill him...disgusting, loathsome man…” Claire spat, her entire body trembling under Jenny’s hands.

“I ken. It’s over now, sister. It’s alright.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her, and despite the urge to run, to kill, to scream, Claire simply melted in her arms, weeping bitterly.

“That was...horrible, Jenny…”

“I ken, mo ghraidh. It’s over now. Ye did well.”

“Her screams…Oh God…”

“I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.”

I cannot bear her pain.

“She’s alright, Claire. She willna even remember this.”

Claire nodded against Jenny’s shoulder, sniffling. At least there was that one small comfort.

“I think it’s been long enough, now. Let’s go,” Jenny said, smiling weakly. “I feel I must hold my own bairns just now, as well.”

That night, and every night thereafter, Claire wondered how much longer they’d be able to keep up this act.

——

March 19th, 1749

It was one of those rare moments of peace, a crackling fire accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Claire was knitting new arm warmers for Maggie, as she’d outgrown her old ones yet again, passing them down to Kitty, who passed her old ones down to Brianna. Brianna was restless beside Claire in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, Lamb tucked under her arm.“Mummy,” Brianna blurted.

“Shh...quiet darling,” Claire whispered. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Story, Mummy.” Brianna sat up and began tugging on the sleeve of Claire’s nightgown. “Story, Mummy.”

“Story, Mummy...what?” Claire looked up from her knitting, cocking an eyebrow at the demanding toddler.

“Story Mummy please?” Brianna said, her ocean-eyes widening, and her bottom lip sticking out in that irresistible pout.

“Well, alright,” Claire grinned, setting aside her knitting on the side table. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Brianna grinned a crooked, toothy smile and clapped her hands.

“Come here, lovie.” Claire opened her arms, and Brianna crawled into her lap, nuzzling herself into Claire’s breast, resting a pudgy palm on the soft flesh at the top of her nightgown, the latching instinct apparently not having left her just yet despite being recently weaned.

Claire hummed with contentment, feeling her little girl settling into her, safe and protected in her mother’s arms, where she belonged.

“Which story do you want to hear, darling? The one about the little princess, and the seven dwarves?”

Claire was not brought up on fairytales at all; any tales told to her by Uncle Lamb were folklore of whatever land they were currently occupying, based in culture, religion, or scientific fact. She hadn’t been raised on princes and princesses like other girls had. She hadn’t gone to see Snow White in 1938 for any reason other than curiosity at its novelty: the first full-length animated motion picture. She’d enjoyed it, and teared up more than she’d liked to admit during the dwarves’ funeral for the princess, mostly because Uncle Lamb had been openly weeping, surely remembering the funeral that Claire was too young to be affected by, a funeral of matching coffins.

It was a fond memory she kept tucked away, something she stopped speaking about after Uncle Lamb had passed. She found herself speaking of it again, telling Brianna the little fairytale as best as she could remember from her one viewing of it. It was simple enough: little princess runs away from an evil queen, lives with seven little men, is saved by her prince, and off they go to happily-ever-after. Brianna enjoyed it well enough, and it made Claire smile to think of telling her about motion pictures someday, and revealing that her favorite of Mummy’s stories was actually created by a man named Walt Disney, each frame individually drawn and painted with as much care as the portraits done by her Grannie Ellen and her Auntie Jenny.

“No Princess. No dw-avs,” Brianna says simply. “Queen, Mummy.”

Claire smiled wistfully, a quiet sadness settling in her chest.

The tale of Laird and Lady Lallybroch was another one of her favorites.

“Alright, lovie.” Claire kissed the crown of her head. 

“Once upon a time, there was a brave, dashing warrior.” Claire felt her little girl smile against her breast. “He had hair like flames and eyes like deep water. Just like yours, baby. He called himself Laird Broch Tuarach, and he lived with his Lady.”

“Lady Bock Too-wack,” Brianna cooed, and Claire gave a watery chuckle.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Lady Broch Tuaroch. She was the most important thing in the world to the Laird. She was…”

“Queen!” Brianna said.

“And he was…”

“King!”

“That’s right, lovie. Their own little kingdom. They loved each other very, very much.” Her voice got tight, and she wound her arms tighter around Brianna. “So very much, that they decided to bring a little princess into the world.” Brianna gave a little giggle. The more she heard the story, the more she began to process that the little princess in question was her.

“The Laird had to go away, leave his Lady and their little princess. But, he left behind a special gift before he had to go away. Special for his little girl.”

Brianna proudly held up the little lamb, and Claire chuckled again.

“That’s right, darling. Fraser colors, so that your father will always be with you.” She pressed a fervent kiss to the top of Brianna’s head.

“The end,” Brianna said contentedly, pressing Lamb back into her chest.

Claire didn’t say anything for a moment. She rocked Brianna silently, her chin resting atop her wild curls, feeling her squishy cheek pressed into the crook of her neck.

“Brianna?” She broke the silence. “Do you know that the warrior, the Laird, the King...do you know that he’s...he’s your Da?”

Brianna had heard the word before. Her cousins said it every day to Ian, about Ian. She wondered if her little brain could grasp it yet, what it meant to have a Da. Or to not have one.

She didn’t expect Brianna to say anything, didn’t expect her to understand well enough. This story was Claire’s way of telling her daughter that she had a father that loved her, even before she would understand. Someday she’d understand.

Claire thought she was hearing things again when Brianna’s little voice said:

“Da.”

She’s just parroting. She’s only two-and-a-half years old. She doesn’t understand.

But logic was powerless to stop the raw emotion that slammed into Claire at the sound of Jamie’s daughter calling out to him.

“That’s right, baby,” she croaked, squeezing her as tightly as she dared. “Da loves you.”

“Da…” Brianna cooed once more, before the sound morphed into a little snore, and she was fast asleep against her.

Claire allowed the tiniest of sobs to escape her lips before she clenched her entire body to silence herself. With the greatest care, Claire laid Brianna on the mattress beside her and then clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling hot tears run over her fingers.

How many tears must I cry? How many nights must I burn alive with this pain?

And yet...how blessed have I been…?

She took a shuddering breath, running her fingers lightly over Brianna’s downy soft curls.

How blessed am I to have you here still? How blessed am I to raise her in your honor, to teach her to love your memory as much as I loved your flesh and blood?

Could she? Could Brianna ever understand the depth of her father’s love for her, the depth of her mother’s love for him?

I’ll do my damndest, Jamie.

I will never stop telling our story.

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #claire fraser #jamie fraser #jenny murray #brianna fraser #brianna randall #claire beauchamp

[yeetingmyfeeling]

Run, Run, Run!

Chapter Three

It was now a Sunday, and apparently that meant no one had work. Brian found this curious, but he didn’t overly mind. He woke up late, his dreams not plaguing him that night. He sat up in his pyjamas. This happened to just be the flannel shirt, and his boxers. He kicked the pants off before he got in bed.

He went into his bathroom. He quickly did his routine. This involved pissing, showering, brushing his teeth, doing his hair, all the usual bathroom stuff. Once he felt fully clean, he changed into a pair of shorts going down to his knees, and a tight black shirt.

He made his way out of the room and went downstairs to everyone. He heard people in the kitchen, and decided to go in there. Brock, Jonathan and Ryan were the ones in there. Brock was washing dishes, Jonathan was drying them, and Ryan was putting them away.

“Mornin’,” Brain greeted tiredly, his accent thick from sleep. The three waved, saying their hellos. He walked further into the kitchen, beginning to make himself a coffee. The others continued their conversation. 

Brian yawned tiredly. “-ain! Brian!” He turned around quickly, his eyes wide as he stared at Brock. “Falling asleep there?”

A chuckle fell past Brian’s lips. “Slept in too much, still tired,” He rubbed at his eyes. He grabbed his now finished coffee, lifting up to his lips. He slowly took a sip, burning his tongue.

“We were just talking about mates,” Ryan leaned on the counter, looking over Brian. “You got anyone special?”

“No, I-,” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone outside of my old pack and this pack.”

“Did you have anyone in your old pack?” Jonathan asked, now learning next to Ryan.

Brian shook his head again. “They all treated me as a piece of meat.”

Brock slapped the two omega’s on the arm. “Stop pestering,” He placed a reassuring hand on Brian’s shoulder. “It’s okay Brian. Ryan is with Luke, and Jon is with Evan, so they do this a lot. If you ever do find yourself in a spot where you like one of the pack members, you can come to us.”

“Even though Brock is a beta. He understands both alphas and omega’s more than the biological ones,” Jonathan rubbed his arm. “He’s like.. The mum of us all.”

“Despite that,” Ryan waved a hand. “We think Tyler may be interested in someone. You know when alpha’s get all territorial over a mate? They can do the same, but not over the mate, just when they like them. Then when they like someone but don’t confess, it just becomes over everything. Is that right Brock?”

“In a way,” Brock shrugged. “He’s just being real pissy and major alpha.”

Tyler was scary enough on his own, Brain thought. Even though he had the most delicious smell. If he was all angry and, as Brock says; major alpha. Brian swore to stay out of the man's way. 

“Who do we think it is?” Jonathan giggled. “I think it’s the girl that always comes into the mechanic.”

“What’s her name? Kelly?” Ryan scratched at his chin. Jonathan nodded. “Our alpha is finally finding a mate.”

Why did Brian’s stomach drop at the idea of that? He hardly knows Tyler. He shook away the feeling, not appreciating his stupid omega bilolgy. 

He went to walk out of the kitchen as the two omega’s continued to gossip, only to run into a hard chest. It seems he liked to run into people. Especially tall people. The part where he spills his coffee all down the person's front is new though. 

Brian frowned as the smell of farm and wet dog hit his nose. He cringed, slowly looking up. An angry Tyler was glaring down at him. Brian squeaked, taking a step back. “I-I’m so sorry!!” He held his hands up, the rest of the coffee slipping out of the mug. “Fuck!” 

Tyler’s eyebrows were raised, and his hands were balled into fists. “Brian,” He growled softly. A momentary thought of, that was hot, flashed through Brian’s mind. It went straight back to fear. He slowly shrunk down as he took steps away from the alpha, only for Tyler to follow after him. “Were you not watching where you were going?”

“N-no..” Brock stuttered once again. He hit a counter, and felt his knees shaking. “I didn’t mean to.. I just..” His frown deepened. “You weren’t watching either!” He stood up straighter, pointing a finger in the alpha’s face.

Tyler stared at the finger. He grabbed Brian wrist, moving his hand out of his face. “I was watching,” He mumbled.

���Clearly you weren’t if you ran into me as well,” Brian snatched his arm back, crossing both over his chest. “So don’t get angry with me.”

Tyler huffed. He knew Brian was right, so couldn’t say anything else. He glared down at the coffee on his clean clothes. He leaned closer to Brian, right in his face. The omega felt warm. “Just, watch it, Brian,” And then he was gone.

Brian’s knees finally gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. He felt too warm. Brock came over to his, gently shaking his shoulder. “Definitely a major alpha mood.”

Brian stood up with the help of Brock, leaning against the countertop. “My coffee,” He frowned. Brock told him he’d clean the rest up. So Brian decided he would go outside for a run. He did not miss the weird look Jonathan and Ryan gave each other.

~~~~~

 Tyler had gone straight up to his room. His room was the second biggest, as he is Evan’s second. He slammed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He quickly pulled off his shirt and kicked off his pants. He caught a whiff of it again.

Bringing his hand up to his face, he could smell Brian, from where he grabbed his wrist. Tyler grunted, inhaling as much of the smell as he could.

He shook his head quickly. Just another omega getting in the way. He made his way to his bathroom, kicking off his boxers. His mind wandered to the omega, but he tried to shoo away those thoughts. He jumped in the shower, quickly washing himself down.

He grabbed his towel, drying himself off quickly. After he wrapped it around his waist, he looked in the large mirror. He wasn’t that bad looking, but he didn’t look as good as someone like Evan. He frowned. He wished he could find a mate, like Evan and Jon. Those two are perfect for each other.

He huffed and walked out of his bathroom, only to see David sitting on the bed. Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Intruder?”

“Why were you being mean to the new omega?” David asked with a frown. He rested back on his hands. His accent was thick. “I get you’re a big, angry mean alpha and are currently pursuing a mate, but that’s no need to be mean to Brian.”

Tyler looked alarmed. “Pursuing a mate? Who the fuck?”

“Kelly, that girl that’s almost always at the mechanic.”

“Oh,” Tyler laughed. He walked over to his cupboard, pulling out clean clothes. “God no, she keeps hitting on me but I’m not interested in her like that. Maybe a good fuck, but that’s it.”

“Tyler!” David scolded.

“Turn around,” David turned around and Tyler dropped the towel, starting to pull the clothes on. “So now we have clarified I have no plans to ever get with Kelly, what was your other issue?”

“You’re being mean to Brian.”

“The new omega, right, right,” He had his boxers and pants on. He pulled on his shirt. “He spilled hot coffee on me, how else do you expect me to react?”

“Not like an asshole,” David spun back around and stood up. “You don’t have to be a big, mean alpha you know. You’re second, if something happens to Evan, your bitch ass is next in line. No one is going to want to do shit with your attitude- or everyone will just be scared of you! Do you want people to be scared of you?”

Tyler groaned, throwing his head back. “No,” He rolled his eyes, deciding to pull a flannel on. “God dude, are you already catching feelings?”

“Wha- no!” David’s face flushed in embarrassment. He crossed his arms over his chest. He and Tyler were very similar heights, David just a few inches shorter. He was lankier, while Tyler was more built.

“Sure David, keep telling yourself that,” Tyler walked over, patting David on the shoulder. “He’s barely been here a week, keep it in your pants.”

David slapped away Tyler’s hand with a glare. “Tyler, I don’t like him,” He started towards the door, opening it a crack. “Go apologize to Brian,” Then he slipped out of the room.

Tyler groaned again, now stuck by himself. He hated saying sorry to people, especially when he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. Sure, in this situation, he was a little bit, but Brian ran into him!

He grabbed his phone from the bed, shoving it in his pocket. He then made his way downstairs, looking for the omega. Instead he saw Jon and Evan making out against a wall. He fake gagged loudly, causing the couple to pull away quickly. Jon then glared at him.

“Mister!” Jon shouted. “You scared Brian!”

“That wasn- yeah it was my intention,” Tyler chuckled to himself. The couple gave him a disapproving look. “Yeah, I’m saying sorry now. Where is he?”

“He went out for a run,” Was Jon’s answer. “He doesn’t know the area very well, so I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Tyler just nodded and left the couple to continue what they were doing. He walked outside, standing on the porch. He saw an auburn wolf running around, starting to slow down.

Tyler’s lips twitched slightly. The wolf's fur glistened just perfectly in the sun, making it seem as if he were sparkling. Tyler whistles loudly, and the wolf's ears perked up. He looked over in Tyler’s direction, only for his tail to drop. 

The wolf turned around, walking into a large cluster of trees. Tyler stood, waiting. He went and leaned against the banister of the porch.

It was around three in the afternoon, the sun about to touch the horizon. Breathing in deeply, Tyler could smell the calmness of the nature around him. This was the air he enjoyed, not the stressed air in the city.

A figure walked out from behind the trees. They only wore shirts, patting their sweaty face down with their shirt. Tyler shamelessly checked Brian out as he got closer. He admired the way the boy was tone, but with that slight bit of chub. It suited him. He wasn’t considerably short, but shorter than Tyler. He also had the best ass.

Brian stood at the bottom of the steps, leading up to the porch. He blinked slowly, seeming both awkward and scared. He tilted his head innocently, making the sweat gleam on his neck.

Tyler cleared his throat, ridding those thoughts from his mind. “Sorry for yelling at you earlier,” He forced out. “You were right, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” God that hurt his self esteem. Saying sorry and admitting the other was right? He better be getting some killer brownie points.

The frown Brian now sported confused Tyler. Brian’s arms hang loosely by his sides, one hand holding his slightly drenched shirt. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have spilled coffee on you. Sorry.”

Tyler wanted more of a reaction than this. He looked Brian up and down again, before taking a very obvious sniff. Brian’s face started to heat up. Now that’s the reaction he wanted. “Better go shower Brian, you smell.”

Brian ducked his head, and he quickly rushed past Tyler into the house. Tyler watched his ass until he was out of sight. He turned back to the view, smirking to himself. 

#banana bus squad #brian hanby #brian hanby / tyler wine #tyler wine #the gaming terroriser #i am wildcat #daithi de wildcat #daithi de terroriser #daithi de nogla #nogla #h20vanoss #h20 delirious #vanoss #moo snuckel

[luciehercndale]

Couple/Characters: Wessa, Tessa Gray and Will Herondale Rating: T

A one shot about the night James Herondale was born.

Winter, 1886

 It was a night like any other.

Tessa was relaxing in bed, reading one of her favorite books. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. The blanket of her bed covered her form up to her chest, the book comfortably sitting on her belly as she turned the pages. She was dead tired after a full day at the Institute, and she had a stomachache that wasn’t going away, even if she didn’t eat that much food at dinner.

It was one of her usual evening activities, reading. She loved reading, and the last six years she had spent at the Institute were full of books. She couldn’t think of the number of titles she had read thanks to the spacious library they had there. Of course, some books were also given to her as a gift, and she was grateful to have met another person who loved them as much as she did.

Books gave her comfort, but they also helped her take her mind off thoughts that bothered her.

Like that night.

It was true that it was a night like any other, but that night her belly also felt weird, and she felt anxious. Tessa wasn’t the stressful type, but for some reason, she was feeling upset. It was as if she felt that it wasn’t a night like any other at all and she was lying to herself that it was.

She sighed and shook her head. She shouldn’t let her mind wander. She took a deep breath and focused on the book, but to no avail. She looked at the words written in black ink, but she wasn’t paying attention. She put the book aside and caressed her stomach. According to Jem’s estimation, it would be around thirty-nine weeks by the end of the month, which was in a couple of days. Her back hurt and she had contractions every couple of minutes, could it be that…?

“No, Tessa. What are you saying? It’s too early,” she whispered to herself as she closed her eyes for a brief moment. She hadn’t found good books about pregnancy, so she could rely on what Jem had told her the last time they had met and some scratchy information about the topic. That when the time would come, she would know.

In that moment, she felt like she knew it was time.

“It’s time” she said to the empty room. “It’s time, James” she said as she put both hands on her stomach.

It was past midnight, but she had to call someone. At least ask for a Silent Brother. How she wished Will was there with her, but he, Gabriel and Gideon were on patrol duty that night, so she was alone besides for Bridget, their cook. Will didn’t want to go because he had seen the tiredness on her face, but she had forced him to, since she had still managed to reassure herself that night wouldn’t be different. That on that night, nothing would happen. Yet.

She needed to get out of the bed and go to her room to let her know. She tried to move her feet to the side of the mattress, but they felt heavy because she was exhausted. She needed to do it, so she put all her strength in the movement and she made it. Her feet were on the cold pavement of her bedroom. She got up despite her back was hurting like hell.

She put a reassuring hand on her stomach and started to walk. It wasn’t difficult as she thought it would be, she just needed to put one foot in front of the other until she would get to Bridget’s room to get help. She reached the stairs. Her room was on one of the highest floors, but the servant’s quarters were on the ground floor, so she would have to take a few flights of stairs…

She put her hand on the banister and started descending. She was telling herself that she could do it, she had to do it. She was looking at the steps not to fall, and it was all going well until it wasn’t. One moment her feet were steady, and the next, when she got the umpteenth contraction, they weren’t anymore.

She felt breathless for a few seconds, and time moved in slow motion. It felt like when she was falling from a cliff like when she was escaping from the Black Sister that wanted to take her to Mortmain, a lot of years ago. She felt light without the ground safely under her feet. But she knew that the moment she would hit the floor would come, and she wouldn’t be as weightless as she thought. I will break my neck and we will die, she thought desperately, until her fall was broken by two strong arms embracing all of her body like a fortress, and she closed her eyes.

The time seemed to go back to a normal pace as she took in the smells. The body who caught her before she would irrevocably damage herself and the life she was carrying inside, smelled like London. Like fog, but also like soap and the smell of rain.

“Will…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Tess, what’s wrong?” Will asked, his tone concerned. He stroked her hair and her back with tenderness and he noticed that they were damp. “You’re sweating…” Her head was still bent on his chest and her hands were holding the lapels of his wet jacket as if she was holding onto dear life. He was her dear life, indeed. “Tess, talk to me” he pleaded.

She looked up then, locking eyes with him. The lights were dimmer on the stairs, and she couldn’t see the blue of his eyes, but she knew it was there. Will was there. Her husband was there.

“It’s time.”

She couldn’t make out his expression at first. One moment he looked puzzled until there wasn’t any guess as to what time it was. Her water broke and it damped her bare feet and Will’s already wet boots.

“By the Angel… Bridget!” he shouted, and Tessa shook in his arms. In the meantime, he was still caressing her hair gently, to keep her tranquil. But he was shaking like a leaf as well, since he was already wet because of the rain outside and because, Tessa thought, he might be nervous. His hair stuck to his forehead in a strange way, making him seem like one of those heroes in Victorian novels. He was handsome, and wet.

She put her hands on his arm to steady herself. “You’re wet” she said, touching his arms and then his chest, his hair and then his face.

Will put a reassuring hand behind her back. “So are you” he looked at her pale feet on step and then slowly checked her out until he was back on her face. She saw something change in his features in that instant. Fear? Anxiety? Joy? She couldn’t name it, but she knew that he was invested by a different range of emotions. “Tess. My Tessa. We are about to…” he didn’t finish his thought because Tessa bend over in his arms. “Bridget! It’s an emergency. Come! Or I’ll forbid you from singing those awful songs in the kitchen!”

Tessa automatically laughed, but it was short lived, because laughing made her belly hurt. His hand instinctively went on her stomach over hers. “I swear, if she doesn’t come in a minute, I’ll really do that,” Will declared with a bit of anger tinging his voice. “Let me carry you upstairs” he added, then secured a hand behind her back and they climbed the stairs until they were back in their bedroom and he helped her sit on all of the pillows that were on the mattress. Her back wasn’t feeling much better, but at least they helped ease the pain.

“Are you okay?” he wondered, after she closed her eyes for a brief moment. He could see she was trying hard not to show she was in pain. He took her hand in his and she noticed his hands were cold, while hers where scorching hot and sweaty.

“I’m fine,” she nodded to reassure him, when another contraction came and she yelped.

“Tell me what I can do to stop the pain” Will said, and she could tell he was restless because he felt like he couldn’t do anything to help her. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he called Bridget, but he didn’t want to leave Tessa alone and go downstairs to call the cook. What if Tessa needed him and he wouldn’t be there?

You can’t do anything but wait, a voice said from behind them.

Will turned his head and sighed. It was a sigh of relief. Not that he wouldn’t know what to do if they couldn’t call anybody to help Tessa, but he would love the help, and he knew that in these occasions there was only a person he would entrust to help them.

“How did you know? Did…” he asked, but his question was cut short because Tessa had another contraction. He glanced at his wife. Her face was even paler than before, and she touched her stomach where it hurt.

Jem, Brother Zachariah, walked towards the bed before speaking again. How many minutes between a contraction and another? He inquired.

“I don’t know,” Tessa murmured, her voice weak and barely audible.

“I think the last one was less than five minutes ago” said Will, still holding his wife’s hand like a lifeline. “Is this a good or a bad thing?”

It means that she’s close. She’s into labor, which means that she’s dilated enough. Or this is how it should be.

Will frowned. “Dilated what? How can we know?”

Tess looked at her husband and laughed. It wasn’t as energetic as she’d wanted it to be, but it was a feel-good laugh. Not that Will didn’t know anything on how babies are born, but it was her who had spoken with Jem about this topic and what to expect, and he was probably just anxious to think clearly. “He just means that the baby can come out anytime now” she explained with a soft smile.

He looked perplexed. “Ah, yes. I mean, I know” he said. “Shouldn’t we check, then?”

Tessa looked at Jem in that instant, for confirmation. Yes. You could check yourself, if you’d like. He replied, then distanced himself from his friends a bit, giving them privacy.

Will left Tessa’s hand and stood up, then grabbed the hem of her nightgown and glanced at her face before doing what he had to do. “Can I?”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before” Tessa said with a playful tone and an eyebrow raised, when another contraction hit her and made her shudder.

Will panicked and did what he had to. “By the angel, I think I see the head. I mean, I see black. All black. And it usually isn’t this dark down t…” He left the sentence hanging, shaking his head as if he had said too much.

Tessa rolled her eyes, but she was amused. “Will!” She admonished him, and didn’t dare to look at Jem, who was now in the furthest angle of their bedroom. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. She hoped.

It’s the head, Brother Zachariah told them. You need to push until it’s out. Will, you need to help. Stay where you are, it will be easier to get the baby out.

Will looked at his ex parabatai with determination and nodded, then took Tessa’s hand in his. Jem had definitely heard what her husband said, but who cared now. It’s not like he didn’t know how she got pregnant.

She opened her legs more and grabbed the blanket for leverage with her free hand, while her left still gripped Will’s. She knew what she had to do; she had read it on some of the books she’d found. She needed to push until the baby was out and then it would be over. On paper it looked easy, but after the first time, she felt her whole body shook with pain. She had closed her eyes. The only things she could feel were the wet mattress under her and Will’s firm hand keeping her where she was and trying to tell her that he held her back.

“You’re doing great, Tess” he told her lovingly. “But it’s not over yet. I know it’s hard, but you have to give all your might for this to be over.”

Tessa pushed again, again, and again, until she felt something change under her stomach. She felt freer, liberated, but not completely. She looked at Will. He was still looking at her core, and he was holding something with both hands. Their eyes met, and he was content. Ecstatic. “One last push, Tessa.”

She did as she was told. The room was eerily quiet for a moment, but then a small cry erupted and filled everything, especially her heart. Their baby’s cry.

She couldn’t see well what happened in the next five minutes because she was blinded by her tears, but in the blurry moment she saw Will cut the umbilical cord and Jem checking if their baby was healthy. The child is fine, he told them. Then she saw him coming to her and checking her pulse and her face. I suggest you rest after until morning to recuperate. If you have any problems, just call me again. He then walked towards the door, ready to leave.

“Jem” Tessa called, before he was out of the door. “Thanks.”

Brother Zachariah stopped in his tracks. Anytime. Congratulations. And then he was out.

Tessa knew that he didn’t mean to sound so detached. He was a Silent Brother now, and they didn’t show any emotion, but she knew that Jem was happy for them. She knew that they could deliver the baby alone if they needed to, but still. She had appreciated that he had taken the time to come and to check everything went fine.

She looked at Will, then. The baby was lying in her husband’s arms and was still crying, but he was trying to soothe him. Will looked at Tessa and smiled one of those smiles that tell you that person is completely and utterly happy, no one could disrupt his happiness. He walked to her side of the bed and sat down on the mattress next to her.

“Here’s your mom, cariad” he cooed over him as he passed him to his wife.

“Hello, baby” Tessa said, as tears pooled in her eyes once again. Their baby was beautiful, she noticed. He had Will’s dark curls and bright golden eyes. She wondered if her father had had those eyes, but it was likely, since nor she or Will had that shade in their families.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Will said, looking at her adoringly. Tessa blushed, and grinned. The pain hadn’t subsided completely, but she felt more at ease. He stroked her cheek and her chin and covered her hand with his.

She looked down at the small bundle in her arms and then back at Will. “You can’t mean me” she teased, even if she knew he totally found her beautiful even in her disheveled state. She surely looked like Bertha Mason during one of the nights where she wanted to terrorize Jane.

Will replied with a quick kiss on her lips. She realized he wasn’t cold anymore, although his hair was still a bit wet. “I love you, Tess. You have no idea how happy I am right now.” He grinned, but his eyes were tearing up with joy, and then he was crying. “And I love you, James” he said to the baby.

Then it was Tessa’s turn to cry. “Welcome to the Shadowhunter world, James” she said.

The new parents glanced at each other as their tears mixed with their quiet laughs. They didn’t know if the baby would be a he or a she, but they were sure of one thing. That if their child would be a boy, he would be named James.

As Will and Tessa got acquainted with their first son, Brother Zachariah, Jem Carstairs, wished he could cry of joy as well. He hadn’t left the Institute yet because he was giving Bridget things Tessa may need for the newborn. Oh, it was Bridget who had called him, indeed. According to her, she decided to call him even if Tessa hadn’t told him so because she had seen something was wrong during dinner. That was the reason why he rushed there and got just in time. Luckily, Will returned before it would be time as well. He would have helped Tessa if Will hadn’t made it, but he knew Will wouldn’t forgive himself for missing his baby’s birth, so it was a blessing that he came back just in time to save his wife and actively help her deliver their son.

Jem knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, it wasn’t in his nature, but he wanted to check. He wanted to see his friends one last time before going back to the Silent City. He knew they were fine, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to see them one last time. Despite being cold and detached after he became a Silent Brother, he knew that after tonight he would feel a bit warmer on the inside, because the love Will and Tessa felt for him invigorated his spirit and gave him the strength to go on with his life. And now, he was also sure little James would give him strength, and he would look after his parents when he couldn’t secretly sneak out of the Silent City to go see them and pretend, he had an emergency.

Welcome, James Herondale.

#will herondale #tessa gray #the infernal devices #jem carstairs #james herondale #cassandra clare #fan fiction #chain of gold #the last hours #my edits #tweety writes

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter six | the million dollar question

a/n: i just... kinda pulled this one out of my butt so bear with me.

Those pages were as fresh as anything, and as smooth as the stones down at the bed of a stream. Sam cradled the book with the palm of one hand as if she was reading to an audience. There was art in there: the first task was to coax out of the paper. And the question there hung over her head: what to draw and then hand into her counselor down by the school. She flipped through the pages for a double check on the count: forty five.

“Make this worthwhile,” she muttered to herself. She doubled back to the wall to click on the thermostat and a chill ran up her spine. It was going to be a cold night, that remained for certain. She decided on a bit of dinner by herself and then turned in for the night at around eleven; no sooner had she curled under the covers and switched off the light when something caught her ear.

She lifted her head from the pillow and looked about her dark room. No light except for the amber street light accompanied by those little ghostly white flurries outside. And yet she heard it again: a low quiet rumble emerging through the floor. She pay close attention to it to feel a bit of a melody to it.

She then snickered and nodded her head.

“It's awful late, though, Frankie,” she said aloud as she lay her head back down on the pillow. And yet the guttural drone of his bass put her to sleep within time.

She turned her head to find that strange man once again, the one with the white stripe in his hair, but that time, he lay down next to her on a bed of sand. His hair fanned out from his head like he had been electrocuted; he lay his arms out from either side of his body so he was open for her. It didn't help matters that the top three buttons of his shirt were undone to show off most of his chest, either. His eyes appeared to be comprised of stone but the skin on his face was smooth and clean looking.

Sam crawled over to him for a look into his face. He resembled to a little doll, albeit one with more deep set eyes and more defined features. Now that she had a good look at him, she could tell he was very handsome. She looked down at his body, clothed in a white silk shirt and a plush dark red blazer.

“How'd we even get here?” she asked him in a voice so hollow that she might as well have been saying it through a tunnel. He said something but his words slurred into nothing. His eyes rolled into his head.

“Wake up—wake up!” she commanded with her hands on either side of his face. His skin was smooth but felt like nothing. He parted his sensual lips and she hung right over his face.

“Don't go on me, please,” she begged in a soft voice.

“Not here—” was what she heard him say in a broken voice. She glanced down at the rest of him and his legs extended out from underneath her. He raised one knee and held onto her shoulders. He pushed her off of him and he rolled over on top of her.

Sam lay on the sand underneath him; she never unlocked her gaze from his. Fine tendrils of black hair streamed down from either side of his head like a filmy curtain, and then there was that stripe on the crown, so pearly and silvery in the sunlight around them.

“What're you doing?” she demanded, and he brought his face right up to hers.

“You tell me,” he whispered. She looked down again to find he was right on top of her. His stomach was soft before, why wasn't it soft then? She then looked up at the blue sky over their heads and the sight of an airplane resting on the rock behind their heads. A little model airplane that looked to be made of paper.

“Do ya wanna punish me?” he whispered to her.

“For that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he begged her. “Punish me. Punish me for being so fucking bad.”

But she was stuck there on the sand. There was no way she could lift her arms or push him off of her, this strange man who looked as though he just came out of a strip club. She raised her head off of the sand in hopes to at least touch the tip of his nose. His pained little whimpers. The fact he just begged her to do it. He wanted it more than her.

But before she could even so much as touch the tip of his nose, a wave crashed down at their feet and surrounded the both of them with rich royal blue water. He held onto her as the waves carried them over to the plane. She held onto the nose of the plane even though it was made of paper.

“Samantha!” His voice was drowned out by the rush of the waters around them. She said his name but no sound came out of her mouth. He pushed against the current and clung onto her body for dear life.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I am, yeah,” he said in a soft voice. His face was soft and his hair had been soaked down to the roots. But she saw him at a tender level right there in the water.

“It's going to be okay,” she whispered to him; even there in the water, she could feel him trembling from the cold and from the fear. “Everything is going to be okay...”

Her words bled away and she awoke to complete dead silence around her as well as the pearly white from the fresh fallen snow outside of her window. She almost expected to hear Frank's rumbling bass from downstairs once again, and she wondered if they had gone back to the place from before. There was also the black journal in the next room, right there on the shelf.

She lay there on her back for a moment to think about the man in her dreams once again. She never found out his name but she said his name there, and it felt as though she spoke to someone she had known for a long time, too. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable, and she even woke up with such a cold feeling on her nose that it felt damp to the touch. He felt soft but he also existed in her mind, which meant she couldn't feel him at all. He was a contradiction, and a strange one that her mind had invented no less.

She rubbed her eyes and then she slid out from underneath the covers. The cold carpet sent chills up her legs and up her spine. She shivered as she tugged the covers back towards the head board of her bed, and then she ducked into the next room to switch on the thermostat again.

There was a knock on the door, albeit one so loud that it startled her. She was in nothing more than a little black camisole, silk pajama bottoms, and striped socks, and thus she hoped it was nothing too important. Shivering, she made her way over to the door for a look out the peephole. She recognized dark curls over a round face and a cleft chin. Sam flung open the door to find Charlie bundled up in a heavy dark sweater and dark sweat pants. He smelled clean and soapy, and she took a second look to find his hair dripping wet.

“Charlie! What's up?”

“I was wondering when—” He hesitated to have a look at her camisole and the silk covering her legs. “—when you'd—you—what'cha doin'?”

“I—just got up,” she reluctantly said. He nibbled on his bottom lip, and before either of them could say something, a loud crack followed by a repeated ticking caught them both by surprise. Sam lunged forward and clutched onto Charlie's shoulders. He stared down at her chest as she pressed her body against his.

“I think that was just the heater,” he told her in a low voice. “Like—the furnace doing its thing.”

“I think you're right,” she said with a break in her voice, “I feel the heat from the vent in there.”

She peered up into his round face and his big dark eyes.

“I think you can let go of me now,” he stammered out. She lifted her fingers from his shoulders and then dusted off the front of his sweater.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered him.

“You know, it's funny—I was just gonna ask you that,” he quipped as if nothing happened.

“You touched a girl and now you wanna buy her a drink,” she taunted him.

“No! I, I mean, yes? Yes. I mean, no. No. I mean, yes!”

Sam burst out laughing at that and she set a hand on his chest. Charlie hunched his shoulders a bit, but she put her arm around him and guided him into her apartment. Frazzled, he closed the door behind him and let out a low whistle.

“Sit tight,” she advised him, “I have to change my clothes.”

“You can—still wear your jammies,” he pointed out. “Frankie's got coffee.”

“You just wanna see me in my jammies,” she retorted. He nibbled on his bottom lip once again and he tugged on the hem of his sweater. She noticed a pinkish hue appearing in his chubby cheeks.

“C'mon, Charlie,” she said as she folded her arms across her chest. She took a glimpse down to find she had accentuated her chest.

But then he shook his head, such that loose strands of curly hair stuck out from the crown of his head.

“You sure?” she asked him. “Mr. Bedhead?”

“Positive,” he replied in a voice that sounded as though he was holding his breath. She ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, and then she ducked back into her bedroom. She imagined a white bedsheet over the doorway and a light on the other side of the room so she could cast a silhouette on there. But she made her way over to the closet for a fresh change of clothes and her boots. Her regular shoes were around there somewhere, but she took what she could get at the moment.

Once she was laced up and had fixed her sweat shirt collar, she returned to Charlie, who had tucked his hands into his sweater pockets even though it had warmed up at a rather quick rate in those few moments. He raised his eyebrows at her, even though his bangs hid them from her view.

“Let's mosey on out,” she declared.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait—hold up.”

“What?”

He gestured to the other side of the room, where she spotted the black journal there on the shelf. She snapped her fingers and smiled at him.

“Of course!” She crossed the room for the journal and tucked it under her arm. She swiped the set of pens there and tucked those into her sweater pocket, and then she joined Charlie at the doorway. He closed the door behind them to keep the warmth in the apartment while they were downstairs. They reached the bottom of the stairs and Charlie took a seat on the banister.

“Ow—” He hit his foot on the bottom of the banister. He lost his balance and almost fell off the rail. She stepped forward so he could catch himself. He dusted himself off and showed her an awkward little smile.

“Some coffee and a bit of breakfast for our tums,” she declared.

“Yes, please!”

Charlie followed Sam down the corridor to Frank's apartment, where they were met with another low, quiet rumble through the floor.

“Frankie's awake,” Charlie remarked; Sam knocked on the panel of the door three times. The hum disappeared, so she knocked again, that time with the palm of her hand. The door swung open and Frank poked his head out. His lush dark hair hung down like the ears of a dog.

“Hey,” he greeted them.

“Hey,” Sam echoed him.

“What'cha doin'?” Charlie asked him.

“Hang on—” Frank ducked back into the room with the door left ajar for a second.

“Frankie?” Charlie called out.

“Hang on,” Frank called back. Something fell over inside of there. “Ouch—ow—ow—” Frank emerged from behind the door wearing an ugly puffy sweater. He tugged down the hem of the sweater over his skinny jeans.

“What're you doing?” Sam chuckled.

“I'm—playing,” he replied with a stutter.

“Playing,” she echoed as she stepped into the warm apartment first.

“Yeah—I was—playing a riff.” Frank turned to his bass guitar, which he had leaned against the back of the couch.

“Were you playing the same thing last night?”

Charlie shut the door behind them and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“I was, yeah!” Frank then knitted his eyebrows together and frowned at her. “How'd you know?”

“I heard it rumbling through the floor,” she said.

“All rumbly rumbly in your bones,” Charlie cracked.

“Nah, I was laying down in bed already,” she pointed out. Her gaze meandered over to the shelf on the left side of the room: she spotted a framed picture of two boys rested against the wall.

“What'cha lookin' at?” Frank asked her.

“That picture there.”

“Oh, that's us! Me and Charlie here.” Sam picked the black and white photograph off of the shelf with her free hand for a look herself. She recognized the cleft in Charlie's chin right next to Frank's sensible little haircut.

“Aw, what cute little boys!” she squeaked, which brought a laugh out of Frank.

“Adorable li'l childs we were,” Charlie joked with a shrug of his shoulders. She then dropped her gaze to the black journal tucked underneath her arm.

“Yes!” he exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes what?” Frank asked.

“Sam's got her little book and her pen set with her.”

“Oh, yeah! Draw us as kids! That'll be your first entry for your portfolio.” Sam nodded her head as she gazed on at the two young boys in the photograph. Sketch it out first and then add some pen.

“We actually came here for coffee but now we've got a better reason,” Charlie pointed out.

“I was actually about to make myself some as a matter of fact...” Frank's voice trailed off as he padded into the kitchen. Sam gazed down at the photograph again to better study their faces: all the times she had drawn from a reference photo she had to take a good long look at it. The man in her dream was not enough of a reference for her to finish that drawing in her other sketchbook. She would have to dream of him a few more times for a better observation of his face and the streak on the crown of his head.

With her hands full, she strode on over to the kitchen table, right before the rack of bass guitars. She set down the photograph on the table right next to her journal, the latter of which she opened up to that first clean white page. She ran her fingertips on the surface of the paper to feel it yet again.

“Do you have a pencil on hand?” she asked Frank as he loaded up the coffee maker.

“A pencil? Like a straight up pencil or the artsy kind of pencil?”

“The artsy kind.”

“I have a bunch of those back at home,” Charlie added as he took a seat next to her; she spotted a black jacket draped over the back of his chair, “I know that doesn't really help, but—it's something.”

“Would a regular ol' pencil work?” Frank asked her as he closed the lid of the coffee maker.

“Absolutely,” she replied; Frank reached behind him to open the drawer and he took out a yellow pencil with a still pristine pink eraser on the end. Before she could thank him, the phone rang. He jerked back to the phone on the wall.

“Hello?”

Charlie turned to Sam with his arms folded over the top of the table.

“You wanna watch me?” she asked him in a soft tone.

“If you don't mind,” he admitted with a shrug of the shoulders.

“Not at all,” she replied, and she could not resist the smile from crossing over her face. Careful to not press down on the paper too hard, she began sketching out their little heads. Charlie rested his chin in the palm of his hand and watched her every move. She tuned him out for a few seconds before Frank's phone call broke her out of it.

“Wait, where are you?”

Sam and Charlie turned to look in his direction. Frank then turned around with his lips parted and his eyes large with concern.

“Okay—okay, Joey. We'll be there. Stay warm.” He hung up the phone and returned to the two of them there at his table.

“What's going on?” Charlie asked him.

“Joey got stuck. He's up around the outside of Binghamton and he ran out of gas. He found a pay phone on the side of the road so he didn't have to walk far.”

“What's he doing up there?”

“He was going to visit his parents. Apparently, the heater in his car malfunctioned a bit, too—so while he could get some heat into the car, it's not a lot. And then, of course, he had to walk a bit up to the phone.”

“So we're going to have to go get him now,” Sam concluded.

“I'm glad you changed your clothes,” Charlie told her; he returned to Frank. “She wanted to come on down in her pajamas.”

“Oh, no, don't do that just yet,” Frank teased her with a wag of his finger. And then his face turned serious. “Okay, so when this thing's done, we'll boogie on outta here because the poor guy's been walking around in the snow and he had to go back to his lukewarm car.”

“How far is it from here?” Sam asked them.

“It's three hours. Joey told me he's got a big Indian blanket in his back seat so he put it up there with him to keep himself warm.”

“Why can't his parents come get him?”

“Apparently his dad doesn't like driving around in the snow, which is a little ridiculous because this is New York. It snows this time of year like clockwork. They live up near Syracuse, which is like the prime example of that. But, whatever.”

Within a minute, the coffee maker finished the brew and Frank took out a pair of gray travel mugs with black lids.

“I'm sorry, I just have two of these,” he confessed.

“I'll drink mine down real quick,” Charlie offered.

“You sure?” Sam asked him as she closed her journal and tucked her pens back into her pocket.

Frank poured Charlie a little cup full of black coffee.

“Be careful, Char—it's a little bit hot.”

Indeed, once he handed Charlie the cup, he proceeded to blow on the surface. Frank then poured the coffee from the carafe into the travel mugs.

“A bit of cream, right?” he asked Sam.

“Yes please.”

He took the cream out of the fridge and poured it into her travel mug. When he put the lid on his mug, Charlie tipped the mug into his lips and gulped down the coffee in four large swallows. He set down the cup on the table and hung his tongue out of his mouth like a dog. He then stood to his feet and took the coat off of the back of the chair and put it on over his body.

“Come on, puff daddy,” Charlie commanded as he held onto the back of Frank's shirt collar. He gathered himself and handed Sam her travel mug and they bustled out of his apartment; using his free hand, Frank locked up the place and led the way down the hall, where they were met with Emile in his doorway.

“Was that you making those bass sounds earlier?” he quipped to Frank.

“Yeah, it was totally me,” he replied with haste.

“Can't really talk about it, though, Emile,” Sam told him with even more haste; she reached the front door first.

“Be careful, kids!” he called after them.

The three of them bustled out into the snowy blustery morning: a blanket of gray clouds covered the sky overhead, although Sam could see the clouds thinning near the sun so the snow around them glowed with such a bright white glare. Frank overtook her at the base of the stairs and he kept going on down the sidewalk to his car. Again, with one hand, he unlocked the passenger side door.

“Shotgun,” Sam called out.

“Damn it!” Charlie groaned, and Frank burst out laughing. She slid into the cushy front passenger seat with her journal still tucked under her arm; she put the travel mug in between her thighs so she could on her seat belt. Frank meanwhile unlocked and opened the driver's side door, still with his right hand. He slid into the seat, right behind the steering wheel.

“You wanna hold onto this for me?” he asked Sam.

“Gladly.” She put her fingers around the travel mug so he could close the door and strap into the seat. Charlie closed the door and shook his head about. Frank stuck the key into the ignition: a little bit of rough noises, but the car roared to life. Sam shivered under her sweater and she regretted not taking her jacket with her. But then again, it was an emergency so there was very little time to do anything else.

Sam held the mug up to her mouth for a little sip. Warm and smooth, and warm enough to keep her comfortable until enough heat got into the car. But she continued to shiver at the feeling of the intense New York cold.

Frank brought them to the stoplight up ahead, just in time for the light to turn green. At least the windows were closed against the cold winds and the icy puddles on the pitch black pavement; at one point, she looked over at him when he let go of the steering wheel. He balled his hand and breathed onto his fingers and his palm.

“Jesus,” Charlie sputtered.

“Yeah,” said Frank as he blew on his hand again and shook it about. “I hope once we get onto the highway and cross the river, I can turn on the heater. Holy shit.”

Indeed, they reached the onramp to the freeway and Sam huddled down even more in the front seat. The tip of her nose felt like ice once again: her sweater proved to only do so much as the cold sank down through the fabric into her skin.

“Even that puffy shirt can't keep you warm?” Charlie asked Frank.

“Just barely,” he confessed as he took another sip of coffee. “My hands are colder than anything.”

“My hands and my nose are freezing,” Sam told them. “Three hours of this.”

“Hang on—” Frank changed lanes so they could cross the bridge over the vast Hudson River: the dark waters looked frigid and stony under the gray sky and the banks of snow.

“Is it the Hudson River that's polluted to death?” she asked them.

“That's the East River,” Frank corrected her, “it's like you have Manhattan on the peninsula and then Brooklyn on the island. In between there is the East River. You don't wanna fall into the East River.”

“You really don't,” Charlie told her. “I imagine it's like falling into a vat of radioactive waste.”

“So is that the other reason why New Yorkers are so tough?” she joked, which brought a laugh out of Frank.

“Yeah, I guess?” he said; he overtook a car in front of them and returned to their lane. “It's like—when you're growing up in a literal shithole that gets ridiculously cold in the winter time and hotter than hell in the summer, yeah, it's gonna give you a tough skin of sorts. I dunno what growing up near L.A. was like, but I would think it was along those lines.”

“Nah, with L.A., it's more heat and garbage air,” she replied. “I had a few friends growing up who had asthma because of it. And the fog coming in from the ocean doesn't really help much, either.” They reached the end of the bridge and the beginning of upstate New York stretched before them for miles and miles on end.

“Speaking of air...” Frank reached forward to switch on the heater. They were met with a blast of lukewarm air, but it was better than sitting in the cold. The sun burst out from behind the clouds.

“There we go!” Charlie clapped.

“Yeah, let's get our asses warm!” Frank cheered as he took another sip of coffee.

The sun followed them all the way up the winding highway into the snow blanketed woods. The whole stretch of forest reminded Sam of Northern California, and also the forested mountains to the north of of Los Angeles. She cradled the mug of coffee in both hands and watched the wilderness rise up before her eyes, and even more so when they reached the cut off that led up to Binghamton. Within time, enough heat had built up in Frank's car, and the heater vents blasted out all that warm air. Frank himself downed the rest of his coffee and nestled the cup in between his thighs. At one point, he rubbed his hands together while leaving the wheel free.

“Look, ma! No hands!” Charlie and Sam burst out laughing at him.

Within a few hours, they reached Binghamton, a cozy looking town straddled right on the Susquehanna River, blanketed in a fine white layer of fresh lake effect snow. The sun dipped behind the clouds once more.

“Let's see,” Frank recalled as he stroked his chin, “—Joey said he was broken down—right there!”

“You sure that's him?” Charlie rested either elbow on the tops of the seats and hovered right in between them.

“I recognize that junky piece of car he drives.”

“Junky piece of car?” Sam chuckled.

“Junky piece of car, yes!” Frank laughed along with her. Indeed, Joey's black car had posted up on the side of the road, just before the interchange and a bit away from a faded blue pay phone, which poked out of the snow. They pulled up behind his car, which looked empty from the rear view window. Frank left the car idling as he and Charlie climbed out to check on him. Sam watched them congregate on the driver's side: Frank looked confused where Charlie rounded the back end to open the passenger door. She climbed out of the car to check on him for herself right next to Charlie.

Joey had stretched himself across the back seat with the Indian blanket spread over his little body. He had brought the hem up to his ears and he wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses over his face. Strands of jet black curls dangled down into his face.

“Is he okay?” she asked them.

“We have no idea,” Charlie confessed. “I'm almost inclined to grab a rock and just smash open the window—”

Joey opened his lips to say something but they could barely hear him.

“What'd he say?” Frank asked.

“Joey, can you hear me?” Charlie called out.

He said it again.

“Louder for the people to hear, Joey!” Frank declared.

“The girl with the black journal,” he proclaimed in a broken voice, but she never said anything.

Charlie turned to Sam with a bit of a sneer on his face.

“He wants you,” he said.

“I think he was just making an observation,” Frank pointed out as they were met by Joey tapping on the inside panel with the sole of his foot. Charlie held onto the door handle and pulled it open.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” he noted.

“Yeah, you did,” Joey replied with a shudder underneath the blanket. “The temp dropped off like an hour ago so I got under the blanket here. There was no way in Earth on hell I was walking all the way to Binghamton when my feet are achin' me like crazy.”

He peered over his sunglasses at Sam: those deep brown eyes as dark as the bare patch of drenched pavement beneath her feet.

“You wanna tell me sump'n?” he asked her; she kept her eyes fixated on his two front teeth, to where she spotted a little gap on the right side. She never saw that gap before.

“Not—really, no,” she confessed. “It's—cold here. I'm—feeling the cold in here.”

“Yeah, that's upstate for ya,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “It's my fault, I should'a known it was gonna get this cold. But, Sam, I'm gonna tell ya this right now, too—it's only gonna get more and more damp the further we go towards the lakes. So—”

“Better bundle up?”

“I was actually gonna say, watch the lid on that li'l cup of coffee there, but—” He nodded his head. “—yeah, that, too! Drive in a car that actually gives you heat, too. Can't forget that, like ever. And stock up on fuel—gotta remember that.”

Frank rounded the back end of the car to join Sam and Charlie.

“Do you need some help?” he asked Joey.

“The million dollar question. I need a lift and also a lift.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #joey belladonna #frank bello #charlie benante #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #chapter 6 #also on ao3 #text #writeblr

[justjessame]

A Little Ass And A Lotta Sass  Second Time’s a Charm?

Negan kept Judith with him, which meant I stayed with him too. He shaved with Dad’s razor in Dad’s bathroom, smiling at me in the mirror. “Caught you starin’,” he winked, swiping the blade across his skin, missing no whisker and becoming younger with every swipe.

“Still trying to decide what’s mentally deficient about you,” I answered, smirking at his squinting eyes. “You’re like a science experiment, have to study it to have it make sense.”

Carl comes in and Negan starts giving him shaving advice, I roll my eyes at Carl and he grins back at me. Judith is bouncing on my lap and it would almost be a sweet scene, if it weren’t for the narcissistic dick holding us hostage.

After his shave, and more fucking lemonade, he made us dinner. Spaghetti with homemade sauce. He offered me the spoon to taste, and I considered refusing, but what the hell. I love pasta and if there’s a good sauce, I’ll take it. I flicked my tongue out to taste it, and heard him groan above me.

“Shit, darlin’, are you trying to get my dick hard?” His voice was low, quiet almost, so Carl wouldn’t hear. “Because let me tell you,” he leaned his head down close to my head, his breath fanning my hair. “You don’t have to fuckin’ try, I’ve been hard since I saw you on that fucking porch the other day.”

I tilted my head when he raised his. “Seriously?” I asked, staring into his eyes. “Do women actually fall for this shit?”

He chuckled, not the boisterous laughter as before, this came out low and deep and dark. “Like you won’t fucking believe, doll.”

I smirked up at him. “There’s at least one woman it doesn’t work on.” He stared back and I leaned forward, crooking my finger for him to come closer. When he did, I whispered in his ear, knowing my breath was hot against his skin. “Me.”

I turned away, and picked up Judith. “Carl, you can set the table, OK?” I yelled, moving to the stairs so I could change my sister. “I’ll be right back.”

Upstairs, I lean against Judith’s bedroom door. What the literal fuck is that man doing? Was he trying to seduce me? I bit my lip as I moved into the room to do what I said I was going to do. Changing Judith’s diaper and brushing her curls so they were back to some order, I considered for the very first time whether I could use Negan’s obvious interest in me to get Dad and Alexandria back to normal. I thought about one of my favorite classes from school. History. What had fighting kingdoms done in the past when they couldn’t stand war any longer? Didn’t they barter for marriage? Uniting the kingdoms. Could I do that? Would it work?

“Callie,” I heard Negan’s voice call up the stairs, and wondered if he had to ask Carl what my name was to use it. “Dinner’s ready.”

Dinner was a bit awkward. Mostly silent, I held Judith on my lap and offered her tiny bites from my plate. Negan was somewhat tense and he mentioned he was growing tired of waiting for Dad. “I suppose,” I said, clearing my throat and taking a sip of lemonade. “I suppose, I could keep you company while you wait.”

I didn’t look at him. Looking at him would mean he’d either look triumphant, or he’d brush the offer off. I felt Carl’s foot nudge mine under the table, and glanced up at him with a warning in my eye. Swallowing hard, I waited to see what Negan would do with what I proposed.

“And just how would you keep me company, darlin’?” I could hear the fucking cockiness in his voice and had to focus on feeding Judith another bite.

I shrugged, and felt him stand from the table and move to hover over the back of my chair. My heart thumped harder in my chest, wondering what I was possibly thinking with the offer, with the half formed plan in my mind. I felt his finger, ungloved now, trace the side of my neck, brushing my hair from my shoulder. I closed my eyes, wishing he’d stop while Carl was bearing witness.

“Carl, take your little sister out for a walk,” Negan’s voice was low, and I felt a flutter in my stomach. “Callie and I need to have a chat.”

Carl, clearly not wanting to witness whatever was coming anymore than I wanted him to, came around and took Judith from my arms. He looked down at me as I opened my eyes, fear and worry clear in his blue eye. I gave him a small smile, hoping that he understood that I’d be fine, hoping I was right about that.

Negan waited until he heard the front door shut behind Carl and Judith. I felt his breath against the side of my neck, the same side he’d traced with his finger. “Now, Callie, what type of company are you wanting to keep with me?”

I felt my chest tighten, if his finger was torture, the heat of his breath was a fucking nightmare. Jesus, what the hell was I doing. And why the fuck did I like it? I bit my lip and heard him groan. “Shit, baby girl, don’t bite it.” I felt his thumb touch my bottom lip and without thinking, my tongue flicked against the calloused pad. “Fuck.” I heard him swallow hard, his mouth so close to my neck that I could almost feel his lips. “I didn’t think you liked me, Callie.” He sounded different, almost unsure.

I turned, and found his face so close that our noses brushed. “I’m not sure I do.” My voice was breathless, our eyes locked together. And then his lips touched mine and I was lost. An indecent moan escaped from one of us, surely not me? Dear God, it was me, and then I was in his arms, clutching at his white t-shirt as his mouth fought with mine. Our tongues touched and it felt like fire running through me, all the way down to where my crotch was tight against the denim of my jeans. His face was smooth from his shave, my fingers touching where his dimples were still indented. Then my hands were tight in his hair, holding his mouth to mine.

We finally parted for the urge to breathe, not to stop. I felt him lift me on to the bare part of the dining room table, his hands gripping my waist and tugging me forward before laying me back. His lips were on my neck as he hovered over me, standing between my open legs. I felt his hot kisses on my skin, the graze of his teeth, his tongue flicking against my pulse. Jesus, I thought, maybe this wasn’t such a fucking bad idea.

I felt his hips lower, rocking his denim clad and very hard dick against my own covered pelvis. Shit, I thought, arching up against him for more friction. He moaned into my collarbone, and I felt him give me a gentle nip. “Fuck, don’t stop.” He rocked against me as I rolled back against him. Feeling like the world could stop right fucking now, and neither of us would notice. My legs wrapped around his waist, holding him against me as we rutted against one another, moaning and gripping one another. His mouth kissing the skin available above the v-neck of my t-shirt and I could feel it build. Something I hadn’t had in far too fucking long. Biting my lip, my fingers clutching his head, pulling at his hair, I came hard against his thrusting hips. I felt him tense and knew, like anyone who’d ever taken their dry humping too far, that he had too.

“Fuck,” he breathed into my chest. “Just had me cumming in my jeans like a fucking teenager.” I was breathing hard too, but that made me laugh. He looked up at my face, propping his chin beneath my breasts. “Oh, shit, darlin’ if that’s what we can do with our fucking clothes on, what the fuck’s gonna happen when we’re naked?”

“Who says we’re ever going to get naked?” I asked, leaning up on my elbows. “I only agreed to keep you company until Dad gets back. I never agreed to more.”

I was saved from further explanation when a knock came to the front door. Negan, shooting me a look that I couldn’t decipher, pulled himself up and off of me. I glanced down at his jeans, and grinned. Yep, a wet spot. “Get the fucking door,” he ordered, rushing up the stairs to no doubt steal something from Dad’s limited wardrobe.

 Spencer was at the door, having convinced a Savior guard I hadn’t noticed earlier to let him pass. Bottle of liquor in his hand, wanting to suck up to the new master, I guessed. He took in my appearance and I wondered what he was seeing. I knew my jeans didn’t have a noticeable wet spot, but I hadn’t even glanced in the mirror on my way to the door.

“I’d like to speak to Negan,” he said, and I wondered if he practiced in the mirror.

I heard his gruff voice behind me. “You do, do you?” The heat of Negan’s body was close enough to my back for me to know he was almost pressed against me. He looks at his guard, and snorts. “Don’t be an asshole, come on-” he looks at Spencer, and moves gently past me, his hand on my waist and I notice that Spencer takes note of it.

“Spencer Monroe,” Spencer offers his hand as Negan stands in front of me. I watch as they take seats in the rocking chairs and move to go inside.

“Callie,” Negan’s voice is almost singsong, like he had been at the gate. “Bring us a couple of glasses, darlin’.” I glare at them both, but neither of them are watching me. Throwing my hands up, I walk inside and slam the door.

I gather up two smaller glasses and stomp outside. Slamming them down on the banister in front of Negan, I move to stomp back inside, but his hand on my wrist stops me. “We still have a conversation to have, Callie.” He promises, his fingers trailing down to my hand. “I won’t forget.” I pull away and walk more quietly back inside. Closing the door, less forcefully than before, I lean against it and wonder what the fuck I got myself into.

I move to the downstairs bathroom and take stock of how I look in the mirror. Well fuck, I thought. My hair, which I’d left down for once, was a tangle of curls. My lips were definitely swollen and darker from the rough kissing. And, I tilted my head and glared at my neck, was that a fucking hickie?! For fuck’s sake, that bastard marked me.

#negan x ofc #Smut #the walking dead