#and did I start it off strong with spilling half of the cold brew & coffee grounds all over my kitchen counter bc of a shitty system of 2

[why-the-heck-not]

it’s cold brew season again babyyy

#and did I start it off strong with spilling half of the cold brew & coffee grounds all over my kitchen counter bc of a shitty system of 2 #mason jars?? no no i did not why are u even asking me that that's a weirdly specific scenario to be asking about r u okay #studyblr #study #studyspo #booklr #bookblr #books #book #reading #read #dark academia #studying #aesthetic #may 2023 #2023

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 2/? Chapter 1 crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: Didn't expect this quick of a turn around for the next chapter, but i couldnt sleep last night, so i finished it! hope you all like it <3

CHAPTER 2

Night fell, moonlight peeking through the open window and a dim lantern lit up the small room. Jean walked holding two cups and a pot of freshly brewed tea. He stared at Hange sitting up in bed, who was pretending to read the book in her hands. However, this didn't fool him--clearly something else was on her mind. Jean had never seen Hange like this and it distracted him, so much so that he accidentally missed the cup and poured some of the piping hot tea onto his hand.

He inhaled sharply, shaking out his hand from the burn, his eyes bulging in pain. For whatever reason, a distant memory of Sasha came to mind, laughing at him when he spilled hot coffee onto his hand once before—he whipped his head back to face Hange, hoping she’d react the same way. But to his disappointment, she continued to stare down, her brows still furrowed in a tired frown.

He walked over to her, replacing the book with a cup of tea and sat on the bed next to her. They sat for awhile, sipping tea without a word.

The silence made Jean uneasy—it was not the Hange he knew. And earlier... well that was something he never expected to do. Hange had always been a shoulder to cry on, for so many years. To him or any of the 104th…Hange was someone who never broke, at least in their eyes. And the events of this morning simply shook him and Armin to their core.

All of them had been worried sick, starting when Hange oddly burned up with a fever immediately after the battle, remaining unconscious ever since. And now that she finally woke up, she immediately returned with a genuine fear of Levi? He didn’t know what was wrong, and he wanted nothing but to help Hange. But he could think of nothing else but let her cry. He couldn’t think of a way to cheer her up like she used to do for him and everyone else.

It took her hours to calm down since she woke up that morning.

“Jean.”

He turned to Hange, happy to hear her voice finally, although weak and raspy after being out for a whole week.

“Can you... tell me what happened? The last thing I remembered was... falling...”

Jean calmly told her everything, and most importantly, explained that Levi saved her by having her inherit the Beast Titan from Zeke. Luckily from the events of the battle, the titan curse was no longer in effect in that now, all the remaining titan shifters would be able live a full life. However, they would would live the rest of their lives still having the ability to use the power of their titan, and they would each be the final wielder.

“I see...”

Hange felt dizzy, her head reeling with thoughts and hypotheses. Jean’s story seemed to fall in line with what she had been thinking over the past couple hours, though.

And that made her heart drop.

The dream she had while she was out, was not dream at all, but real memories from Zeke Yaeger. It all lined up--this had to be what had happened right before she found Levi half-dead in the grass that horrible day.

“It seems… that Zeke’s memories have entangled themselves into my own.”

Jean’s jaw dropped slightly, and locked eyes with Hange. She quickly looked away with shame. Jean took her hand—“Hange-san, it’s not your fault.”

“But it is, Jean!” she yelled, angry. Her memories of the battle bled in and out of her head, patchy flashes of Levi carrying her, risking his life when she was pretty much a goner. And now here she was, thanking him with a literal slap at the wrist, nothing but deep and utter hurt in his eyes as she cowered in fear of him. It was her fault that she wasn’t strong enough to separate Zeke’s memories from her own.

“Every time I’ve tried to think of Levi as I’ve sat here, his expression is replaced by one filled with hatred, and all I feel is the pain Zeke endured. I felt... blood dripping from my wounds, and... Levi holding up a blade to my face, his eyes cold and unrecognizable...”

Jean stared at Hange, wide-eyed. The thought of Levi hurting Hange was absolutely preposterous to him.

“You all had woken me up in the middle of a memory—I was, Zeke. I think. Levi didn’t recognize me, and dug his blade deep into the wounds I already had, and... I had this urge to hurt him. And I... I—“

Hange buried her face into her hands, guilt eating her alive—she had wanted to kill him in that moment. Obviously, this had to be what Zeke was feeling before he sent the wagon into a fiery explosion, but it felt so real. It was too real, and she almost felt like she couldn’t separate Zeke’s emotions from her own. She felt like those feelings were becoming one and the same. She couldn’t remember if she even tried to fight it in the dream. If she couldn’t fight for Levi in a dream, how could she trust herself not to hurt him now?

She explained all of this to Jean, and soon felt herself fall into panic, hyperventilating, overwhelmed at all of this. It was all beginning to feel like one, horrible nightmare. Once Jean helped her calm down, he begged her to rest. She wanted to keep gnawing at her memories, trying to separate them from Zeke’s, but exhaustion quickly fell over her. Sleep tugged at her eyelids, and before she drifted off, she quietly asked Jean not to tell Levi about anything she had said. She didn’t want Levi to feel any more upset than how she made him feel this morning.

Jean breathed out, his heart wrecked seeing the person he looked up to the most crumbling before his eyes. The only comfort he had now was seeing her face relaxed as she drifted off to sleep, her chest rising and falling evenly. All he knew was that he had to talk to Armin about this, maybe even Annie and Reiner—he thought titan shifters would be the best people to ask for help in this case, it’s not like he had any advice for something like this. But not telling Levi? That man knew when he was lying from a mile away.

Jean quietly closed the door behind him. He sighed, and turned, almost yelping out in surprised. Levi stood right in front of him, and he almost smacked right into him.

“Oh Levi, umm, Hange-san is asleep.” He stared at the reddened skin glowing under Levi’s eyes. Had he been... crying? Jean hesitated, but figured it’d be safe for Levi to go in now. He knew he wouldn’t wake Hange anyway. He stepped aside, pushing the door open for him.

“Thanks, Jean,” Levi said softly, without turning around.

“O-of course, Captain,” Jean responded before hurrying off to find Armin, avoiding any opportunity for Levi to ask him if Hange told him anything about what happened.

Levi stepped in, staring at Hange lying in the bed just as she had all week, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. He wanted to be happy, but all he could feel was anger as he replayed Armin’s voice in his head for the hundredth time.

“Captain, there may be a chance... well, it’s quite common to have realistic dreams when you inherit a titan--essentially reliving memories of previous shifters. And considering you didn’t have the best relationship with the previous Beast Titan...”

Levi grit his teeth—he thought he had defeated Zeke once and for all, that once he fulfilled his promise to Erwin, he could finally move on. He never imagined that it could get any worse, but it just did.

Even in death, Zeke was trying to steal the last good thing that tethered him to this earth. How could he fight someone who was no longer living? He crouched down at the foot of Hange’s bed, and buried his head in his knees. What did it matter to be considered “humanity’s strongest” if he couldn’t save any of his friends in the end?

He felt darkness swirl around him like a storm cloud. He’d say he was utterly hopeless, but he had one thing to keep him going—Hange was alive.

If she couldn’t handle him being with her while she was awake… then so be it. It was painful to think about, but he loved her enough to do just that, if it meant she could live the rest of her life happily, even without him immediately by her side. But he could only hope that this would be the absolute, last resort.

Levi stood up, his eyes softening as his gaze fell upon Hange. He walked up next to her and reached out his hand. Before he could touch her, he hesitated, flashes of the fear in her eyes permeating his mind. His hand shook, but he was soon able to steady at it as he focused on listening to Hange’s even breaths. Levi carefully placed his hand on her head, combing her soft, brown hair in between his fingers. He leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving the room, stealing one last glance at Hange before closing the door.

Armin thought it’d be best he’d stay away from Hange for at least a week, let her rest and sort out what it meant for her to hold the power of the Beast Titan. Levi was hesitant, but he trusted Armin.

He could do it. Only for Hange.

Just a week, he thought. And then he could see her again. He balled his hands into fists once more, and let the tears fall as he stood outside the room.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levi x hanji #jean kirschtien #armin arlert #zeke yaeger

[theneverfinishedstory]

2. Rhinestone Cowboy

The smell of strong coffee woke Mirage. She rolled over to face the opening of the covered wagon and saw a man sitting by a low fire. The sun was up past the horizon but the slight chill meant it was still early on in the morning. Knowing her dad was going to wake her soon, Mirage propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Coffee?” she croaked out. 

The man known to everyone else as Brushfire Sage glanced back at her, eyes sparking like the flames in the fire. Without his hat on, she could see his shoulder-length hair. It was black at the roots before fading and ending in ash gray. Mirage’s hair was like his, but started out purple and ended in wispy grey tips at her waist. She also got her grey skin from him. Sometimes she wished she could change to look like her mama when she was next to her and when she was next to her dad, look like him.

Brushfire smiled, shaking his head, “What makes you think you get coffee?”

“It’s early, ain’t it?” Mirage said. 

“Little girls don’t drink coffee.” 

“Mama says women don’t drink whiskey and she said that’s a load of horse shit. And mama drinks whiskey.”

Brushfire chuckled, “Yeah, that’s true. Your mama don’t give much thought to things like that.” But he didn’t say she could have some of the coffee.

“Aw, please, dad?” she said, voice edging on a whine. “A real small cup!”

Her dad scratched his chin. The dark shadow of his beard had already set in. He looked at the pot of brewed coffee hanging over the fire before looking back at his only child. 

“You know I tell you not to keep secrets from your mama, right?” he said, his voice rumbling low. Hearing that tone, Mirage instantly leaned forward, almost falling out of the wagon.

As if he suspected Calima to be in earshot, Brushfire leaned over, almost whispering to Mirage, “This might be the one time I say to lie to your mama. Do you promise this’ll be the only time you lie?”

Mirage nodded, smiling back. Like he was making the final offer on his wares, Brushfire stuck out his hand. Her small hand shot out and grabbed his and shook it once. She had to work on her hand strength, he thought, but he’d get around to that. She was only eight. 

“Get yourself ready and I’ll get your coffee ready,” he said. 

Mirage shot under the covers and crawled out deeper in the wagon. On the outside, the wagon looked like the normal wagon. But the inside was much bigger. The inside of the wagon was the size of a normal city store. It even extended upward into a half loft. A long counter was off to the left with a giant metal cash register on top. That was where Brushfire made his final sales and kept something called an inventory. Everywhere else in the space was occupied by crates and barrels full of supplies. Some of them were full of dried meats and other long travel foods. Others had basics like tinder, rope, torches, tents, and pillows. Shoved in various cubbies and pigeon hole backed desks were maps, papers, inks, quills, books about the land, books about made up people, and star charts. Balls of twine, copper pots, tin cups, charcoal pencils, and other small trinkets were piled next to bigger ticket items like traveling trunks, wool blankets, bigger soup pots, guns, ammo boxes, bows, quivers, and arrows. In the back corner hung two sheets of canvas. Across one sheet read a message in smudged black charcoal: “Private Quarters”. 

Mirage ducked behind this and headed to the small wash basin. She dragged a stool over and carefully poured water from the heavy pitcher. Not a drop spilled. She splashed water on her face before pulling off her night clothes while she got down. She grabbed the first shirt and pair of pants found in her small rucksack. By the time she hopped out the back of the wagon, Brushfire was setting down her cup of coffee. She dropped next to him, cross legged like him, and grabbed the cup. Inhaling the sweet smell of it, Mirage smiled. 

“Sugar?” Brushfire asked her. In his right hand was a small sack. “No cream this morning.”

Mirage tried to hide her frown. She liked cream. She liked anything she could get cold. “Are you putting sugar in your coffee, dad?”

“No,” Brushfire replied. He liked his black. After he answered though, he realized his daughter wanted to copy him. It was bad enough that Mirage was getting coffee. She shouldn’t have to endure black coffee. “But maybe I will,” he added quickly. 

He grabbed a pinch of sugar and sprinkled it in his cup. Mirage did the same with a bigger handful. She watched as he swirled his cup and then did the same. When he went to sip, she did too. Brushfire watched her from the corner of his eye. Every few months Mirage went to travel with her mother and every time she came back for his turn, he couldn’t believe how much she’d grown. Thinking about it made his head hurt and his eyes water. One day, she’d probably want nothing to do with him. 

Swallowing hard, he said, “So I guess this means if you’re drinking coffee you don’t want to hear any stories?”

“What?” she asked, a bit horrified. 

“Well, I guess you’re too old now,” Brushfire replied. “Coffee drinkers probably don’t want stories.”

Mirage looked down at the inky black coffee in her cup. After a moment, she said, “I think that sounds like horse shit.”

Brushfire raised an eyebrow and tried to keep from laughing. “Really now?”

“Yeah. I like stories still. Who don’t like stories?” she asked. 

“Beats me, little spark.” he smiled. “What’s the story today then?”

Mirage scrunched her nose, thinking, then said, “What about the Rhinestone Cowboy?”

“That one? Sure, I think we have time for that. Then we’re off, deal?”

“Deal.”

#yeehawgust #dnd western #dungeons and dragons #writing #ttrpg character #ttrpg story #fantasy writing #dnd monk #smoke genasi #short stories #original character #yeehawgust2021

[kenzieam]

Not You - Chapter One

@jewels2876​​​​​​  @moonbeambucky​​​​​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​​​​  @iammarylastar​​​​​​@captstefanbrandt​​​​​​  @badassbaker​​​​​​  @pinknerdpanda​​​​​​  

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Language, general nuttiness, smut, major angst, drama, potential infidelity

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL

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So... I know I should be finishing my old stories...

But I’m not, lol. I keep getting new ideas.

*********************************************************************

In this one, Bucky finds his dream woman, the one who takes his breath away but what if she’s already taken? What’s more important, your own happiness or the happiness of others, namely your friends? And, if you have to steal it, was it yours to begin with??

********************************************************************

Bucky turned away from the sink, nearly dropping the glass in his hand as his heart exploded into a frantic, startled tattoo.

The girl met his eyes shyly, looking quickly away and Bucky swallowed hard, hearing his pulse hammering in his veins. “Can I help you?” He asked, voice raspy. Christ, in all the time he’d been tending bar he’d never been so simply struck by someone before.

“Um, may I have a white wine, please?” Her voice was soft and cultured, sounding faintly European in the way she pronounced her consonants.

“New around here?” He inquired, if simply to keep from gaping at her simple perfection.

She gave him a guarded smile. “I guess so. I’m supposed to be meeting an… old friend, but there was a mix-up with flights.”

Bucky poured her drink, waved off her money. “On the house,” he pronounced and, this being the fourth double shift he’d worked this week as a favour to his boss and a co-worker with a family emergency, they’d better not squawk going over the receipts later.

“Thank you.” She murmured demurely, lids fluttering closed as she took a sip.

Bucky glanced across the bar, there was no one needing his immediate attention and the siren song of this woman was too strong to ignore. “I’m James.” Somehow his nickname wouldn’t fit the moment, he thought as he extended his hand to her.

She smiled softly, still shy. “Valentina.” She offered after a faint pause, reaching up and taking his hand, he felt her softness against his callouses, a faint tingle where they touched.

Bucky opened his mouth to continue, to ask her more questions about herself, an ember of attraction beginning to glow brightly in his chest. Did she feel it too?

“Hey!” One of the waitresses, Teagan, bellowed from down the bar. “I need four beers!”

It was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to tell her to come around and grab them herself, but Teagan was a brat who’d either make a mess or take a bottle for herself if he didn’t watch her. Why the boss hadn’t skidded her by now was anyone’s guess, but Bucky imagined it involved a good oral game. At least she’d propositioned him at least once and he’d said hell no.

With an apologetic glance Bucky turned away, quickly filling Teagan’s order but then a crush of orders came in from individuals bellying up to the bar and he was tied up for far longer than he wanted. Finally, he had time and stepped in front of her, noting her empty glass. Valentina was texting, frowning at her screen. She glanced up and startled, an unguarded smile lighting up her face and making Bucky’s heart stutter anew.

“Another?” He managed to ask, voice cracking. Jesus, he’d never been so simply taken by a woman before and he’d spent enough time as a bartender to read her body language too. The feeling was definitely mutual.

“I’ll just have a water, please. My… friend will be done work soon; I should get going.”

Faint panic gripped Bucky’s heart but he made himself pour a water like a sane person. “I, um….” He licked his lips.

“I need an order!” The other waitress, a cougar named Lola, yelled. She would never go behind the bar, preferring to trying to chat up the nearest guy while she waited for Bucky.

Shit. He needed more time.

“I… can I have your number?” He blurted, feeling like a thousand different kinds of fool, mainly a lovestruck one.

Surprise flitted across the girl’s face, then a tentative smile. “I shouldn’t…”

“Please?”

“Hey!” Both Teagan and Lola were there now, hands on jutted-out hips.

“Just give me a minute.” Bucky pleaded, turning away from Valentina and rushing over, mixing drinks like a madman, throwing furious glances at the waitresses, who snapped gum and stared vapidly at his manic movements.

Finally, he thrust the last glass at Teagan then turned back to Valentina, an apology dying on his lips.

She wasn’t there.

He’d missed his chance.

Fuck.

********************************************************************************

Her skin was unbelievably soft, her scent a heady mix that made his pulse race and nestled deep in his soul. His body responded to her readily, heart hammering in his chest as he caressed her shoulder, pulled her down to meet his greedy lips. She moaned and writhed against him, grinding her core against his painfully hard cock.

Peeling off her shirt he kissed first one breast than the other, slowing down to lav attention to each when she moaned again, fingers clawing through his hair to hold him close.

“More, god Bucky-” she whimpered, tugging almost painfully at his locks.

“Fuck-” drawing out the curse, morphing it with a groan of need, Bucky rolled, pinning Valentina beneath him. Grinding his hips to hers he reveled in her gasp, her stuttered hitching breath.

He couldn’t wait any longer, pulling at her panties, a feral growl spilling from his lips when she matched him, yanking at his jeans, pushing them down over his ass just enough to free his cock and then he was pushing inside her, into her sweet heat and fighting off his rushing climax at the ecstasy found there.

“God, baby-” he gasped, hips thrusting helplessly, hopelessly caught in sensations and pleasure. Never before had he felt such bliss, been so ensnared in the web of a woman.

Valentina moaned, arching up to pull him deeper, legs wrapping around his hips, tangling with his jeans still bunched there; her voice broke as she whimpered his name, clawing at his face to pull him down to her mouth again, her desperate kiss stealing his breath with it’s intensity.

He could feel his orgasm rising dangerously fast, but he didn’t care, couldn’t and wouldn’t stop such a freight train of heavenly sensations, he only wanted Valentina to crash into the abyss with him.

And then she tensed, walls tightening around him as her own climax hit, crying out his name and dragging him right down with her. With a roar he surrendered, giving into his release with a shudder, face twisting as his cock throbbed almost painfully inside her, spilling his seed in thick pulses-

Bucky startled awake with a gasp, hand still gripping his shaft, the waves of his powerful orgasm still crashing over him and, even as the shudders of pleasure skated across his skin and through his body he winced, feeling a thick, creamy mess pooling on his belly.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn’t had a fucking wet dream in years, and yet ten minutes contact over a bar-top with a beautiful stranger had him spilling in his sleep like a teenager.

Groaning, he glanced down at himself then cursed. Fuck, he had laundry to do now too, he hadn’t shot so huge a load in a long time; fuck, this woman had him all sorts of tangled up.

And all he had was her first name. Not even a goddamn phone number.

Still grumbling, still wincing and cursing himself, Bucky rolled from the bed, used the already soiled sheet to wipe his belly clean then pulled them from the bed and piling them in the corner to launder later, storming nude to the bathroom he and Steve shared in their two-bedroom apartment, not caring whether his oldest friend got an eyeful or not.

Only once the water grew cold from the scalding he’d set it at did Bucky emerge, toweling off and striding back to his room to pull on sweats and grab a coffee. Steve had set some brewing before leaving for his morning run and Bucky needed a hit of caffeine like he needed air.

He’d just taken a sip when the front door opened and Steve walked in, glistening with sweat and still breathing hard.

“Morning,” Bucky grunted.

“Hey, Buck. How’s your morning?”

Trust me punk, you don’t want to know. “Fine.”

“Got to sleep in at least, that your last double shift for a while? What was that anyway, four in a row?” Steve moved past him, pouring an ice water from the fridge, and swallowing half the glass in one go.

Bucky grunted in answer, but Steve had always been the more loquacious of their duo.

“Work tonight?” Steve continued, reaching for a box of cereal.

“Nah, night off.”

“Good, Sam wants us to come over. His girlfriend’s moved back, and he wants us to meet her.”

Bucky frowned, trying to remember. While he was friends with Sam, it was Steve who worked with him and was the closer of the two. Then he remembered, she’d grown up with Sam, gone all through grade school with him, just like him and Steve, and they’d been roommates all through university, also like him and Steve. Apparently, they’d started dating after graduation and, when she’d been offered a special project in Europe almost two years ago, they’d gone long-distance, her moving across the ocean and Sam moving here, becoming immediate friends with Steve when they started working at the same job together.

“What’s her name again?” Bucky asked, not really caring. His mind was still stuck on the mysterious Valentina, not on Sam’s girlfriend, whom he wouldn’t even know from a hole in the ground, he’d never even seen a picture of her before.

“Lev?” Steve replied, quirking a brow. “Something unique like that, yeah… Lev, Sam calls her Levi.” He pronounced it like ‘levee’, shrugging.

Bucky nodded absently, Valentina’s hypnotizing violet eyes holding his attention. God, she’d had the most beautiful eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, long and full lashes; and her hair, an auburn shade like he’d never encountered. Either natural or the best damn dye job he’d ever seen, she’d stood out from the crowd with her looks alone, not even counting the magnetism and aura she gave off…. Christ, he was in trouble.

“You there?” Steve’s amused voice broke in, his punch harmlessly bouncing off Bucky’s powerful shoulder.

“Huh?” Bucky rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the hit. He hadn’t had much of a chance to hit the gym this week, what with working so many doubles in a row, and he needed to go; blasting away all his frustrations and anger lifting weights and hammering at the heavy bags kept him level and calm, soothed the latent edginess of his soul, which had, upon reflection, gone strangely serene last night when he’d laid eyes on Valentina too.

“You’re a million miles away, jerk.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just-” he broke off, wiping his mouth with his hand and shaking his head.

“A girl?” There was genuine interest in Steve’s voice; while he didn’t begrudge his oldest friend’s continued one-night stands, he’d always wanted Bucky to find someone to share himself with, someone to soothe the man’s seeming natural-born vulnerability and loneliness that not even close friendships could compensate for.

Bucky felt a thrill at the thought. Yes, this was about a girl. The first time he could honestly say that. His reddening face answered before his mouth could and Steve hooted, slapping him on the same shoulder he’d just punched.

“Really?” The blonde’s eyes were sparkling. “Tell me.” He snagged the milk from the fridge and poured some over his cereal, overfilling it in a way that always made Bucky nervous. The man’s milk to cereal ratio was whack.

Bucky hesitated, struck with the sudden incongruous thought that speaking her name aloud would somehow puncture the spell, convince the universe to rip her away, make her all a figment of Bucky’s imagination.

“Her name’s Valentina.” He couldn’t help a quirk of his lips when Steve let out a girlish squeak and clapped his hands, as if this were the best news he’d heard in years.

“And?” He prompted, leaning against the counter, picking up his bowl of cereal and lifting the spoon to his mouth, brow raised in question.

Bucky let out his breath in a rush, not able to hold it back anymore. “And she’s fucking perfect, man. I mean, I saw her, and it was like… fuck, I mean she just… grabbed me.”

“Like literally?” Steve grinned, milk dribbling off his chin when he gave Bucky a smartass grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes and continued. “No, but Steve…. Her eyes, Jesus, and her smile? I… I didn’t know what to do, it was like I’d just ran into a brick wall or something.”

“And her? What was she like? Was she hit too?”

Bucky nodded slowly, replaying her actions in his head. “Yeah, I think so.” A huge grin split his face and he was suddenly struck with the urge to throw his head back and roar.

“What’d she say? Did you guys talk?”

Bucky shrugged. “We didn’t get much of a chance, I had Teagan and Lola last night-” he threw Steve a look because Steve knew as well as Bucky how useless both waitresses truly were.

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. I asked for her number but then got busy and… fuck man, when I turned back, she was gone.”

“Shitty.” Steve commented, shaking his head.

“I know.” Bucky felt a moment of real panic but forced himself to breathe.

“You want to skip Sam’s tonight? Go over there and see if she comes back?”

He was torn, he really was. Would she be back? For all their pretend animosity, Sam was a real friend to him though, and he hadn’t seen the smirking bastard in a few weeks, he needed to go. “Nah, I should go see Sam, it’s been awhile.”

Steve noticed his struggle and considered. “Chap working today?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied.

“Ask him to keep an eye out. If she shows, he can give her your number. He owes you.”

He did. “Yeah…. Okay. I got a bunch of errands to run today anyway, I’ll stop by.”

“You want me to wait until you’re back to go to Sam’s?”

Bucky shrugged, they only lived a floor apart, Sam being one down from them, its not like Bucky would get lost, but he appreciated his friend’s consideration. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem. I got a few things to wrap up too, see you later?” Steve had finished his cereal and was already walking towards his bedroom. He and Steve had been roommates, in one apartment or another, for years but this was far and away the nicest, a pre-war building neither would be able to afford alone and, until a few months ago, Sam had been in the same boat, but his roomie, a quirky, somewhat eccentric kid named Tony, had left. It was good timing that his girlfriend was moving back now, almost fated.

“Later.” Bucky called, then forced his mind away from Valentina. He’d get nothing done today if he let her stay there.

*******************************************************************************

Later that night, Bucky followed Steve absently down the flight of stairs to Sam’s floor. He’d gotten all his errands done, convinced Chap to keep an eye out and had even had time to fantasize about Valentina in the shower, groaning her name in release as he’d stroked himself to completion, pulsing his thick seed onto his fingers and the shower floor. He’d leaned his head against the tiled wall, breathing heavily and wishing feverishly for the real thing before straightening with a growl and finishing his shower, body still aching with want.

Steve knocked and waited; usually they’d just knock once and head on it, but neither wanted to walk into something they didn’t want to see.

After a moment, the door was thrown open and Sam’s familiar face split into a huge grin. “Hey!” Always a happy, personable guy, there seemed to be an extra level in him tonight, no doubt finally having his girl back with him. “Sit down,” he pointed to their usual perches on the couch and armchair. “Lev will be right out.” He focused on Bucky. “How you been, man? It’s been a while. Steve says you’ve been pulling doubles down at the bar?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, leaning back in the chair, and getting more comfortable. “Chap’s mom fell down and banged herself up some, I took his shifts so he could go help her for a few days.”

“You’re too nice, man.” Sam grinned, shaking his head. “Steve said Teagan and Lola were there? Christ, what a pair.”

Bucky quirked his brow in agreement. “Yeah, it was special all right.”

“Sam?” A female voice called.

“Yeah, baby?” Sam leapt to his feet. “Lev’s pretty jet-lagged, she was sleeping most of the day.” He explained as he disappeared down the hallway. Quiet voices too low to make out floated back but Bucky caught something that sounded like ‘you look fine, baby girl, before Sam reappeared, his huge grin back. He glanced over his shoulder, pulling gently on someone’s hand, then turned back to his friends.

“Steve, Bucky, this is my girlfriend, Lev. Lev, this is Steve and that’s Bucky.” He pointed to each man in turn, but Bucky’s eyes were locked on Lev.

What the hell?

What kind of cosmic fucking joke was this??

Leaning into Sam’s side, nestled into his one-armed embrace but staring at Bucky with shock equal to his, was a heartbreakingly familiar face.

Valentina.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #au bucky #au bucky barnes fanfic #au bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky barnes angst #au bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes drama #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #au bucky barnes drama

[archadianskies]

19 + 18 + 17, Simarkus!

(soulmates + tattoo artist + skin hunger)

→ on Ao3

It isn’t the flashiest, slickest tattoo parlour but for Simon and Daniel ‘Jericho’ is the place where they can truly be free. It’s a place that’s all theirs, a place they carved out with hard work, with blood, sweat, and tears- so so many tears. 

At first it had been just the two of them, as it had always been ever since they were sixteen and kicked out by their parents, and then Josh joined them, and then North, and since that day they have been known as the Jericho Four. They each have a speciality: Daniel specialises in painterly techniques, of colourul swathes that washed over the skin; Josh specialises in minimalism, of crisp, strong black lines; North specialises in text, of a thousand fonts at the ready to speak their mind. 

As for Simon, well, Simon has never been good at any of that stuff. He’s much better at caring for others, at nurturing and soothing and so that’s why Jericho has a cafe inside of it. He cooks, he bakes, he brews for both the customers being tattooed and for any family or friends hanging around for support. Sometimes they don’t come in for a tattoo at all, and Simon finds himself serving students and workers on their lunch break. 

It isn’t ever going to make them rich, but it’s enough to get by comfortably and really, that’s all Simon could ever want. 

 “Got a pretty complex booking tomorrow.” Danny whistles low as he scrolls through the email on his laptop. Simon looks up from his book, interest piqued, and scoots closer to him on the couch. 

“Oh?” His twin tilts the laptop slightly, showing a beautiful geometric explosion at the heart of a glowing blue triangle, as if it were in the midst of shattering outward. 

“He’s asking for white ink for some of the lines, so it’ll glow under black light. This is a seriously massive piece.” Danny nods, impressed. “Multiple sessions, with extra surcharge for the white ink. He’s already sent the down-payment, so he’s definitely committed.”

“That’s a crazy amount of work.” Simon reaches over to click on the image so he can zoom in. “It’ll be stunning when it’s done. Where does he want it? On his back?”

“No, over his chest. The fragments will spill over onto his shoulder too.” Danny clicks onto the next image, of the design overlaid on a male silhouette. “I blocked off the entire afternoon for this.”

“Then you better rest up.” Simon taps his temple. “Big day tomorrow.”

 It’s a slow going day but Simon loves those best. It’s even raining outside, which only adds to the soft cosy mood inside Jericho. With no other clients booked except for Danny’s new one, Simon finds himself sitting at a table with the other three sharing a freshly baked pear tea cake. The tattooists have their sketchbooks out, and Simon loses himself to the sound of the rain and the scrape of their pencils. There’s some semblance of inner peace to be found, he thinks, just in these sounds. 

The door opens, and the muffled pattering of the rain turns into a roar momentarily as someone rushes in. Simon stands automatically, switching back into his hospitality role. 

“Good afternoon, welcome to Jericho.” He greets the hooded man neatly securing his folded umbrella.

“Hi, I’m a bit early for my appointment but I thought I’d come in out of the rain since I was around anyway.” 

“Mark S., booking with artist Daniel Lambert.” Simon nods. “Would like a coffee and something to eat while you wait?” The hood falls back and that’s definitely not some stranger named Mark S. “Oh you’re-”

“Markus Manfred.” Josh finishes behind him, standing in surprise. “It’s- wow. You’re really here. I saw your thesis at the Museum of Modern Art. I marched with you last Fall. I thought you were in London researching for your upcoming mural?”

“Just got in last night, actually.” Markus grins, offering his hand for Josh to shake. There he is, Markus Manfred, adopted son of Carl Manfred; artist and activist in equal measure. “A little jetlagged and still adjusting to the timezone, but I’m here in one piece.”

“You did that portrait series on the Eden Club workers.” North adds, offering her hand to shake.

“With my brother Leo, yes.” Markus shakes her hand firmly. “They needed a medium to tell their stories, and we were honoured to oblige.”

“So what’s the story about this tattoo, then?” Danny pulls up another chair to their table, and Markus takes a seat. 

“I want to build on one I already have. I want to make it mine, because the original wasn’t my design.” He shrugs, leaning back comfortably in the chair. “I actually intend to commission tattoos from each of you, to tell my story. I use cloth and brick walls as my canvas, but I want my body to be a canvas for you.”

“I don’t know if you’re being eloquent or cheesy as fuck, but this is the most interesting commission I’ve ever been given so I’ll let it slide.” Danny smirks wryly and Simon smacks his shoulder.

“Behave.” He turns to Markus, and this close he can see those famous heterochromic eyes. “Coffee?”

“Yes please. And a slice of whatever this cake is, if there’s any left.” Markus grins, tapping the closest plate. “Smells divine and I bet it tastes just as heavenly.”

 He’s seen a lot of half naked bodies. It comes with the job- not his in particular, but well, Danny’s and the fact the parlour is tucked just behind the cafe. Simon’s gotten used to seeing people in various states of undress, so used to handing nearly nude people coffees and slices of cake. 

He’s not ready for Markus Manfred to take off his sweater and shirt, revealing a body surely identical to the grandiose marble sculptures that used to grace the ancient world. Not wanting to delay his tattoo appointment, the artist had picked up his cup after finishing his cake, carrying it to Danny’s station at the back and promptly undressing. Simon doesn’t know why he followed, but his feet seemed to carry him after them.

“Fuck.” Danny exhales. “That’s a Kamski.”

Markus looks down at his chest, at the glowing circle at the end of his sternum. His grin is sheepish as he scratches his nape and takes a seat. “Yeah, it is.”

“No way, an original Kamski? Not a Camden?” North follows into the room, Josh behind her. “From before he left CyberLife?”

“Thirium ink. I thought I’d never see one up close.” Josh breathes, voice tinged with awe. “When he left CyberLife he took the formula with him. Their tattoos use an inferior ink with a lower thirium ratio.”

“Well we definitely don’t have pure thirium ink here, sorry bud.” Danny pats his shoulder and Markus laughs. 

“No, I know. I don’t want another tattoo like this one. I want one I designed.” Markus clarifies. “This is my story.” 

 Josh has a thousand questions, and Markus seems happy to answer them. Selfishly, Simon goes to the front door and turns the sign to say ‘Closed’, locking the door so no one else will disturb them. He makes another round of coffees and carries them to the back. Danny has his noise-cancelling headphones on to tune everyone out so he can work. Josh has dragged his chair closer, and North is sitting on her tattooist bench. Simon hands everyone a new cup and takes a seat at Josh’s vacated bench.

“Do you think we’ll ever reach that stage though? Artificial intelligence that can think for itself?” Josh asks curiously and Markus hums in thought.

“I think so. It’s the issue with making them look human, though. The moment we make androids is the moment we divide the world.”

“What do you mean?” North frowns. “Wouldn’t that, I dunno, be a good thing? People get attached to roombas. What more when there’s robots that look like us?”

“That’s what I mean though.” Markus clarifies. “Half of us would anthropomorphise them, and the other half would reject them completely, unable to bridge the fact they are different from us. Humans find it hard enough to treat each other with compassion, what more when there’s an android that looks just like them but is a machine?”

“Then I suppose an android revolution would happen.” North shrugs with a laugh. “If we ever treated them like shit, then we’d deserve the revolution coming for us.”

“I don’t believe it would come to that, I believe we are an intelligent, compassionate race.” Josh argues. “We would achieve integration and acceptance through dialogue.”

“And you- Simon, isn’t it?” Markus turns his head slightly to catch his gaze. “Where do you weigh in, in this theoretical android revolution?”

He wrings his hands, frowning. “I wouldn’t really ever want to take part in it.” A confession of cowardice, but an honest one at least. “I’d just want those I love to be safe. I’d- I’d go somewhere and wait it out, I guess. But if they needed help, I’d help them. I’m not sure how I’d help with caffeine and baked goods, but...I suppose if they needed a place to stay, a place to hide I could give them that much.”

“He’s a softie.” North pretends to ‘whisper’, shooting Simon a grin. “But he’s got grit, and will get the job done.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Markus smiles at him, and Simon, honest to god, hand over heart, swears the world slowed for just a moment so he could enjoy it. “Kindness in the face of a cold, cruel, apathetic world is an act of bravery, of defiance.”     

 They talk and they talk and Simon loses track of time until Danny takes off his headphones.

“Ok Christ I need a pee break.” He bins his gloves and makes shooing motions at Markus. “Go on, you too, before I start the next part.” He leads him away and North crosses over to sit next to Simon, elbowing him.

“I’m a flaming homo but that boy is…” She clicks her tongue as she makes an ‘ok’ sign with her fingers. “Gorgeous.” 

“Who cares about that, he’s so-” Josh struggles to verbalise his thoughts, making a frustrated gesture with his hands. “He’s so beautifully compassionate and driven. He spoke at the protest I marched at, but only briefly. Hearing his thoughts, hearing his opinions here in private is just...something else.”

“Simon has stars in his eyes.” North teases, poking his cheek. He bats her hand away.

“I do not. I’m staring a healthy amount. Surely no one should look that beautiful and still be human, right?” He asks, exasperated. “He has freckles. Everywhere. He has the body of a marble statue. He speaks like a Roman orator. Or some Greek philosopher. He has one blue eye and one green eye for god’s sake, who let him loose on the world?”

“The more important question is,” North jabs his side, causing him to yelp “is he single?”

“Oh, yeah, because he’s going to be so interested in a coffee boy at a tattoo parlour.” Simon rolls his eyes. “I have so much to offer.”

“You do, Simon.” Josh frowns. “I do take offense to that. You’re a wonderful person, you gave North and I a chance when no one else would. You found us at our worst and helped us become who we are today.”

“Pretty boy would be lucky to have you.” North pecks his cheek. “I mean it.”

 They end up ordering Mexican because it’s already six o’clock the next time anybody checks and Markus seems content to stay a little longer. Somehow in the span of an afternoon he feels like he’s always belonged right here in their little quartet. Even if he’s sitting there half naked with cling film wrapped taut around his freshly inked chest and shoulders. 

“Ok Danny,” North fixes him with a serious look, “important question: where do you stand in the android revolution?”

“In the-” Danny makes a face. “Is this the shit you guys were talking about while I was working?”

“Well not the whole time.” Markus laughs. “Though I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“I dunno. Would we be able to afford one?” Danny scoops salsa onto a chip and pops it into his mouth. “I’d treat them well, I guess. Make ‘em feel part of the family. If you treat them badly, they could snap and then you’d deserve what’s coming to you.”

“We’re years- decades away from that kind of tech.” Simon shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter right now.”

“It does.” Markus objects. “They might not be real now, or maybe not ever, but how we treat anything not human is a reflection of ourselves. They’re mirrors held up to test our humanity.”

“This is way too deep for Mexican on a Wednesday.” Danny declares through a mouthful of food. “Just putting it out there.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” He laughs, expression apologetic. “I swear I’m not like this all the time.”

“Pineapple on pizza?” North demands, pointing an accusing finger. “Wrong answer sends you out the door.”

“Can I abstain from answering until I finish my dinner?”

“I’ll allow it.” A pause as she narrows her eyes threateningly. “But only just.”

 Markus Manfred takes a taxi home at about 8pm and Simon doesn’t quite know if any of it’s real, if any of it actually happened. It has to have happened, because there’s another session booked to occur in exactly three weeks. He loads the dishwasher as Danny takes out the trash, waving to Josh and North as they take their leave. Three weeks and Markus will return. How will he fill his time until then?

He doesn’t need to wait three weeks, in fact, because Markus comes back the very next day.

“Hey.” A greeting paired with a thousand kilowatt smile, easy and charming. 

“Good morning Markus.” Simon blinks in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Is something wrong? Did you need Danny to have a look at the tattoo? Is it bleeding too much?”

“Actually,” he grins and oh it’s far too early for Simon to process such a sight “I was hoping for a cup of coffee and some breakfast?”

“Oh.” He nods numbly. “Y-yes of course. What can I get for you?” 

“Strong black with honey, and something bread-y.” Markus takes a seat at one of the tables. “I thought I’d get some work done here. It’s wonderfully private.” A nice way of saying it’s not a bustling Starbucks, Simon thinks wryly, but he’ll take it. He serves him a large mug of coffee and a thick slice of banana bread and tries not to stare too much at Markus’ elegant hands as he takes out a sketchbook and thumbs through it idly. 

“What gave you the idea of this tattoo?” Simon asks curiously as he spots early sketches of the tattoo design. He takes a seat opposite him, nursing his own large mug of coffee.

“I wanted to shatter through the wall of self-doubt, of anxiety that held me back.” Markus smiles softly, eyes roaming the page. “Growing up in Carl Manfred’s shadow wasn’t easy but a lot of it was all in my head. Dad has never been anything but encouraging to us, as Leo and I both branched out on our own artistic journeys. What held me back was my own fear to leave the safety of his name and stand on my own.”

“Shattering the red wall.” Simon nods slowly. “I guess we all have that moment, don’t we? A moment where we have to decide whether to stay behind it where we’re safe but also changeless, or fight and shatter it, to find our own way.”

“Did you have one, Simon?” He seeks his eyes with such an earnest expression. “A moment where you had to choose to shatter the red wall?”

“We didn’t have much choice.” A heavy sigh. “It was shattered for us, by our parents. We got kicked out at sixteen, and there was no red wall left to hide behind safely. We only had each other, and the only way was forward.”

Markus reaches over and squeezes Simon’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” He says with such sincerity Simon believes it. 

“It’s alright. Jericho is where we can be truly free.” He smiles tiredly. “This place is everything to us, and Josh and North are like family. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Why call it Jericho?” Markus picks up a pencil, turns to a blank page and starts sketching.

“It was the name of an old freighter.” It’s been almost fifteen years, Simon thinks, but the memory is still sore. “We hid there for a while, when we didn’t have anywhere to go. It was falling apart but it was dry and safe. It was home.” And now home is here, home is just upstairs and it’s dry and safe but also warm and full of love. Simon props his chin on his palm. “Feels both like a lifetime ago and just yesterday, to be honest.”

“Grief and trauma are not linear experiences.” Markus shakes his head, eyes candid. “What you experienced at sixteen will always be valid. Our growth is measured in how we cope with that pain, with all we’ve learned over the years.”

It stuns him to hear it, and he feels his mouth open and close as he tries and fails to reply with something coherent. Markus scratches his nape sheepishly.

“Sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I? Sounding like some cheesy self-help inspirational poster.” 

“I’ve just never been told that before.” Simon admits, smile wobbly. “I guess I’m just so used to taking everything in stride and carrying on. I bury everything deeply, in the hopes I never really have to process it.”

“Then it just rots, Simon.” Markus reaches out again, placing his hand over his and giving a reassuring squeeze. “There’s no chance for growth if the roots are rotten.”

He looks down at their hands, and it’s as though his heart wants to soak up the contact, wants to drink it in as though he’s parched. It’s not as though he lacks affectionate touch, they’ve always been an affectionate quartet of friends, but it’s more like he can never get enough. Markus very gently rubs the back of his hand with his thumb in slow, light strokes. Heat pools in his cheeks.

“I’m alright now. I’m much much better here.” Simon smiles, and though it’s a little shaky it’s real and heartfelt. “I’m happy and I’m safe, and we’re financially secure, so what more can I ask for?”

“I’m glad.” He says, and Simon knows he means it.

 Though he knows it’s selfish, Simon finds himself hoping Markus will drop by for breakfast often. He finds himself inexplicably drawn to him, and his heart leaps into his throat every time the handsome artist opens the door and strides to the counter with confident, purposeful steps. He always has a kind word for all of them, always has a brilliant dashing smile and Simon’s been very careful with heart over the years, but he’d be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t head over heels for Markus. 

“How’s the mural coming along?” He asks as he sets down a steaming mug of coffee.

“Pretty good. Most of the underlayer is down, but it’s forecast to rain for nearly the whole week so I’ve got to postpone it a bit.” Markus sighs wearily. “That’s alright. I’ve got another piece I’m working on in the studio, so I don’t really mind. How’s things here?”

“We had another customer with an original Kamski.” Simon tells him, and Markus raises his brows in surprise. “I know right? What are the chances of having two of you come within the span of a fortnight? She’s a ballerina. I’m pretty sure North’s in love with her.” 

“That would be Ms. Chloe Hersh.” Markus smiles. “I’ve met her only once at an art gala but she’s very lovely. She is the original Kamski. The recipient of the very first thirium tattoo.” 

“That’s amazing. How lucky we are to have the two of you stumble upon our tiny little parlour.” Simon muses as Markus laughs softly. 

“Simon we didn’t find this place out of luck, we sought it out.” He says knowingly, as if it’s always been a fact Simon overlooked. “There’s talent here, and warmth and kindness and really good coffee and the most amazing tea cakes ever.” He finishes with a wink, and Simon knows he’s absolutely done for.

*~* 

When Markus arrives for his second session, there’s barely any preamble before he’s hanging up his coat and stripping off until he’s shirtless. The linework has healed, meaning Danny can progress with the colour. Simon sets down his coffee and a berry muffin on the little table by chair, and tries his very best not to stare. 

“We dropped by Greektown to see the mural yesterday.” Josh says from across the room. “It’s coming along beautifully.”

“Thanks.” Markus smiles. “Weather finally cleared so I’ve been trying to cram in as much as I can before it turns bad again.”

“You’re doing the backdrops for the ballet next, right?” North hops up onto her bench. “Chloe told me.”

“Yeah, it’s my next project and my brother is doing the promo shoot for it.” He settles into position, taking a gulp of coffee before Danny guides him to stay still so he can begin. “It’ll be fun, it’s a modern Anna Karenina.”

“Small world huh? Or maybe you Kamski originals are all like, telepathic because of the fancy ink.” North teases, and Markus chuckles.

“Oh no you’ve figured it all out. That’s the real reason Elijah Kamksi invented a new ink- to make a group of improved humans.”

“I’d believe it.” North snorts back a laugh. “His house looks like a supervillain lair.”

They fall into easy conversation, and Simon leaves occasionally to serve a customer at the front or bring more drinks and food. North eventually moves off to start working on a client, and Josh finishes his final session on another. 

It’s as the afternoon is winding down that Simon starts to see the small telltale signs of pain on Markus’ face. Over the sternum is one of the most painful areas of the body given the thinner layers of fat, muscle and skin and as Danny moves to start layering the colour, sweat begins to bead on Markus’ forehead as his brows pinch together. 

Automatically Simon reaches for his hand, returning the reassuring squeeze he’d given him the week before. Markus tilts his head slightly and gives him a grateful look, grip tightening the longer Danny works over the sensitive area. 

“Hey, you’re doing great.” Simon murmurs, mimicking his earlier actions as he rubs his thumb over the back of his hand soothingly. “And it’s looking beautiful too. It’s all worth it, I promise.”

Markus nods numbly, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as Danny progresses further down his sternum. Simon doesn’t leave his side, and it’s only when Danny sits back and removes his headphones does he realise he hasn’t let go of his hand either.

 They order burgers and fries from a diner not too far away, Markus joining them for dinner after the parlour is closed. With each visit it feels less and less like he’s a stranger and more as if he’s family. 

Discussions and conversations flow, and he’s interesting and verbose even if tonight he’s a little more tired than usual: a marathon tattoo session definitely does that to a person, and Danny is much the same. When he’s wiping down the table, he sees Danny pull Markus aside just before Markus leaves. He says something, his expression serious, and Markus nods solemnly before leaving to catch his taxi.

“Did you tell him about the aloe vera?” Simon asks as his twin brother returns to his side to help him clean up.

“Uh yeah. Definitely needs a higher level of care this time around and I told him to send me photos if his skin acts up so I can tell him what it’ll need.” Danny shrugs, not bothering to hide his yawn. “Next session will be the last unless he wants further detailing.”

“I think it’s your best work yet.” Simon compliments, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I mean it.”

“Thanks Si.” Danny smiles tiredly, bumping his forehead to his. “C’mon. Dying to go upstairs and sprawl on the couch with a beer.”

 *~*

He hopes like last time Markus will appear for breakfast, but it’s not to be. He tries not to get his hopes up, tries not to look too eager every time the door opens. Markus doesn’t stop by for over two weeks, in fact, and Simon tries not to feel despondent as the days go by without his presence. 

The mural for Bellini Paints at Greektown is announced as complete on social media, and they go to see it during lunch on a sunny Tuesday. It’s a beautiful piece, taking up an entire wall at the entrance to the arcade where Bellini is housed. Sweeps of colour streak across the brickwork in graceful arcs, coming together to form a pair of hands holding a palette and paintbrush; a work of art about a work of art in progress. Simon thinks it’s stunning, and the sheer scale of it is enough to leave him awestruck. He takes a photo and sets it as his background, so he can admire the colours whenever he wants.

When Markus arrives for his final session, he brings a large canvas with him. It’s covered with a sheet, and tied carefully with twine to secure it.

“Hey, Simon.” His smile has an apology in it. “Sorry I haven’t dropped by recently. It’s been pretty crazy trying to finish the mural and I had this other project on the side.”

“We went to see the Bellini mural yesterday, it’s stunning.” Simon finds himself smiling wistfully. “The colours are just so vibrant, it suits the store perfectly.”

“Thanks, I’m pretty proud of it.” He holds out the canvas. “This is for you.”

“...For...me?” Simon gawks at him, unmoving. Markus Manfred is handing him a canvas. Markus Manfred. The artist leans in.

“That means you have to take it from my hands, Simon.” He ‘whispers’ and Simon scrambles to take the canvas, laying it down ever so carefully on one of the tables so he can unwrap it. It’s a painting of Jericho, of his family; there’s Danny, there’s Josh, there’s North and yes, even him. It’s a beautiful flurry of colours and exaggerated brushstrokes, and they’re crowded around a table eating tea cake and drinking coffee, with sketchbooks laid around.

“When I first came here, it was like coming home.” Markus lays his hand over Simon’s and it’s only belatedly that he realises he’s shaking. “I felt welcomed, and I felt at peace. I felt like I’ve always been here. That’s the magic of this place, Simon. That’s your magic.” 

“Markus I- this is too generous, I couldn’t possibly-!”

“You can. I painted this for you.” Markus moves to hold his other hand too, coaxing him to face him. “Because you are the heart of this place. You may not have had a choice to break through your red wall, but you persevered. You are so much stronger than you think, Simon.”

The tears come even though he gave them no permission to, and Markus gently draws him into a comforting embrace. Over the years he’s only ever had Danny, and more recently Josh and North. There was never any time to dwell on the hurt, there was and is only the path forward; if he stopped for even a moment to think back on what he survived it would swallow him up. To have Markus affirm his strength, to have him acknowledge the pain and his progression is far too much for him to process. 

“Did you make my brother cry?!” Danny demands, appearing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “What the fuck did you say to him?!”

“Danny, look.” Simon wipes his eyes clumsily, pulling back a little in Markus’ arms so he can point at the painting on the table. “Markus painted this for us.”

“...You what?” Danny’s brows nearly disappear into his hairline as he spots the canvas. “Is this- are you for real?”

“I mean, well, yeah. It’s real and I made it.” Markus grins sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make your brother cry though.” 

“...Holyshit. Uh. Wow. Thanks?” 

“It’s 3pm, shall we get started on my session?” Markus seeks his eyes. “Is that alright, Simon?”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Sorry I’ll um- I’ll cover this up and take it upstairs so it’ll be safe.” 

He has to hide upstairs for a good fifteen minutes just to make sense of what just happened. He’s holding an original Manfred in his hands, and gifted to him no less. It’s not just a pretty painting, it’s a work of art of his family, making it absolutely precious and priceless. He resists the urge to hug the canvas to his chest, instead laying it on the coffee table before returning downstairs to the parlour. 

Danny’s already started, headphones on and brows creased in concentration by the time Simon brings in a tray of coffees and some black tea and honey cupcakes. Markus offers him a slightly pained smile, and Simon immediately sits beside him and holds his hand.

“Would you” Markus flicks his eyes over to make sure Danny isn’t paying attention “like to go to dinner with me on Friday?”

“...I’m sorry?” 

“Oh, does Friday not work for you? Wait, the parlour’s open longer on Friday nights, sorry.” Markus nods in understanding. “How about Saturday?”

“No I- I’m- the- Friday is- I mean, you’re...asking me to dinner?” Simon stammers, feeling his cheeks flush as Markus strokes his thumb over the back of his hand.

“I’m certainly not asking Daniel.” He cocks a brow, grin mischievous as Simon feels his cheeks grow hotter. 

“Um Friday is fine. I’d love to.” He frowns. “I can’t believe you’re asking me out to dinner while my brother holds a very sharp object against your skin.”

“He already knows. He threatened to stab me if I ever broke your heart.” Markus admits, and Simon realises that’s what Danny must’ve said to him last time right before he left. “Which is fair, really. If I ever broke your heart I’d deserve that. But I’ll do my best to look after it very well, I promise.” 

“Then I’ll see you on Friday.” Simon finds himself unable to stop smiling. Markus brings their clasped hands to his lips, kissing Simon’s knuckles.

“I’m really looking forward to- ow!” Markus yelps as Danny applies just a little more force than necessary.

“Don’t flirt with my brother until I’m done.” Danny orders, voice a little too loud to compensate for the music blaring in his headphones. He fixes Markus with a stern glare, and Markus nods obediently. “Good. Now stay still.”

*~* 

The finished piece is spectacular, truly Danny’s best work. The lines are crisp, the colours are vibrant, and it’s really as if the shards are exploding outwards from the ghostly outlined blue triangle. It’s taken just over a month to heal properly, with luckily only minimal scabbing. 

Simon admires the work, watching it come alive with each inhale and exhale, with each rise of fall of Markus’ broad, toned chest; a boy breaking out of his father’s shadow to forge his own path as a man of his own making. He traces the triangle carefully with his finger, touch featherlight. Markus hums, a small sound in the back of his throat as his lips curve upward in a lazy smile. 

“Tickles.” He mumbles, capturing Simon’s hand and bringing it to his lips so he can press kisses to his fingers. Opening his mismatched eyes, he blinks at Simon sleepily before rolling over and pulling him flush against his body. They’re delightfully, sinfully bare beneath the covers, legs tangled, and it’s somehow still almost downright scandalous to Simon every time it happens. “Hey gorgeous.” 

“Good morning, my love.” Simon greets in return shyly, and Markus smiles at those words, pressing their mouths together one, twice, thrice insistently. It’s a hungry, desperate beast, this thing called love; selfish and needy and somehow never sated but that seems to suit them just fine. They’ll drink each other in and drown wholly, completely, in the wonderful chaos; two halves of one whole. 

This is the freedom they found, this is the freedom they earned, and the red wall lies in shards at their feet.     

*~*~*

(Markus’ tattoo is similar to this, something like the moment when androids deviate in the game)

#simarkus #dbh markus #dbh simon #detroit: become human #me: oh i'll keep it short and sweet! #also me: 5;5k sounds about right #caleb crow #adventures in text posts #annie writes: dbh

[katehuntington]

“I would like to request a Dean x Reader with a witches prompt and smut please.” - @flamencodiva​

Author: Kate Huntington Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Rowena Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only (if you’re under 18, don’t read any further), Smut, sex under influence of magic, rough sex, slightly Dom!Dean Word Count: 1623 words (I know, I suck at writing drabbles) Author’s note: beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage​ & @theyaremyveryownthoughts​. Thank you for doing this so short notice!

     “Dean? Are you alright now, boy?”      Rowena observes the hunter from behind her altar in the bunker’s dungeon, a big pot in front of her filled with various ingredients smelling foul. Surely, he got a whiff of the disgusting brew, but that’s not the reason why Dean has to steady himself.       “You sure you are channeling that attraction spell in the right direction?” he questions the witch, after taking a breath.      “Of course I do, my dear,” she returns, somewhat insulted.      Y/N looks over at the hunter staggered, because he’s not the only one who’s feeling off. Her knees feel like they are about to buckle, a tightness in her coil winding her up. The red haired witch now glances from hunter to huntress, as it starts to dawn on her what’s going on.      “But it’s known that in some cases a wee side effect occurs--”      “- and you only thought to mention that now?” Dean snaps, his breathing picking up.      “It’s harmless, really. Nothing to worry about,” Rowena assures. “I would’ve picked other assistants, though, if I had known about the two of ya.” 

     “The two of us? What do you mean?”      Y/N’s respiration is picking up as well and she feels like she’s about to break out in a cold sweat. The fabric of her clothes cling to her skin, suffocating and hot. She rubs her thighs together when adjusting her stance and freezes; her underwear is damp. What the hell is going on with her?      “Oh, you poor oblivious children.” The red haired woman glances at Dean sympathetically, then at Y/N.       “What’s the side effect, Rowena?” the older Winchester brother demands.      “It’s an attraction spell, darling,” she says simply. “It magnifies the desire you already felt.”

     Dean carefully glances at the huntress, who has her arms folded around her stomach, fighting to stay upright. He feels his fast-coursing blood focus towards the pit of his abdomen. Shit, he’s hard as a rock just by the sight of his female colleague. 

     He rips away from the altar, staggering towards the exit of the dungeon. He can’t stand it anymore, this pull, and he knows he needs to get away from Y/N until the spell fades. Giving in to the temptation will ruin their friendship and the hunter is not ready to let that go. Yes, he wants more. Yes, she’s not just a friend to him. But he can’t let that sail its course. Not in this life.       Shocked she watches him turn the corner, a push in the back forcing her to follow the Winchester. It’s like a demon or a spirit is using the power of telekinesis, because she has no control over her actions.       “Dean?” she calls for him.

     Hearing her voice involuntarily stops him in his tracks, the plead melting away the determination he had to lock himself in his room and wait it out. Under the dim lamps of the hall he looks over his shoulder, facing the woman he’s gravitating towards. He resists for a second longer, his jaw fixed and his mind torn, but then he dashes at the woman he’s been pining for. Hungrily he seeks her lips, the violent kiss returned by her once Dean turns her into the concrete wall, caging her with his strong arms. The action is ferocious, but he cannot help himself. The magic is amplifying everything he wants, everything he needs. He has to have her. Now.

     She gasps for air when the hunter leaves her mouth and drags his teeth over her collarbone. He runs his hips into her as his arms buckle, the space she’s in becoming even smaller. A flush of heat warms the inside of her legs when she feels his length against her thigh.       “I-I can’t stop, but you can run,” Dean breathes, even though he must realize that it’s pointless. “If you don’t want this -”      “- I want this,” she returns decisive, not just the magic talking. “I’ve always wanted this.”

     He stares into her eyes for as long as the spell allows him to pause his actions, but then he can’t hold back anymore. The lust in her voice spurs him on and he crashes his mouth on hers,  biting down on her lip, pulling a yearning gasp from her throat when he draws blood. His hands are all over her body, first gripping her waist, then sliding under her flannel to knead her breasts, pulling her bra down far enough to free her nipples. Leaving her plaid shirt half undone when his patience runs out, his fingers now descend down her ass. God, he wishes he has the control to slow down, really appreciate every curve of her body, but he’s not in charge.       “Take your pants off,” he hisses, already undoing the copper button of her dark jeans.      She obeys, shimmying out of the denim after Dean runs the zipper down. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and inhales raspily, because the hunter wastes no time and pushes her panties from her slick center.      “God… You do want me, don’t ya?” he hums.

     She nods eagerly, looking straight at him as he drowns her in a sea of emerald green. Another heated kiss keeps her occupied while Dean unbuttons his own pants and pushes his boxers down. The anticipation overwhelms her, the urge for him aching now, but then he lifts her up, pushing her against the hard surface. She feels his tip parting her folds as she tries to free at least one foot from the pant leg of her jeans. When she finally manages, she hooks her legs around his hips, allowing Dean to enter her in one smooth motion. He stretches her so satisfyingly that she can feel that the discomfort caused by the spell begins to falter. A muffled cry echoes between the concrete under the bunker, her sounds repeating every time he pulls back and buries himself inside of her up to his hilt.      “Fuck, this feels so good,” she whimpers.

     Her arms constrict tighter around his neck now, fingertips pressing into his freckled skin that his henley doesn’t cover. The friction he was craving for earlier feels even better than he imagined. The haze and the hunger that took over the second he inhaled the fumes, are fading slowly. But even though he is regaining control, his motions don’t ease. He continues to roll his hips into her thoroughly, riding her up the wall with a steady pace, making sure her needs are satisfied as well. He snaps his hips up sharper then, grunts falling from his lips. Burying his face into the crook of her neck, Dean kisses her tender flesh. He can feel Y/N tensing up around him, another labored breath followed by a curse. She’s not gonna last much longer and neither is he.      “Dean… Please,” she begs, her eyes shut and head back. “Make me come.”      He gives her everything, ignoring the strain in his arms from holding her form in position against the wall. Her legs squeeze tighter around his waist, pulling him even deeper as she meets him in his thrusts. He fights his own orgasm, biting down on her shoulder. The rhythm becomes more erratic, but then he can feel her starting to tremble.       A series of moans leave her lips, the next even louder than the one before. The spring, coiled tight in her center, is about to snap free, but every time when she thinks she’s there, the pressure builds further. When she almost slips from his hold, he readjusts his grip, changes the angle slightly, pushing faster into her than he did before. It ignites a fire and sets off an explosion like she has never experienced. 

     Dean can feel her coming around him, shaking and pulsing, and it sends him over the edge as well. With a growl coming from deep within his chest, he spills inside of her and then stills, rolling into her softly a few more times to ride out their high, before he carefully lowers her to the ground. Out of breath she leans against him when he wraps his arm around her, using the other to steady himself against the wall. For a little while neither of them speak, because what does one say after induced-by-magic rough sex up against the bunker wall? Carefully Dean looks up at her, concerned eyes bouncing over her features. His silent question if she’s okay is answered with a smile, which the hunter returns.      “Are you two decent?” Rowena’s voice sounds from the dungeon.      “No!” Both Dean and Y/N return insync.

     The huntress struggles back into her jeans and adjusts her top, Dean zipping up his pants as well. She carefully glances up at him. His cheeks are flushed and he’s avoiding her eyes, clearly embarrassed with himself. Only when she takes his hand, he dares to meet her gaze, the silent communication calming them both.      “You horny teenagers are going to help me finish the spellwork, now that you have stopped screwin’ each other?”      The witch turns around the corner, resting one hand high on the doorsill, the other in her side. She eyes the hunters, an amused smirk on her red lips.      “Just give us a minute, okay?” Dean returns annoyed.      “Alright,” she sighs, about to return to her altar, but then she peeks around the corner again. “Oh, and by the way…”      Y/N and Dean look up from their entwined fingers, half expecting another sassy remark from the sorcerer. But what she is about to tell them, is meant to come across much softer. Rowena winks, dimples in her cheeks as she smiles.      “It’s about time, you two.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

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#Kate's 666 followers Halloween celebration #Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester oneshot #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfic #Dean fanfiction #Dean fanfic #Rowena #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #SPN fanfic #Spell on you #Kate Huntington

[icefrozendeadlyqueen]

My Neighbor is a Lochbrok: Prologue

No Summary. This has been stuck in my head for so long. I had to write it.

Pairing: (y/n) x Ubbe, (y/n) x Sigurd, Adia x Bjorn, Ashla x Hvitserk, Ivar x unknown.

Word count: I have no idea

Also: This is my first time writing Hvitserk. Please let me know how is he?? This is the longest reader insert I have done. Chapter 1 will come after I recover. I think this is awesome, but I am bias. 

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"(y/n)! Please! Open this door". 

A December night welcome you back into the land of the living one thing you really didn't need today waking up. You had enough with the lack of sleep for the past week to worry about getting your lazy ass out of bed. Suddenly the noises stop all at once giving you enough silence to welcome the sweet embrace call sleep. Does slumber has an aroma? A peaceful feeling that rings familiarity and numbness into your subconscious. It was a nice thought the soft sheets on top of your body pushing you back into sleep while the air conditioner is at the right temperature pumping that desirable amount of cold air needed for (y/n) to achieve sleeping state. Heart rate slows down like the gentle state you get when your fur is laid against a meadow. A violent pound awoke you from your slumber with no upcoming warning (y/n) lips part trying to speak words that never reach the outside of your lips. (y/n) pushes some hair out of her face trying to wake herself up, "I am awake! I am aw-", (y/n) crashes back into the bed pushing the sheets and blankets back onto her body, she forgets the reason she was woken up, it barely slips her mind too soon a thud disturbs your sleeping state once more. (y/n)'s eyes open turning a yellows color a look only taken when the werewolf in question is too close to shifting. A growl escapes your lips pushing the sheets of off you a loud scream escapes your lips; however, the pounds only grows now with your frustration.

"Stop your bickering dammit! I was fucking sleeping!", (y/n) seats on the bed breath in and shouting at the top of your lungs with everything you had in store. You aren't one to shout at anyone without a good reason. Sleep is reason enough. A week have you been deprived of sleep because of some Alpha duty you had to attend too. (y/n) roars once more possibly trembling the whole apartment and announcing to the whole 500 radius that some poor soul have upset the Alpha. (y/n) grabs shorts from the floor putting them on with some t-shirt that was surely stolen from her roommates room. Your hands shake incapable of holding onto your frustration despite you trying not to shred your favorite pajamas. Pajamas made only for you birthday present from your (f/c/s). (y/n) smiles at the good pros of being an Alpha taking such an assignment from your lazy sister. You stump across the apartment ignoring your roommate chugging a bucket of ice cream, "It's Chad". She whispers stopping you dead set before you even reach for the door handle. (y/n) takes a 360 turn looking straight at her friend, "Why is he knocking so loud? Doesn't he knows who I am?", (y/n) places both trembling hands together cracking a joint for good measure anything to help you not to pound the son's beta to death.

"You completely erase last night?", She asks giving you a once over. (y/n) ponders on her friends question before saying anything. A couple of images in Calamity last night rushes in your consciousness. Chad's arms around your shoulder the whole pack having a blast at your sisters bar that's many of the shops or stores we have around New York City to sustain the pack, his sucking attempt to be sexy, some words you cant register then you punching him to an inch of his life... what the? Why did I punch him?

"Guess I did. I haven't had a proper sleep in a while cut me some slack", (y/n) claims taking a turn to the kitchen ignoring the laughter of her friend. You forgot important events of last night it seems there is nothing coffee can't fix. (y/n) walks the short steps to the instant coffee cabinet taking (f/o) out walking to the machine with a suspicious glare towards her friend that hasn't responded yet, "I am waiting. I would love to see a half sleep Alpha beat the fuck out of her ex". She an omega laughs louder than the pounds on your apartment door. 

"My Ex? Who Jeffrey? Last time a check isn't he in Denmark now?". (y/n) turns the coffee machine on after water and the coffee was in their respective places. 

"Chad. You ended your relationship with him after he made the worst mistake in history", She starts off pushing the ice cream to the side. (y/n) leans back on the counter next to her coffee machine staring directly at the ball of sunshine that's your friend. She wore rainbow pajamas that read on big letters "Chilling is my middle name".

"Which is?", (y/n) respond curiously to know what happen last night.

"You know how you hate your sister to the death? You know how if you had to pick between me or her. You'll choose me right?". (y/n) nods not sure where this is going from all things possible. Your friend smiles a smile that let you to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, so? Everyone knows I hate her". (y/n) sighs heavily calming down heavily at the soothing scent of just brew coffee. (y/n) leans off the counter walking short steps to the cup cabinets above your friends head, "But only 3 people can talk about it... maybe 4 if we include the none conventional boyfriend your sister has. That they arent together... but whatever helps her sleep at night", Your friend chuckle gaining you to stop midway to the coffee machine, "That's her phrase. If she hears you, you'll regret it".

"She did double shift at Calamity. Hvitzzy came back and guess who didn't want to come home to sleep??". (y/n) rolls her eyes at her roommate side tracking from one conversation to the next. It was obvious she loved to guess the type of modern relationship my sister has with Calamity's bartender, "Huh? The new pack members finish training?". (y/n) asks as roommate nods with a smile on her lips. She rushes out of her seat so quick (y/n) almost spills her coffee. At first, you thought she needed to hit the toilet, but she return with a book notes address to you from Hvitserk, "Luke brought you this.. It's from Hvitserk. He wasn't able to give it to you with the whole thing. He explains in detail of each member... he was very detail. Luke compelled me so I didn't open it, so please take it". Your roommate pushes the notebook on the kitchen counter staring directly at it then glancing back at you with eyes that explain everything. (y/n) sips her coffee shutting half of her sleep goodbye.

"What the fuck happen last night, Adia?!". 

"Chad insulted Ashla in the busiest night Calamity has seen so far. He said and I quote, "It seems nature skip your sister from the bottom of my heart I feel for anyone that thinks she could ever become a proper Alpha" I don't know if it was the couple of drinks you have had or lack of proper sleep. You swing an uppercut so quick it surprise everyone at the table. I was shock Hvitserk wasn't amuse. Your sister came into the bar and walk out saying something about she isn't going to jail today. It took an hour to pull you from Chad just because 40 minutes of that we were all just stun. You shouted to him, "Only I am allowed to insult her! Yeah she is a fucking bitch, but that doesnt give you the right. She is my flesh and blood". I mean yeah Chad had said stuff about Ashla to her face and behind her back countless off time much worse than that you just never were around to hear it". Adia retells the last night events as the picture of last night clouds your memory.

Flashback.

It was 2 minutes to 11 o'clock. New York City night life has just started with the many human and wolfs alike pouring into Calamity. Midnight was around the corner and a couple to many drinks in your system. Chad holds your shoulder to keep you steady as everyone comes by paying their respect to the Alpha then walks to the bar to welcome back Hvitserk for the excellent work at training new recruits. Old faces come and go with rarely new ones the whole pack was here living their best life, "Another drink for our Alpha!", Chad claims gaining a crowd to raised their glasses cheering happily. (y/n) chuckles uncontrollably at the slight thought this is an amazing night. You kiss Chad on the cheek with him returning your affection, "I have to go say my words to Hvitserk. I'll be right back". (y/n) moves back with beer in hand walking to the bar hearing a soft, "I'll be here", from Chad's lips. Hvitserk laughs at some joke Luke spoke near the bar. (y/n) walks slow steps stopping right in front of the infamous Alpha, "Welcome back, Alpha", (y/n) words brings Hvitserk's eyes staring directly at your (e/c). It was a short sense of acknowledgement as his eyes drift to the door. His green eyes keep contact with those that (y/n) knows is her by the strawberries and cigarette strong scent, Ashla.

"You are staring Hvitserk", Luke calls out making you laugh almost choking on the beer you were trying to drink.

"Luke leave the lover boy over here. He can stare all he wants, but Ashla is not the woman I would recommend, Hvitty", (y/n) inch closer to him whispering words laughing soon after at his stare from Luke green eyes to your (e/c).

"I am not staring". Hvitserk claims keeping his eyesight on the drink he has been working for Luke.

"Right... and Ashla is a proper lady", Adia whispers just to sweeten the deal (y/n) burst out laughing replying back, "This shouldn't be funny".

"Ashla said we could add a moderate amount of Wolfsbane". Hvitserk inches closer to my ears whispering seductively the words that make me fear life as it is. He pulls back cracking a laugh at my fearful utter expression, "You didn't just do that?". (y/n) asks just as Hvitserk avoids a sharp glass thrown at him from across the room. Luke, Adia & (y/n) turn around to stare far across the other side of the bar a black hair woman with glaring black eyes looking back at us, "Well, Ashla is pissed. She didn't told you to use Wolfsbane, did she?".

"I did to us werewolves not to the humans". Ashla soft whisper reach all the corner of our minds. (y/n) shivers turning around shaking the feeling that Ashla might just be behind you.

"I'll prepare whiskey on the rocks if you come here". Hvitserk whispers to my sister. We stare seeing Ashla taking another cigarette out placing both her lips around it. She looks up with a glare directly at Hvitserk, "My attention cost food".

"I was waiting for you to say that", Hvitserk responds with a cheeky grin adorning his lips. (y/n) looks back at Hvitserk bringing some plastic bags from under the bar counters. You look as Adia shiver pointing to the other side of the bar (y/n) looks towards it seeing Ashla joining group, "Congrats, Hvitserk. You have master Ashla". Luke says sadly right after Ashla proceeds to punch his gut with her elbow. She sat back down eating her food and alcohol in silent, "Has everyone said their welcome backs?".

"Hmm.. Let me see". Hvitserk reach back to put his hair up again. It was cute the state everyone was in Hvitserk was back, Ashla wasn't so moody well less moody than usual, Adia was as always a ball of sunshine, Luke new house is the floor. (y/n) stares at Luke seeing Ashla feet on his head, "There is only one person that hasnt said it to me". Hvitserk blurts out with Luke screams of pain when Ashla stands from her seating position. You glance at the little exchange not going to help Luke because Ashla's wrath cant be escape. Ashla takes a hold of Hvitserk's collar bringing him to her level, "Hmm. I told you first... remember that". Ashla proclaims almost growling. Adia and (y/n) wait patiently for the kiss that never seem to happen. Ashla hates a crowd she lets go off his collar not before Hvitserk place a hand behind her head bringing Ashla closer to finish what she started. It was sudden but sweet in a way (y/n) saw Ashla's brows relax and her face calm down just from one action. Hvitserk pulls back pecking her lips again, "You can't tease me like that".

"Who said I was teasing?". Ashla blurts out sharing another kiss with him. Adia throws them some fries to stop their make out session, "Wait till everyone leaves! I don't need to know where you two fuck".

"The bar in the other side that we don't use", Hvitserk respond letting go off Ashla satisfied to get what he wanted.

End of Flashback   

"I didn't need to know that", (Y/n) calls out shaking your head shivering at the sweet exchange. Adia glances at your surprise, "so he is pounding our door for that?".

"Maybe....". Adia takes a step from her chair trying to escape your questioning.

"We are not done. What else happen?", (y/n) firmly speaks not a minute later Adia returns with a spoon in hand eating her ice cream. 

"Chad kiss Jessica and went home with her. Ashla kick them out of the bar saying something on the lines off disowning them from the pack. Chad said Ashla can't do that, but she glare at him.. you know with her red eyes... it was a tense time. You follow up disowning Jessica too". Adia fills in the empty blanks that lead to the Beta's son being a total douch-bag, "He probably thinks he can talk to you knowing you forget sometimes", Adia adds gaining you glare back at the door.

"We both are Alpha... even though she says she can switch to a beta", (y/n) shakes her head at the current stupidity of her sister. 

"He is still outside. Ashla said to call her, and she'll rough him up a bit. Hvitserk suggested to call him. He offer to make it quick whatever that means", Adia blurts out locking eyes with you once more.

"He means to kill Chad. Did somebody told him what Chad has said?". (y/n) asks with Adia thinking about her response.

"I believe he knew. He just didn't knew it was about Ashla. I have never seen him so angry before". Adia shivers pointing to the door. You shrug the uneasy sensation placing the empty coffee cup in the sink with Adia putting Calamity's number on the homephone. (y/n) takes steps out the kitchen and towards the first headache of this morning. You didn't want to deal with the douch-bag that's your former boyfriend Chad Tim, Beta son to Jimmy Tim a good man despite his shitty son. (y/n) brings the door open seeing red headed Chad growling at your form. (y/n) stretched not even bother to feel threaten by Chad small attempt, "Why the hell are you here? Didn't Ashla disowned you? You don't belong or get help by the pack leave to your whores house already". (y/n) holds onto the door handle pushing the door back to closing hoping that's the end of that. You walk back into your apartment unaware that Chad stop the door from closing, "Don't you walk away from me!! Ashla is not my Alpha. You are". Chad growls an spits at you screaming louder than you thought possible. He runs towards (y/n).

"(Y/N)! Oh my god! Chad has gone mad!", Adia calls out to you screaming at the phone to someone that replied, "I am on my way". 

(y/n) turns left slowly watching Chad punch air. You felt like a feather feeling your Alpha senses flagging red when danger is about. (y/n) reach for his wrist pressing enough strength to catch a reaction. You bring one of your legs to his stomach hoping it had broken a bone or 3. A crack not sure if was yours or his as his other punch make contact with your cheeks. Adia scream wanting to help, but Chad looks at her growling to keep her quiet. Adia stops dead on track whimpering. (y/n) punches his gut one more time. You breath in air screaming when you pick Chad up throwing him outside your apartment. The pack members walk out of their apartments staring at gone mad Chad and their beaten Alpha, "I'll make you suffer for that Chad. You will plead for mercy that I'll never provide, you lowlife sack of shit. Come at me you little bitch. Are you going to fight me for your spot in the pack because last time I check Ashla disowned you. This is a pack of Alpha sisters. She did right at fucking kicking you ungrateful little shit!", (y/n) calls to him eyes turning a vivid color him growling at every word you said. Hearts beating and Adria thought just forgotten as you run to Chad with a goal in mind.

Make sure he regrets the day he was born.

#vikings #reader x ubbe #reader x sigurd #reader insert #oc x hvitserk #reader #viking show #hvitserk ragnarson

[inthepantheon]

The Plot Thickens, Part I

I awoke slowly to the smell of fresh coffee brewing in my kitchen and the sound of someone cooking. It smelled delicious, but who the hell was in my house? I really didn’t want to shoot someone before getting my morning mug of coffee. Perhaps I could multitask and do both? I wouldn’t want to spill my coffee...or clean up a body. A goddess must have priorities. The morning light was bright and cheerful. Why hadn’t I closed my blackout curtains?  I went for my .45mm Taurus that I kept behind my headboard. Why the hell am I naked? Memories of the night before came flooding in and caused an involuntary smile. I released my gun and let it remain in its holster. It would probably be rude to shoot the man that I had thoroughly enjoyed a night of passion with. Besides, I am hoping to repeat the experience.  I stretched and let out a yawn. I was very well satisfied, but after a night like that, I needed a shower. The sheet fell to the floor as I stood, and I walked naked to the master bath. The morning light illuminated both my bedroom and the bathroom. For the first time in a very long time, I did not loathe the morning for being so…well...morning. I let out a small laugh, and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up. Honestly, grinning like an idiot, standing naked in my bathroom, all I could think was that I could get used to this. Strong arms wrapped around my waist as I was about to step beneath the water. “Mind if I join you?” He was already naked, and I liked that he wasn’t ashamed of last night. The knowledge of his vulnerability made the memories even better. He trailed kisses along my neck. “Only if you keep doing that,” I murmured, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation. Small chills of anticipation ran down my spine. I led him into my oversized shower, and I turned towards him to meet his kiss.. The throes of passion swept over us, carrying us along until we were both sated.   I leaned against the tiled wall, languid and boneless in the glow of satisfaction. Renard picked up my body wash, lathering it in my loofa. Gently, he turned me around and gathered my hair over my shoulder to wash my back. He took his time before he turned me back around and started washing the front of me.  “I can bathe myself, you know,” I said breathlessly. “Hush, woman, and let me touch you,” he said with a wicked smirk. I did as he said, convinced this was the cleanest a goddess had ever been. The thought made me smile. Seeing it, he leaned in and kissed me, and I took the loofa, returning the favor. It was soft, thorough, and sensual as we explored each other’s bodies.  “We’re going to run out of hot water if you keep kissing me like that,” he said with his lips still pressed to mine. I agreed, half protesting.  “I could use some food. You have worked up quite an appetite in me,” I teased as we exited the shower. “I guess it’s a good thing that I made you breakfast. I put it in the warmer when I heard you turn on the shower.”  We dried off and went into my kitchen, our modesty only covered by our towels.  “Why don’t you sit. I’ll get you coffee and breakfast. How do you take your coffee?” he asked. “Are you trying to spoil me?” I asked, teasing him. “As long as you will let me,” he replied with his dazzling smile. That smile could melt an iceberg.   “Cream and sugar.”  “Coming right up, my lady.” He gave a little bow, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Damn right and don’t you ever forget it,” I said with a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He made us coffee and filled our plates with omelets, bacon, sausage, and toast. All he was missing were the pancakes, and we would have a buffet.  “Thank you,” I said as he set the coffee and food before me. “Anytime.” We ate our breakfast and made small talk. For the first time in a long time, I enjoyed a mortal’s company without care. How did he make me feel so relaxed and at ease? The ringing of his phone broke my thoughts. Renard picked it up and grimaced. Great. Watch him be married, and it’s the wife calling. Honestly, that’s my luck with relationships. There is a reason that I was still single after all these millennia.  “Renard,” he answered. The greeting was short and told me it wasn’t a spouse calling. “Okay, text me the address, and I’ll be right there. No, I’ll let Athena know.” He disconnected and put the phone aside. “Leave it to the criminals to put a damper on a perfect morning. We have a case.” “Well, shit. I guess we need to get dressed then. Probably shouldn’t show up to a crime scene in just our towels.” We shared naughty grins. “I’ll leave the address and meet you there. I need to run home and change.” He got up and walked over to the clothes we’d discarded last night. I knew that I should get moving too, but right then, I was enjoying the view. I watched him get dressed, and when he turned around, he caught me staring. He gave me his dazzling smile as he walked over and kissed me. It was a sweet but short kiss. I was thankful because if it were anything more, we would both be terribly late for work. He wrote the address down on the notepad on my table. “I’ll see you there.” “Yes, you will.” We said our goodbyes, and he left. I finished my coffee and went back to my bedroom. The sight of my messy bed brought another smile. After a moment of standing there like an idiot, I went to my closet. Choosing a jet-black pants suit with thin pink pinstripes and a matching pink button-up shirt, I dressed quickly. I put my shoulder rig on and put my gun in its holster. I finished with my hair, makeup, and shoes, and exited with my matching suit jacket in hand. I needed to get my coffee and get going. I grabbed my favorite travel mug that says Rock, Paper, Scissors, Throat Punch, I Win on it and left. Nothing was going to ruin my day, not even a crime scene. *** I pulled up to the address that Renard left me. It’s not the usual house, abandoned building, or area that I had come to expect for a crime scene. I parked my car. The Police Department, Forensics team, Detectives, EMT’s and the basic cavalry that you would expect were already there. Of course, this morning’s activities had me late to the scene. Having to go back home after realizing that I would need a coat over my suit jacket hadn’t helped my tardiness. It’s the middle of May and a chilly 41 degrees out. I would have to have a talk with Boreas or his daughter Khione about this cold. The winter is their domain, and I was not happy that they were overstaying their welcome. Perhaps Persephone and I would pay them a visit. This was her time to shine, quite literally. I didn’t care for the extended cold or the fact that they were infringing on Seph’s time.  I walked over to the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge, connecting Wrightsville to Columbia. Once upon a time, the bridge was burned down. Of course, that was during the Civil War, one of the many wars that the mortals rage. The bridge was rebuilt and is usually filled with traffic. I’m sure the local population was not happy about having to reroute their travels to the bridge in Harrisburg. It’s going to add a good chunk of time to their commutes. “About time you got here.” I heard the familiar voice of Captain Renard tease me. His dazzling smile was out of place at the crime scene, but I knew why he was so chipper. A good time can do that to you, and we had a great time last night and again this morning.  “Yes, I was detained. Someone decided to give me a late start. Maybe we should talk to him about doing that.” We both laughed. It’s inappropriate, I knew, but we couldn’t help it. It’s the giddy afterglow when nothing could touch you.  “This way.” He motioned for me to follow. I half expected him to lead me onto the bridge since the emergency personnel had it completely barricaded and closed off. I was surprised when he turned and led me below the bridge.  “Going for a secret rendezvous?” I asked jokingly. “I wish. Unfortunately, this is where the body was dumped. I warn you; it is water-logged and looks like it has been here a while.”  Okay, I thought nothing was going to damper my mood. The smell hit me before we got to the body. Renard was right. He had been here at least two weeks. The cold had slowed the decomp time down, but not stopped it.  We walked over to the body and crouched down to take a closer look. I’m going to need to invest in some fashionable work boots that I could easily clean all the blood and muck from crime scenes. Something that would be easier to run in would be nice too. Perhaps a spit-shined form of combat boot? I could make that work.  “Anything?” Renard’s voice brought me back to the matter at hand. I assumed my staring at the body indicated a clue rather than a spaced-out thought.  “Most of the skin is missing, presumably from the fish and birds. He has been here a little while, at least a couple of weeks. The decomp has been slowed down due to the cold, that will help in identifying him. If it were warmer out, the decomp would make that harder. From what is left, I can tell you he is a Caucasian male of a large build.” I put on my rubber gloves and examined the body. “His teeth are intact, so you should be able to get a dental identification on him.” I moved my examination to his body. “Any evidence or indicators of death have been eaten away. You might be able to have forensics clean the bones and look for striations or weapon marks. But…” I noticed something… “I think I know who our vic is, at least I know his connection. Do you remember the case a little while back, with all the blood but no bodies? Only the severed hand in the tub? It was in Harrisburg.”  His face paled. The story had been all over the news. Gruesome stories have a way of sticking with you. No one remembered the little old lady that was mugged or the poor kitty that was lost, but everyone remembered the bloody murder scene. We had found so few clues, and even fewer leads, that everyone started speculating about what had really happened. Then the rumor mill began to circulate, and the stories ran wild. The truth was, this was the first real piece of evidence that we had found. The fingerprints at the scene were not in the database, any of them. All we had was a ton of blood samples from multiple unidentified victims and a severed hand. The case had become cold, and we were forced to move on to more solvable cases. It’s an unfortunate part of the job, but it’s our reality.  “The area around where the hand was severed shows signs of various stages of healing. This suggests that the hand was severed pre-mortem. Has forensics processed the scene?” I knew they had, but it’s polite to ask before disturbing the body...well, what’s left of it.  “Yes, you have the all-clear to examine the body.” Which was his way of saying I could touch.. Since I had the Boss’ approval, I rolled the body on its side. It made a wet, sucking sound as the remaining water-logged skin peeled away from the mud..  “There are no obvious signs of cause of death on the back either. I would say that the body will need to be transported to a lab for further testing.” I grimaced because I didn’t have any real answers for him. I felt like I had wasted their time. The body could have been moved and processed by now, but they were all waiting for me to give them some Godly direction on the scene. I wished I had some for them. “I’m sorry I don’t have more answers.” “It’s okay. We are always thankful that you are willing to lend your expertise in these cases. More often than not, you can catch things way before any of our techs do, and time is often of the essence.” He tried to manage a smile to make me feel better. “Thank you. If you find anything out, I would love to be kept in the loop. Maybe I can be of further assistance.” It was mostly true. I really wanted to be in the loop because kids could be involved, and I had a genuine hatred for those who hurt the innocent. If I couldn’t find the kids and bring them to safety, I at least wanted to make the bastards who hurt them pay. “We will.” “Thank you.” I removed my surgical gloves as I stood to leave.  “Athena…” the Captain said from behind me. I turned to face him. “Athena, would you be available later?”  “Of course. Do you need to go over another case? I can make time…” “Oh, no…. Um…” he interrupted me, so I waited for him to finish. He looked so nervous. It’s cute. Normally he was so confident and authoritative that the vulnerability was endearing as hells. “Would you be available later… for dinner? I...uh...I would like to take you out to dinner.” “Are you always this…adorable when you are asking someone out?” I couldn’t help but smile. I didn’t get asked out as often as you would think. I intimidated most people or they are on the wrong end of my wrath. Either way, I don’t get many invitations to be courted.  “No, but it’s not every day that I ask out a Goddess.” He looked nervous that his honesty would earn him a no on the date. “Yes, dinner sounds nice. Pick me up at 7 and expect to be teased if you bring your big truck.” I winked at him and turned to leave. We both knew that he only drove the huge truck because he liked it and not for compensation reasons. Men and their big toys. I couldn’t stifle my chuckle as I left the scene. I felt like I needed another shower. Read the full article

#Athena #Captain #Coffee #Crime #love #murder #Officer #Renard

[producerguk]

pendulum

→ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader 

→ genre: angst.

→ warnings: swearing.

→ word count: 3,5k 

:: the one where you get your heart broken after some rumours. 

→ a/n: this is the first piece of writing i’m sharing. i would also like to thank @kathrynwynterbourne, @btsflufflysmut, @pinqaliqo, @blueliab, @rilakoya and @jimins-light for helping me during the process. i hope you enjoy it.

→ playlist

 Sitting alone at the table designed for eight, you'd lost count of how much wine you had. You weren't a lightweight, far from it, but lately, wine was the only drink that could calm you down. And boy, did you need to be calm.

It's not like you hadn't been warned. In fact, from the moment you announced his name to your parents, you knew you were doomed. Of course, a flicker of recognition appeared in their eyes, just to assume the darkest tone you'd ever seen less than ten seconds later. 

 But you were young and completely enthralled by the way he'd looked at you across the room, his doe eyes shining brighter than any star in the night sky. He made your stomach flip when he touched you, his warmth sending shivers throughout your whole body. You were completely in love with the way his hands ran through your hair in the middle of a movie marathon, his chest so still and comfortable under your head, much better than any pillow you could ever buy.

You loved the way he sang while making breakfast, swinging his cute butt to the beat playing in his head, with nothing but sweatpants on. Or the way his eyebrows scrunched together when he was in deep thought, a little pout forming on his sweet lips, that never failed to stop time.

You fell even more in love when he would notice that you weren't fine as soon as he saw your face, asking right away what was wrong but not pressuring you into telling him, just bringing you closer and wrapping his arms around you, letting you sob into his chest. Even more when he came home and would just throw himself around you, in any way he possibly could, as if he’d been gone for years and not just a couple of hours, not letting go until he was dead-ass hungry or something.

You didn't even fight often but when you did, it was over silly things like who would get the last serving of food, who had cheated on the game or who loved who more. You were happy when your parents abandoned their judgments and opened their hearts to the man who had yours right in his hands. And it didn't take long until he had theirs as well.

So you just couldn't wrap your mind around what had happened or why. And that's why you were fighting to keep your eyelids open after so much alcohol and so little food. You needed an answer and the only way you could get through with the confrontation was if you had no filter on.

Your butt was already numb from sitting in the chair for so long, but you only moved to the couch when the wine ended. Your heart was broken and you were butthurt, but you’d be completely damned if you spilled a single drop of the red remedy on your recently bought white couch.

You turned the TV on just to check the time since you had thrown your phone right into the wall when you read the rumours, smashing it as if it were your own head instead. Because you were told that would happen sooner or later, and yet you chose to stick with your feeling.

Your eyes locked on the white pixels, making your heart race. It was a little past three in the morning and you hadn't heard a single thing from him since all hell broke loose right on your doorstep, not even two days ago.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, throwing your head back on the arm of the couch and curling up into a ball, letting all you kept inside rush out on your face through tears.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, with nothing but the white noise of the TV to keep you company.

You were awakened by the smell of recently brewed coffee and bacon, but you didn't open your eyes. The sour taste on your mouth reminded you of all the bottles of wine you had chugged alone and the reason behind it, quickly setting that awful weight on your chest and over your shoulders, even though you told yourself you were already numb. The sound of footsteps soon followed until it stopped right beside you, although you kept your eyes shut in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

Cold fingers soon ran along your scalp, while his other hand brushed soft patterns on your arm, his cologne intoxicating you and his warm lips leaving soft kisses on your face. For a moment, you almost smiled. For a moment, your heart raced, with the warm feeling on your belly causing shivers to run through your body.

“Hey, I made you breakfast,” Jungkook said when he noticed you had opened your eyes, subtly rejecting his warmth as you clung more to the fabric of the couch than his embrace.

“Thanks,” you murmured, bringing your knees to your chest while he offered you the mug of coffee, an anxious look painted on his bare face.

You took your coffee strong and without sugar, so anything slightly different from that could ruin your whole day. He knew that from the first time he dared to surprise you with breakfast in bed, the drink so sweet that it almost had you spilling it all over your white bed sheets. Now, anytime Jungkook would decide to make you a surprise involving coffee, he’d watched expectantly to see if it was to your taste. He loved to see you close your eyes and inhale the scent as deep as you could, the warm drink settling in your stomach and eliminating any trace of sleep left.

Jungkook let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when you eagerly took another sip, unaware of how badly you wanted to get rid of the sour taste.

“Your friends were here yesterday?” he asked softly, wiping away the stains of mascara under your eyes.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“The bottles of wine left on the sink”, he explained, giving you a sweet smile. “I mean, I know you could drink it all and probably not even get a bit tipsy, but you don't have any reason for that, right? It just makes more sense.”

You could nod and give him a smile and a made up excuse your friends certainly would back it up. You could pretend nothing ever happened and keep yourself happy, on the same routine you had grown so fond of. You would get over it eventually, you knew you could.

Jungkook was offering you a way out of all the heartbreak and pain. You both knew that. His eyes were still wide, and he couldn't stop biting his bottom lip. His anxiety wasn't over the coffee. He knew you were aware of what happened and that didn't surprise you one bit; it's not like you had been hiding it, anyway.

“You wish, huh,” you mumbled, giving him a half-assed smile that didn't meet your eyes.

You could, but you wouldn't.

It wouldn't be fair to yourself to live a lie for someone else. It wouldn't be fair because it was against everything you believed in. It wouldn't be true.

“So, when were you going to tell me?” you asked, putting the mug down on the rest table. He didn't say anything, locking his eyes on the wooden floor. “Or you weren’t going to? Because you didn't.”

“I didn't mean it, I-”

“You what, Jungkook?” Your tone was higher, but you didn't mind. “You fucked her by accident? You were forced? For fuck’s sake, just take responsibility.” His head snapped at you, his eyes filling with tears, gulping hard at your words.

“Can I explain?” he asked, mimicking your position with his knees close to his chest.

“Go ahead, there's nothing I want more,” you said, not even flinching when his eyes met yours. You were numb, despite what his touch and caring led you to believe.

He took a moment to arrange his thoughts, but you didn't take your eyes away from his figure. You should’ve guessed this was bound to happen, no matter what he led you to believe. Jungkook was much more than you could’ve had. He was beautiful, talented, successful and gentle. Heads turned every time he walked into a room, eyes fixating on his every move as if just blinking could tear them away from never-ending happiness. He just had this aura of peace around him, that seemed to embrace everyone around him, even if in situations like this one. He could make anyone drop to his knees with so little as a tilting of his head. He could have anything he wanted handed to him in a matter of seconds. Jungkook could have anyone.

You should've known better.

“I’m not going to give any excuses,” Jungkook started, shifting on his seat. “And I don't want to hurt you more than I already did, so please, if it's too much just tell me to stop and I-”

“Get this over with,” you interrupted him, ignoring the uncomfortable warmth on your chest. “I don't want to know everything, but I deserve to. It's the least you can do.” He flinched at your harsh words, not failing to notice your cold tone.

“I thought I didn't love you anymore.”

His eyes didn't move away from yours, watching attentively to your every reaction. It was your turn to flinch, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Biting your tongue to not cut him off again, you tried to ignore the tight grip his words left around your neck.

“I thought I didn't feel the same anymore. We saw each other every night, fucked every other day and that was it. You didn't talk to me like you used to, or-,” he sighed, trying to sound as distant as he could.

“We talked about everything, Jungkook. Don't try to blame me for your fuck ups,” you interrupted him, voice filled with anger. “Or did you suddenly forget about all the nights I sacrificed my sleep to listen to you rant about how fucking awful it is to get paid to live the dream?”

“It’s not about me, though,” he continued, ignoring the way your eyes carved holes in his head. “You never talked to me about anything. Every time I got the chance to learn about your day, you’d shut me out. I wanted to go out, but then you’d be sleeping like a fucking bear. I wanted to be with you and you were out with your friends; and you didn't even bother to invite me.”

“How could I invite you when you’d fall asleep five minutes after you got home? Did you want me to fucking overwork you? What the fuck, Jungkook.”

“It's not about that!” He screamed, staring at you wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his erratic breathing. “I thought you didn't love me anymore, so I didn't want to love you at all! I fucking begged Jimin to take me with him to one of those motherfucking clubs he's always at. I drank more than I probably should and I found a girl completely different from you. She wore those dresses that are supposed to be sexy, but it ends up leaving half of her ass uncovered, and she bit her lips like it was supposed to be fucking hot, though it was pathetic, at best. And she was everything you would never be.”

You didn't interrupt him this time. You were too busy fighting your own tears to try to fight him. His words lacerated your heart. They tugged so deep into your heartstrings that you weren't sure you could ever recover.

“So I went and I fucked her. In the bathroom, on Jimin’s car and at her house. I wanted to get you out of my system because I was sure you already had me out of yours,” he didn't stop when tears traveled down his face or when his voice cracked, almost as if he was the one being choked and not you. “But I couldn't because you were on my mind all the fucking time. I didn't even cum once, for fuck’s sake.”

“Stop,” you begged, your voice not louder than a whisper over your sobs. “Please.”

You were both crying your hearts out in front of the other. You wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you and feel his warmth against you, his arms wrapping so tightly around you as his way of telling you he would not, and he could not, let you go. You wanted to kiss him and to apologize for ever letting him think you didn't want him. You wanted to embrace him and promise him that everything would turn out okay, that you both could get through that and grow together.

But the only thing you did was hug your own knees and drop your gaze to your jeans, not able to hold his and your own feelings anymore.

You didn't know how much time had gone since you begged him to stop, but by the headache threatening to settle, you figured it had been a lot. The silence between both of you wasn't in any way uncomfortable or unbearable, despite everything. It was probably because he was still there, you thought. If you stretched out a hand, he would take it. If you closed the distance, he would take you. If you kissed him, he would kiss you back. If you said that you loved him, he would tell you he loved you just as much. If you said it was okay, he would never let you go.

You knew why he did it, even though you didn't want to acknowledge it. You knew you had shut him out after he came back from tour because you felt you could never be enough for him, although he would stay up all night, despite the time zone he was in, talking you out of your worries through FaceTime, just so you could see he meant every word he said.

But when he came back beaming with happiness and so full of stories and passion for everything he’d seen, you couldn't help but feel disposable. You could never give him such happiness. Then, you believed he could never love you as much as he loved his job.

So you went back to going out almost every weekend with your friends, filling the emptiness you felt with alcohol and food and came home to an empty bed, because he was still working for the comeback. On his free days, you were too busy with paperwork that you willingly let accumulate, or going through awful hangovers that kept you within a foot of the toilet, and a teasing Jungkook to take care of your mess.

He never questioned you once. Instead, when you were too drunk to make it to the bed, he got up and took you, making sure to give you pills for headache and a whole bottle of water, cuddling with you after you succumbed to sleep. So you thought he didn't care that much with the way things changed. You chose to believe he didn't mind at all.

But now, hearing his sobs and staring at his swollen face, you wanted to beat yourself up for it. Because you were just as much at fault as he was. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to say something.

“You saw it on TV?” he asked, his voice raspy and cracked, wiping his tears away.

“Your fans mentioned me like crazy on a tweet and then Yoongi texted me saying he was going to beat you up.”

“He tried to,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “But Jin cut him off and took me out of the practice room before anything happened.”

“I would’ve told him he didn't need to, but I smashed my phone before that.” You told him, looking back at the wall that had to face your anger.

“I’m not surprised, you were always hot headed,” he smiled, truthfully this time.

“You're not wrong, but come on, if you were in my place you would've done worse.”

“She snapped a photo of me, somehow. I didn't see when she did, but then Jimin broke down the door of my studio shoving his phone at my face and then all hell broke loose.”

“What was her name?”

“I don't know,” he said, scratching his neck. “I don't think I asked.”

You were doing good, so far. It amazed you how you could still keep a civil conversation with him. The tears on your face had dried and although it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, the air surrounding you didn't resemble harmony.

Would he have ever told you if he hadn't been taken by surprise? Or would he have let things go on like before he had fucked her?

“I was trying to figure out a way of telling you when Jimin almost broke half of my shit. Taehyung almost hit me, too.”

“Yeah, it's not like you didn't deserve it,” you laughed, taking a sip of your now cold coffee. “But it shouldn't have happened.”

“None of it should,” Jungkook said, sitting more closely to you, throwing his head back on the couch.

“It did, though,” you reminded yourself when he took your hands in his.

You were so weak for him, and he fucking knew that. Jungkook could probably shoot you and you would forgive him, jumping in his arms at the first chance you got. His lips were red after all the crying, and yet all you could think about was to drown yourself in them, in him.

He leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead and the uneasiness settling in your belly made you remember no matter how badly you wanted him, you shouldn't.

Had he done that to her, before he left her house? Jungkook said it’d been just a fuck, but did his heart race when he was fucking her? Did he leave marks on her body? Did he moan for her like he did for you? Did he remember how she moaned his name? Did he fuck her like he fucked you?

The hands wrapped against yours had roamed her body, touching her everywhere. The lips still pressed against your forehead had been on her lips and god knows where else.

You backed off, not able to shrug the feeling. Jungkook seemed so broken when you got up, his hands still where yours were supposed to be. You found yourself fighting the tears back once more.

“What can I do to make it right?” He asked, his voice cracking.

“You can't,” you forced yourself to sound certain.

You wouldn't be able to live with yourself around him, no matter how brief their encounter was. He had been with someone else and that fucking broke you. You would see the faceless woman every time he touched you. His warmth was what could heal you, but how could he touch you without bringing her ghost back to haunt you?

“____, please, there must be something I can do,” Jungkook begged, getting up from the couch. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll do anything, please!”

“I can’t do this to myself,” you let out, wiping your tears away angrily. “I’m just gonna see her every time you’re around me and I already have too many ghosts haunting me to hold yours too.”

“You won't do it alone, I love you,” he tried, leaning against the wall. “I’ll do everything I can to make you forget this, I swear.”

“I love you too, but I have to love my sanity more, Jungkook,” your voice cracked and you weren't able to look at him anymore.

“I love you more than anything, please,” he begged once more, his voice no louder than whispers followed by choked sobs.

“You can sleep here, I’ll stay with one of my friends,” you were desperately trying to find your wallet, cursing your drunk self when you found it on the dining table.

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I’ll have my things out by the end of the weekend, okay?” you announced, opening the door.

“Please.”

“I don't hate you, Jungkook,” you said, trying to comfort him while forcing yourself to get out of the place you used to call home. “But I can't do us anymore.”

You wanted to say you understood and you forgave him. You wanted to say you loved him and nothing he did could ever change that. You wanted to say he would be okay.

“I’m sorry,” was all you said, before closing the door behind you and allowing yourself to collapse in tears outside, fighting for air.

The vision of him leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped against his own frame and ugly tears staining his face fucking killed you. You couldn't deal with having caused him such pain.

You forced yourself off the wall and ran out of the apartment complex because you knew you were on the verge of knocking the door down and taking him in your embrace.

 “It's gonna be okay,” you mumbled to yourself, hugging yourself.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #fanfic #imagines #reaction #kpop angst #kpop imagines #jungkook x oc #bts au #fanfic author #fanfics #jungkook au #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk #bts #bangtan #jungkook

[rickstexaschick]

Rick’s Texas Chick: Chapter 19

Originally published on AO3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35527206#workskin

After she and Harley left the pub together, Rick portalled back, directly into her house.  Even though it was his idea, it had taken more effort than he’d expected to let her leave with Harley.  Watching them disappear into the night gave him a hollow feeling.  Somehow going back to her empty house was better than being alone in his room.

He poured himself a large tumbler full of whiskey, then taking the bottle he went and sat on the couch in the dark and turned on the tv. Her black cat, her favorite, jumped up next to him, purring and rubbing itself against Rick’s hand where it rested on his leg holding the whiskey.  This one seemed to like him more than the other cats, had kind of adopted him pretty much from the beginning.  It always showed up when he was over.

He moved the glass to his other hand, then absentmindedly began stroking the cat lightly.  Purring loudly, it curled up next to him and went to sleep.  Rick changed the channel to some stupid crap and muted the tv, then sat there and slowly got drunk, petting the cat.  Tried not to think about her in Harley’s arms and failing.  He didn’t think he could stand this, wondered why he had even thought this was a good plan.  

If she wasn’t going to talk to him about the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband, then why the hell would she tell a total stranger?

Because Harley wasn’t, really.  That was the whole point.

Sighing, he drained his whiskey and put the empty glass down on the coffee table with a clunk, making the cat jump off the couch with a startled hiss.  He grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and climbed the stairs to her room.  He peeled off his clothes in the bathroom then took the bottle with him into the shower and drank deeply while hot water cascaded down his shoulders and back.  He set the bottle on the shelf and reached for her bar of soap, then slowly began to lather himself.  The rich citrus scent filled the air, filling his brain with images of her, memories of making love to her, fucking her.  

He wrapped his fingers around his huge cock and stroked himself slowly.  He played through his memories like a film.  He watched each one while running his hand up and down, pulling his palm across his sensitive head over and over.  Rubbing along the sensitive frenulum with his thumb, he reached down with his other hand and cupped his balls, fondling them.  His mind took him to tonight, watching her with Harley, and he began to stroke faster, more urgently.  His moans filled the shower, echoing off the tiles and he braced himself against the wall with one hand.  His head hung down in concentration as his other hand pumped faster, almost painfully so.  He imagined the two of them together, could hear her cries as she came.  His hips jerked and he came hard with a hoarse, angry shout.

“FUCK!”  His cum shot out in long, ropey spurts, hitting the tile wall.  He continued to stroke, pumping himself dry.  Shaking, head down, he held himself up against the wall with both hands and watched bleary eyed as his cum slowly slid down the tile.  The water grew cold as it continued striking his back and ass and he turned around and slapped it off.  Drunk and still dripping, he collapsed naked in her bed and pulled her pillow up against his face.  He took a deep breath, inhaling her familiar scent, then fell asleep, snoring deeply.  

Her black cat jumped up onto the bed and curled up next to him silently, a sentry in the night.

******

Before sun-up the next morning she awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of dogs barking, and her eyes popped open.  Suddenly she remembered where she was, and with whom, and she stiffened, half expecting her Rick to come bursting angrily into the room.  Strong arms tightened protectively around her as Harley held her against his chest.

Sleepily, he murmured into her ear, “S’just the paper, honey...Not Rick…”  His warm breath tickled and she shivered, snuggling closer to him for warmth.

He reached for the down comforter and retrieved it from where it had slithered half off her side of the bed, pulling it back up over them.  Trailing his hand under the covers, he caressed her breasts, feeling her nipples tightening, before holding her comfortably across her stomach.  He slid one long leg up between both of hers until his muscular thigh pressed against her pussy, still wet with his cum and her juices, then gently bumped her with it a few times.

“Go back t’sleep or I’ll fuck you s’more,” he whispered gruffly in her ear.

She giggled, then she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep in his arms.

*******

Several hours later, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and frying bacon drifted into his subconsciousness.  Stirring, he rolled over and opened his eyes.  The bedroom was fully lit with sunshine.  It was well past the time he normally woke up.  Sighing, he sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed and sat with his feet resting on the floor.  The day would’ve probably been a wash as far as him getting any work done, anyway.  Yawning loudly, he rubbed his eyes then stood up, pulling on his jeans.  He went and took a leak and brushed his teeth.  He felt pleasantly tired from a night of lots of fucking and little sleep.  Barefoot and shirtless, with his jeans zipped but unbuttoned, he wandered out into the kitchen to see what she was up to.  Apart from making breakfast.

She was standing in front of the cabinet by the stove, reaching high above her head and trying unsuccessfully to get to a large bowl on an upper shelf.  Her back was to him and she was wearing his shirt from the night before, her black lace panties exposed by the raised hem of the shirt.

Walking silently up behind her, he slapped her lightly on the ass then gently squeezed it, simultaneously reaching over her head to get the bowl and hand it down to her.  She yelled in surprise, nearly dropping the bowl.

“Sucks being short, don’t it?”  He grinned down at her.  He helped himself to a piece of fried bacon from a plateful on the back of the stove and munched into it before leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.

“Hmmm.  Mornin’.”  He went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.

“I tried to find the sugar---” she began.

“Don’t need it.”

“---or some milk----”

“Don’t want any.”

“---so, then I found some arsenic and used that instead,” she finished, sounding pleased with herself.

He choked mid-sip, looking sharply at her and coughing.  She winked at him.  “Next time let me finish my sentence.”

“Damn, woman,” he said, still coughing.  “Y-Y-You like to start the day off hard on a man, don’t you?  Come on, I-I’m old.  Don’t do me like that.”  He went and collapsed into a kitchen chair, still coughing and laughing.  “Come over here, doll,” he finally managed.

“Hey, I’m the one who just got snuck up on and hit on the ass, and you’re talking about me giving you a hard start to your day?”  She walked over and he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly on the lips.  “How do you like your eggs?” she asked him.

“However you want to make them, doll,” he answered promptly, grinning at her.

-----

They’d finished breakfast and were lying on opposite ends of the couch, sharing the light blanket across their legs.  He was reading the paper and she was dozing with one arm bent across her face covering eyes, her lips parted.  With one foot on the ground, the other leg he had stretched out on the couch under the blanket and was absentmindedly rubbing his foot lightly against her side, gently squeezing her with his toes.  She mumbled in her sleep and shifted slightly, her muscles tensing as echoes of a disturbing dream mirrored on her face.  Quietly, he set the paper down and reached under the blanket and began lightly rubbing her foot, watching her while she slept.  She relaxed, sighing.

Last night was not as spontaneous as she thought.  It had culminated after several weeks of discussion, if no real planning on his own part.  Her Rick had approached him, met him several times at the pub, like they usually did.  They were old friends, to be sure, had fucked around together, including Polo and with some other Ricks, but they’d never really shared a woman.  This is the first time Rick had ever actually proposed something like this to him.

Well, it was the first time Rick, any of them, had seen her in their lives.  When she’d told Rick that her parents had chosen to have her instead of following the doctor’s advice and getting an abortion, and that she’d unexpectedly been born without any medical or mental problems… Well, like Rick had told Harley, it explained so much.  Because, otherwise, she just didn’t seem to exist anywhere else, not in this condition, at least.

However, Rick still hadn’t told her that yet; didn’t want her to know yet.  He had only recently introduced her to portalling.  And this was her first time to be around other Ricks.  She wasn’t aware that there were other dimensions where she did, or as the case usually was, didn’t exist.  No, better to not let her know about any of that, yet.

Instead, Rick was still trying to get her to face what had happened to her during her marriage with the other Rick.  Ricardo.  He wanted her to get it out, talk about it, instead of carrying it around locked inside forever.  He could see how it was tearing her apart inside.  She had nightmares, tossing and turning in her sleep, mumbling, crying out, saying her ex’s name, sweating the sheets up with fear.  Rick would hold her, soothing her with soft kisses until the dream passed and she relaxed in his arms.  She never mentioned the dreams, apparently didn’t even realize she was having them.  

But he could never get her to tell him the things Ricardo had done to her that still haunted her.  Even after that evening when she lay beneath him on the couch and spilled most of her guts, this other part of her history she still stubbornly kept to herself.  He’d wondered if it was an unconscious part of the psychological trauma or was she too afraid, or ashamed, to talk about it?  The few times Rick had asked her about the scars on her back and elsewhere she’d stiffened up, literally, saying, “He did that,” but refused to elaborate.

And to top it off, Rick himself had screwed up.  He’d leave, take off and do his own thing without telling anyone, like always.  But she didn’t know him well enough, didn’t know that this was how he was, who he was, that he always came back, would come back to her.  She had no idea, of course, that he’d gone looking for her in other dimensions.  Wondering why he hadn’t heard of her with any other Ricks.

After she told him about her ex he left to go looking for the asshole. Tracked him down, then sent him portalling back to his own dimension with no way to leave it, get back to her.  He could see that after each “disappearance” she’d withdrawn from him a little bit more.  Still happy for his company at her place, having incrediblly hot sex.  But he didn’t know if he could ever regain her full trust again to talk to him, like she had before.

Then, when she mentioned the idea of multiple partners, literally saying she wanted multiple Ricks without even realizing at the time that it was possible…  It presented a solution for him.  For them both.

Rick knew her, understood her better than she did herself.  He could read her like a book, from the moment they met.  He knew that she would be attracted to Harley's easy-going nature.  Rick was confident that she would accept him, maybe even trust him enough to talk about what happened.  Thus, he’d reached out to Harley with a proposal.  Meet for drinks, a few rounds of pool.  If she was interested in him, then Harley was welcome to take her out and show her a good time.  If it led to anything more, then he had Rick’s blessing, such as it was, as difficult as that was to do.  So, Harley had agreed to meet her, sight unseen, a blind date as it were.

Most Ricks were notorious lotharios, and if that weren’t bad enough, since most of them were assholes, they would screw each other’s sister out of spite if they only had one, or better yet their mother, if she were still alive.  Rick reaching out to Harley over this had shown uncharacteristic trust for a Rick, and faith in their friendship and in each other’s character.  One never knew where something like this might lead, even with the best of intentions.

But Rick had forgotten about all the hearts involved.  Forgot that he still had one himself.

Now, here Harley was, stretched out on the couch with Rick’s woman after an incredible night of fucking.  And it still wasn’t over yet, unless she decided it was.

tbc

#Rick and Morty #Rick Sanchez #Rick/Reader #Harley Rick #Rick's Texas Chick #Rickdicted

[rauliskafan]

The Doctor and His Doll

Authors’ Note: Better late than never!!! Here is my contribution to @yourtropegirl‘s Alternative Coffee Shop AU challenge!!! Originally I planned to have the good doctor meet someone at a thrift shop, and I went through several drafts. It just wasn’t clicking. But then this came to me!!! Hope that you enjoy (and this story might keep going)!!!

Tagging @yourtropegirl, @vintagemichelle91, @mrschiltoncat

At least it was only a seasonal job.

In two months’ time, the space would be transformed into Decked Halls, a store bursting with fiber optic trees, wreaths of every size, and stockings seemingly discarded by a series of giants. Once all the gifts were unwrapped and this year became the next, it would change into The Spirit of Spring. Which was always kind of a cruel joke given the grayest days of winter. Fun in the Sun would rear its head after that with so many sunglasses and towels and displays of sand that tended to stick in shoes and turn one off to the very idea of spending a day at the beach.

But for the moment, it was The Devil’s Den, a business bursting with costumes for men and women, boys and girls, dogs and cats of every size. Add to that decorations for front yards suggesting doors to other dimensions, kettles that brewed dried ice seeming like the misty home of Macbeth’s three witches. When filling out the application, it seemed like such a smart idea. Because autumn was and always had been your favorite time of year, and the hours fit like a glove around your current course load.

It only took one shift of rowdy high school boys who seemed twenty and not three years your junior making rude noises behind the many masks to lift the spell. Add to that the animatronic fortune teller speaking in a loop that only made you want to ask when the world would end, hoping that the answer was tomorrow. Just a few more weeks. You could hack it; you’d been through worse. At least this day was somewhat quiet save for the young mother wanting her daughter to be a butterfly. The lovely little lady kept gravitating to psycho clown. One more reason you were never having children. The two older girls in the back seemed harmless enough while debating which kind of princess they would portray. You could tell them some stories about the pink dress and the violet…

Trying to get lost in your homework, you heard the door open and close without looking up. Footsteps drew nearer… along with a tap that started to grate on your nerves. Lifting the eyes that began to roll in your head, you stopped short of scoffing when you saw him.

He was older. Like the professors that always caused you to lick your lips as they explained epistolary novels or the line from Socrates to Plato to Aristotle. Maybe it was the light passing through the windows, but this man was so much more. Wavy dark hair, a proud roman nose, green eyes that called you to kick off your shoes and run through a forest. Why the cane? It seemed an odd accessory. But then you saw the limp. Suddenly your heart felt heavy at the thought that something or someone horrible must have hurt him. Wanting to know the where and when and why and if there was a way that you could help, you let Richardson’s Pamela fall aside and left the counter to meet him up close.

“Anything I can help you with, sir?”

As soon as he heard your voice, the man stopped short in front of a display of multi-colored wigs and even wilder hats. Focusing of his face, your eyes drifted towards his left cheek. A mark... a blemish bordering on a scar… was the man already wearing makeup? Was he practicing for All Hollows’ Eve, or did he wear this mask the other three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year?

“Did I ask for your assistance?” he replied in a curt tone before you could ask even one of the questions bubbling on your tongue. You wanted to hide your head in an over-sized Stetson or Elvira’s discarded tresses. Swallowing hard, you stuffed your hands in the pockets of your khakis and shuffled your feet.

“I… sorry,” you muttered. “I get it.”

“You get what?” he inquired.

“I mean I always kind of hate it when I’m in a store and someone’s right on top of me. It’s a total turn off.”

“Then why did you approach me?”

Now his green gaze made you feel like you were drowning under water, the seaweed shimmering and strangling your speech despite its beauty.

“Uh… it’s my job,” you feebly replied. “And you looked like you needed... so I---”

“So you thought the best use of your time was to pester me,” he mocked.

Feeling your face flush and wishing that you had resigned yourself to admiring him from afar, you nearly slithered away.

But just as quickly recovered your words, ready to tell him a thing or two.

“Happy not to help you over there,” you said, pointing to the counter and starting to turn on your heel. The split second before you twisted around, you swore you saw his green gaze quiver like the glare from a traffic light catching on a piece of rain swept pavement. The angry line of his lips and the way his large hand curled around his cane still made it a signal to leave. You hurried back behind the register and buried your nose in your book. After ringing up the little girl who won the psycho clown battle, you were left with the tapping of his cane. A few stolen glances as his firm back, his lean legs, that haunted face that could be molded into a tortured mask all on its own still had the power to make you tremble. But his eyes stayed angry, frustrated, and you tried to tell yourself that he was best left to the realm of your fantasies. 

…until your daydreams were broken by the sound of laughter.

Creeping out from behind the counter once more, you spied the two would-be princesses giggling quietly and pointing at your mystery man.

“Is he for real?” the blonde asked.

“My grandfather wears a tie pin or whatever like that.”

“Maybe he’s a promotional thing.”

“Sure scary enough.”

You froze, watching the man tense and look to the mean girls, expecting to see the fumes that eradicated the Great Sept of Baelor at Cersei’s command falling from his eyes. But despite the cane and the scar and the faint lines suggesting a life lived long if not well, he took on the shape of a little boy, scared and shy and shocked by so much abuse. It hurt to think that the passing of the years failed to quell that kind of fear, and he looked ready to run and hide.

Not like this… not on your watch.

“Hey!” you chirped in your best bubbly voice, standing strong in the face of the girls...

…and the stranger’s sad stare.

“Can I help you gals?” you asked, the last word stolen from your late grandmother.

“We’re good,” the blonde said, rolling her eyes at her friend. Looking to the stranger once more, you sensed that something could snap if the stars slid out of line… and while a small part of you was curious to see such a sight, you suddenly longed to protect him…

…and you also wanted your shot at these lousy ladies.

“Good?” you echoed, cracking the brightest of smiles that burned with a hollow light. “Great! Going for the scary sorceress look!”

“Excuse me?” the blonde challenged. “Are you crazy? That’s not even on the label.”

Cutting your eyes back to the man with the cane, you managed a small smirk, your stare willing, hoping that he would stay silent. The scarred man followed your lead, and your smile morphed malicious as you cracked your knuckles and grabbed the pink dress.

“Course not,” you continued. “But I can show you the secret…”

Your voice trailed off as you dug your fingers into the hem of the gown. The girls fell silent, and a sideways glance caught the stranger raising one eyebrow as you winked in his direction and sent a sea of spiders spilling to the floor.

“Holy fucking shit!”

The blonde screamed first and practically pushed her friend down as she fled the shop. You watched the other girl stumble behind her with arms flailing and saw your remaining customer slightly shocked as you grasped a bug and held it close to his face.

“What are you---?”

“They’re plastic!” you said with a sneaky smile. “Some kids were in here… thought it would be a good joke.”

Watching, hearing his breath calm, he took the toy spider from your hand, examining it carefully before emitting a low laugh.

“How would they be sure if they never saw the results of their efforts?” he queried, leaving you stumped.

“Um… good point,” you finally conceded. “Guess they didn’t see the plan through to the end.”

“Not at all,” he said, leaning closer so you caught a hit of his cologne and thought that you would swoon until his smile turned softer… sweeter. “But you picked up the cue and marched to the final curtain. To that I say bravo.”

Forgetting the plastic bugs, not caring if they truly came to life and crawled up and down your legs, you gestured towards the rest of the store.

“I’ll take a bow after I figure out what you need and how I can help you get it.”

Was that a mistake? He looked like he might turn cold or beat the crowd before the conclusion of the curtain call when he spoke fast.

“I have to attend a costume party,” he started. “On Halloween. It is not by choice. Certain people would rather I stay home. I do not wish to give them that sense of satisfaction.”

And now you liked him even more. A misanthrope wanting to beat the world at its own game. You could relate and lightly touched his arm, smiling at the electricity humming over your skin.

“Well then let’s make you the best-dressed man at the ball.

With his cane tapping again, he followed you down an aisle where capes made like curtains blocked out an unseen sun.

“I… I suppose that something like this makes the most sense,” he said, his voice even more sorrowful as he brought a white half mask to one side of his face. He concealed the scar, and you felt your lips curl into a frown.

“Why would you say that?” you asked. “Phantom of the Opera is so last century.”

“It’s timeless for me,” he sadly explained. “Come now; I promise it will not compromise your commission. Simply be straight with me.”

Understanding why he had a want to strike out, wondering how many times he had to endure cruel words muttered under cold breaths, you still thought him handsome and snatched the mask from his fingers before tossing it to the back of the shelf.

“Why hide the battle scar?” you asked.

“Excuse me? You do not know how---”

“Not important,” you cut in. “Whatever happened, you wear it well and…”

Your mind spun towards the next aisle.

“And what?” he asked. “Would you be so kind as to finish your thought?”

“I’d rather show you.”

Taking his free hand as his cane started tapping on the tiles again, you turned another corner and paused before a rack of feathers and pearls, wide-brimmed fedoras over pinstriped suits.

“Well… here we are,” he said. “I fail to understand your intentions.”

“Really?” you asked. “Come on! With the right hat and a snazzy jacket…”

You affixed said items of clothing to him quickly, basking in the feel of another one of his warm’s sighs hitting your neck and gently braiding through your hair. Fighting the urge to fall into him right then and there, you found a pocket square colored in crimson, placed it in his pocket, and smiled.

“Scarface!” you said.

“Excuse me!”

The emphasis on every syllable turned your blood to ice, and you wanted to kick yourself for saying too much when your reached for a plastic Tommy Gun and pressed it under his free arm.

“Who is like the toughest guy ever,” you said. “No one messes with him. He takes down empires. The world is his.”

“Until the final act,” the man said.

“You know it?” you asked.

“I have not been living under a rock, my dear.”

For that much you were glad; less so when he tossed the gun aside and looked ready to exit the shop.

“This is never going to work,” he grumbled.

“Why not?” you asked. “It looks so good on you.”

His eyes drifted towards a mirror, and for a second his smirk returned.

“I almost do not want to argue with that,” he began.

“Then don’t,” you said, surprised that you liked him a little vain when he lost the hat and hung his head.

“But I am hardly the type to shoot up a room… despite everything…”

What was the secret to his story? The tips of your fingers just grazed against his when he shot away and looked ready to rush to parts unknown that you never had any hope of finding.

“Or get the girl.”

Leaning on his cane, he aged in the span of your sight. You remembered an eighth-grade dance where you were Esmeralda only to lose your Quasimodo to a genie, your gypsy not standing a chance. No one deserved to feel that way.

And given the chance…

“You got her.”

His cane stopped and threatened to fall as you touched a strand of pearls.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m up for a party,” you said.

“I---”

“Look I know it sounds forward or whatever,” you continued. “But I clean up pretty nice. And I can dance. Bet you have a plus one, right?”

“Yes I---”

“So let’s do it! What’s a tough guy without his doll?”

You smiled brightly with wide eyes… and saw his face twist. Fuck. Why did you do that? Step over every line ever drawn in the sand. He wasn’t some eighteenth-century-styled brooding male just in need of the love of a good woman. Or you. You wanted to hide under every mask in the shop, bury your head in the smell of sweat and rubber until the sound of his cane faded into the distance. Even after that. Blushing while your palms began to sweat, you gasped ever so slightly and glanced up at the sound of rustling plastic…

…and you saw the chain of faux pearls in his hand, held just shy of your neck, and you blinked fast..

“Perhaps you are on to something,” he said. “I hardly want to go alone.”

The lines in the sand leftover from the summer became ropes pulling you through the seaweed, back to the forest and the first and best version of his gaze.

“You don’t have to,” you offered softly. “I don’t really have any plans.”

Oh Christ! That sounded so pathetic and---

“A pretty thing like you?” he said.

And your heart exploded in your chest. Because no one, not one family member or friend ever called you pretty… to the point that you believed the word was meant for puppies before it could fall on your shoulders. But here he was, calling you something close to lovely and smiling as you shook your head.

“Guess I was waiting for you to come calling,” you said, biting your lip at the end of the sentence.

And it worked when he blushed, highlighting his scar as he draped the boa over tour shoulders.

“We could make a handsome pair,” he reasoned, still blushing and moving just a few steps down the aisle when two red eyes and a low moan caught him off guard.

“What is that?” he asked as you hurried toward him and touched his shoulders.

“Fortune teller,” you said. “When you walk by it, it sets him off.”

“It… is it…?”

He shivered under your hands, and you steadied him until he stilled.

And spoke once more.

“Do the tea leaves tell the truth?”

Trailing your fingers down his arm and finding your fingers clasped in his, you looked to the skull with red eyes resting under a turban.

“Will… will I… will me and… what is your name?”

“Frederick,” he said. “Dr. Frederick Chilton.”

“Doctor?” you echoed. “Oh boy.”

“It is not all that it is cracked up to be,” he said. “I could tell you stories…”

And you were ready to read them cover to cover when you held his hand tighter and took a deep breath.

“Will the doctor and his doll have an absolutely astounding time at the masquerade ball?”

The silence didn’t bother you as your eyes locked, his green gaze seeming like the cover page of all those stories you were dying to dive into and puzzle over and over again.

“Doll,” Frederick said. “I think I like that.”

And before you could answer, the mechanized voice filled the aisle where you stood, the pair of you seeming like the only two people in this world or any other.

All signs point to yes.

#raúl esparza #frederick chilton #chilton x reader #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #yourtropegirl #altcoffeeshopau

[sparkinsidewrites]

The Devil Inside - Chapter One

Title: The Devil Inside

Chapter: 1/18

Character/Pairing: Davey Havok/Adam Carson; Adam Carson/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: Explicit

Summary:  Faith and fear are two of the strongest forces in our lives. Adam had never questioned himself or his beliefs. But what happens when he stumbles across his greatest temptation in the eyes of another man? Written with Havoksangel.

Authors Notes/Warnings:  Nothing in this piece ever happened. I claim no ownership nor do I make any sort of profit from this, other than pride and a sense of amusement.

ONE

Stretching his arms above his head, Adam Carson swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to work up the energy to push himself out of bed. Adam had managed a few hours of sleep the night before, thought not much. Staying up until all hours of the night in his make shift art studio probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd done lately, but inspiration had hit him and he'd be damned if he turned that away.

The stirring in the bed slowly woke Aubrey from her sleep. She turned her body over to see the back of her fiance sitting on the side of the bed. She smiled softly and slid her hand up his bare back. "It's time for you to go already?" She asked, her voice scratchy from sleep.

Adam nodded, a yawn spilling from his lips. "I've got to get to the studio early. We've got a model coming in for class today. Believe me, I'd still be curled up beside you if I had the choice," he whispered.

Aubrey leaned up and kissed the back of his shoulder, her hands wrapping around him. "I hate it when you go. The bed gets cold and I lose my warmth."

Letting loose a soft sigh, Adam leaned back into her embrace. "I hate leaving too. Believe me if I could teach class from bed I would. But I don't know how well that would go over with the administration," he joked with a smile.

He hated Monday mornings. Hated having to wake up and leave their warm bed. But he couldn't afford not to work and art was his life. Teaching students that love and that passion was his calling. He wouldn't give that up for the world. He couldn't.

"What kind of portrait are they painting?" She asked laying back down, still rubbing her hand up his back.

"Nude portraits. Trying to capture the natural beauty of the human body," Adam answered honestly.

"Is it a male model or do I have to get jealous?" she teased him, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"It's a male model, yes. And even if it wasn't, you know no one could ever compare to you in my eyes." He turned back once again, tapping her lightly on the nose with his pointer finger, "You've got nothing to worry your pretty head about," he teased back.

She smiled at him, loving his playfulness. "You felt good last night."

Adam returned her smile, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the lips. "So did you," he whispered against her lips before pulling back.

Again she smiled. "I saw our preacher the other day. He said he wanted to see you in church on Sunday."

Sighing, Adam pulled back from her embrace, "Sweetie. I just...I don't know. I love that you're so involved in the church, but I just...I don't know if it's really my place."

"He's gonna marry us, Adam The least you can do is come to a sermon every once in a while," she sighed, leaning back farther into her pillow.

"I know he's going to marry us, Aubrey. I just...Maybe next Sunday," he reasoned, running his fingers through his hair and sighing once again.

She sighed again. "You don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice." She turned her eyes down and then closed them. Just once it would be nice for him to interact in something she was passionate about. She went to all his art shows.

Adam pushed himself from the bed, grabbing his shirt from the back of the chair nearest the bed. "I will go, Aubrey. I promise you."

"And you will be miserable. Forget I asked, Adam. It's fine. Really." But her tone was far less convincing tha her words.

Sighing, Adam turned back to the bed, settling down beside Aubrey. Gently, he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "No it's not fine. And I will go, I promise you. Just give me a little time." Aubrey nodded and leaned over to kiss him, not believing for one second he would actually go.

"You don't believe me do you?" His voice was low and even. Adam hated hurting her like this. Church was a large part of her life, he knew that, he accepted it. It just wasn't a part of his life anymore.

She shook her head.

"I will, babe. I promise you. " Aubrey wanted this, and he could never deny her anything.

"Okay," she said softly, smiling. "Now, get your butt to work." She offered him a big smile and batted her eyelashes.

Adam smiled, "Pushy, pushy," he teased, shaking his head. Leaning in for one more chaste kiss, he pulled himself from the bed and padded towards the bathroom.

Aubrey smiled and got out of bed, putting her robe on and making her way downstairs to put on a pot of coffee

Stripping off his boxers, Adam walked towards the shower, pulling the curtain open. Turning the nobs, he adjusted the water temperature and waited for it to warm up. With a sigh, he stepped under the hot spray. He lazily washed himself, knowing he still had plenty of time to make it to the college in time.

Aubrey poured his coffee once the pot had finished brewing, making it just the way he liked it, black with two sugars. Humming to herself, she made his lunch, ham and cheese on white, and packed it in his bag.

Shutting the water off, Adam reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Silently, he padded into the bedroom, grabbing a clean pair or boxers from the top dresser drawer and pulling them on under the towel.

Aubrey could hear him moving around in the bedroom overhead and she knew that he would be rushing when he came down.

Pulling on his pants and his blue button up shirt, Adam plopped himself on the bed, yanking his socks on his feet, followed quickly by his shoes. A quick glance at the clock told him he had a half hour to make it to the college. The ride was a good 25 minutes when traffic wasn't too heavy. He was certainly cutting it close. So much for getting there early, he thought with a chuckle.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Adam made his way into the kitchen, smiling at Aubrey. Grabbing his bag and his mug of coffee, Adam leaned in to kiss Aubrey goodbye. "I should be home by 3 at the latest," he reassured her.

She kissed him back. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself," he whispered, heading towards the door. "I'll see you this afternoon."

"I love you."

"Love you too," he echoed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Quickly, he made his way to the black Jeep sitting the in driveway, unlocking the driver's side door. Tossing his bag onto the passenger seat, Adam climbed in. Pulling the door shut, he started the Jeep, backing out of the driveway quickly.

Thankfully, traffic was light that morning and he managed to pull into the parking lot with four minutes to spare. Grabbing his bag and clutching his coffee mug tightly, Adam made his way into the art wing, preparing to begin his day.

The students filed into the seats and, soon after Adam walked in, the male model did. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his body was covered with tight black jeans and a black t-shirt. "I'm looking for Adam Carson."

Adam smiled, turning to face the man before him. The dark eyes that bore into his startled Adam slightly. There was something in them, something he couldn't quite but his finger on. Smiling softly, he extended his hand, "I'm Adam Carson."

The man smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "David Marchand. Davey." He took his hand and shook it

Davey's grip was strong, firm, confident. It fit perfectly with his demeanor. "Welcome to Art 236. The bathroom's on your left and there should be a robe on the hook near the door."

Davey nodded and smiled. "How many days do you think this will be?"

Something about Davey's smile caught Adam off guard. As did the spark of something he couldn't quite identify in his eyes. "Two days. Three at the most. Shouldn't be more than that."

Davey smirked. "Great. I'll be back."

Nodding, Adam watched the other man walk from the room before turning his attention back to his class.

Davey quickly walked to the bathroom and stripped down to nothing, studying himself in the mirror for a moment before taking his hair down and shaking it loose. He smiled at his reflection and slipped the robe on, closing it, and walked back into the classroom.

"Where do you want me?"

Adam turned to face Davey, taken by the way his hair framed his angled face. Stunning. Davey was stunning. Adam was struck with the strong urge to sketch the man before him. To capture the guarded depths of his eyes, the sharp angles of his face. Shaking himself mentally, Adam smiled and pointed to the table in the center of the room. "Right there."

"You want the robe off now?"

Adam nodded silently, trying to shake the desire to see more of this man from his head. It was the artist in him. That had to be it. "Gotta lose it sometime," he joked. Turning back towards his class, he smiled, "Alright. You guys have two hours. Take your time, and have fun."

Davey smiled at Adam and slowly undid the belt and slid the white cloth over his shoulders. He walked over to the table and sat down, leaning back on his arms with is head back.

Adam swallowed thickly, settling himself behind his desk. Blindly, he dug through his bag, pulling out his sketch book. and a stick of charcoal. Slowly, carefully, he sketched the sharp angles and smooth lines of Davey's body.

Davey took a deep breath, his chest raising and lowering slowly. He licked his top lip and quickly brought his tongue back in his mouth. He loved the feeling of eyes on him. Loved the feeling of being admired.

Every move he made, every subtle expression, fascinated Adam. He'd always loved sketching people, lord knows he had hundreds of sketches of Aubrey in his studio. He’d spend hours on his free days sitting in the local coffee shop sketching the people around him. It was his passion. Fiercely, he brought charcoal to paper. Sketching, blending, bringing Davey's image to life on paper. Davey stayed perfectly still, keeping his breath even and soft. He was the perfect image to draw; muscular but not to much and confident.

Adam's hands were smudged and blackened by the time he finished his sketch. His eyes floated slowly between his drawing and Davey's nude form. Perfect. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Adam glanced up at the clock. "Okay guys, we're actually went a bit over our time. Sorry about that." Adam sighed softly. What had gotten into him?

The students packed their things up and headed out of the classroom as Davey slid slowly off the table. He looked at Adam, grinning as he grabbed his robe. "Did you draw too?"

Closing his sketch book quickly, Adam nodded, eyes locking with Davey's.

"Can I see?" He slid the robe on and walked over to him.

Adam hesitated slightly, before handing his book to Davey. "If you want."

"Why so nervous?

"I'm not much on sharing my work, "Adam told him, feeling rather foolish all the sudden.

"Oh," Davey said. "You don’t have to show me. However, I figured since it was my body you were drawing I had partial ownership."

A soft chuckle fell from Adam's lips, "True. You can look if you want. You already have the book in your hand."

Davey smirked and looked down. "Impressive. You have talented hands," he purred.

Adam blushed, "Thanks. I draw what I see. You're a wonderful subject. "

"Ha, he blushes too," Davey chuckled, pinching Adam’s cheek playfully. "You can draw and turn red. What else can you do, Mr. Carson?"

The warmth of Davey's hand caused Adam to jump slightly. He'd never felt so unsettled. "I um...I mess around with sculpture when I can. Painting too, thought its not really my strong suit."

"So do you get messy when you paint?" Davey asked, leaning against Adam's desk, crinkling his nose playfully.

Adam stiffened slightly, smiling softly at Davey. "Yes. It kind of can't be helped."

Davey sat the book on the desk and took Adam's hand in his, running his fingers over it slowly. His eyes locked with the blue ones in front of him and he shook his hair of his face. "You're hands are soft considering you say you dabble in sculpting."

Pulling his hand back from Davey's grasp, Adam sat up straighter in his chair. "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to know if your hands were rough or soft. You're an artist. It fascinates me." He smirked. "Do I make you nervous?"

"No," Adam told him, his voice soft. Uncertain.

"You sure?" He smirked.

Adam nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

Davey leaned forward. "Well as long as you're sure," he whispered.

"Is there anything else you need me to do for you?" Adam asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Davey raised his eyebrow and gave a tiny smile. "Well, I hardly know you, but maybe tomorrow."

The words took him back slightly. He was hitting on him. Panic flooded through Adam. Davey was hitting on him. "I...I'm engaged," he whispered, hoping Davey would take the hint and back off. This whole situation greatly unsettled Adam.

"Lucky girl?"

Adam nodded.

"Just checking. I guess art always makes your cock hard then," he said looking down. Davey smirked and walked towards the bathroom to change.

Adam's breath came in sharp pants. Confusion and fear coursing through him. His eyes followed Davey's retreating form. No. Slamming his eyes shut, Adam willed Aubrey's face to mind.

Davey quickly dressed and made his way back out. He left his hair down and opened the door, the robe folded in his hand. "Here you go. I guess I will see you tomorrow."

Taking the robe from Davey's hands, Adam nodded, smiling weakly. His mind swarmed with thought. He needed to pull himself together. Only one more class left. He could do this.

"You okay? You look flushed." Davey couldn’t help but tease him. There was something rather enjoyable about making a man squirm.

"I..I'm fine," Adam whispered. He smiled, wishing Davey would just leave, though a part of him secretly wished he would stay.

Davey nodded. "Okay then," he said reaching up and using his thumb to wipe the smudge of black from Adam's cheek.

Adam shivered softly under Davey's touch. He couldn't think on it. Not now. Pulling back, Adam turned his attention to the papers lining his desk

Davey smiled. "See you tomorrow," he said with a wink as he turned to walk out of the door

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Adam released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. This wasn't happening. Forcing the thought from his mind, Adam focused on his bag, pulling his lesson plan for his next class out. Art History. He could handle this. He had to handle this.

#afislash #The Devil Inside #co-written with havoksangel #cheating #Advey #AU #sparkinside writes #Adam Carson/OFC

[sapphicsugden]

a house made of this (vic, liv, aaron/robert) outsider pov, grief, mentions of someone dying offscreen. 

soft fic for @escapingreality51 because she needs some love today. i know you wanted soft fic, and i hope there’s that in here, but i also hope this is what you wanted to read. i love you, my darling, and i’m here if you need me <3

The Mill feels lived in. 

Vic loves the house, the driveway always impeccable (Robert’s no-nonsense approach with the landscaper), and usually one or both cars parked haphazardly in the driveway whenever she pops round. The gravel crunches underfoot as she shifts the box under her arm to reach up and ring the bell. 

The stained glass door shimmers with a shadow, someone coming down the hall to meet her, and she grins when Aaron tugs open the door. 

“Alright?” Stepping aside to let her in, Aaron frowns at the box. “What’s that for, then?”

“For Robert,” Vic says, hefting it back to her front. “It’s the last box from my place. I was doing up the attic and I thought he’d want it back.”

“Having a clear out, eh?” Aaron asks, waving her in. 

Vic appreciates that he doesn’t try and take the box from her, and steps into the living room. The stupid vespa chair is still propped up against the wall, and there’s a pile of bags in the doorway. “Liv’s home then?”

“Yep,” Aaron grins, gesturing at the floor next to them. “Drop it there, Robert’ll take it up later. A brew?”

Vic nods, drops the box carefully down next to Liv’s bags. “Where is he?”

“Walking the dogs,” Aaron says, snorting. 

Robert will tell everyone in earshot how much he hates the dogs, “they get hair everywhere,” mixed with, “Laika peed in my shoes,” and “the cats would never.” That doesn’t fool anyone that knows him, or who spends more than five minutes in the Mill. 

It looks lived in; Vic moves the remote and Aaron’s phone onto the coffee table. It’s piled high with magazines (from Auto Trader to Sci-Fi Now), coasters, and a pencil case that’s half open, spilling it’s contents onto the glass. 

Sometimes Vic feels the press of pride in her chest when she thinks about Robert being this happy, light in his eyes and the warmth in his voice whenever he talks about home. 

“Here,” Aaron says, startling her out of her reverie. He presses a warm mug of tea into her hands and perches next to her on the sofa. “I’m guessing you didn’t come just to drop of the box?”

Vic tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, stares down at her tea so she doesn’t have to look Aaron in the eye. “I always figured it’d be me, you know?”

“You what?” Aaron asks. He rests a hand on her knee, squeezes gently. 

“Settled and happy, married,” Vic says, thinking about the absence of a ring on her finger. 

“Hey,” Aaron says, because he misses Adam too, the grief they both share, the never ending press of loss that surrounds them. Aaron’s fingers cup her chin gently, raising it so she has to meet his eyes. “You’re doing great. You have me and Robert. You have Diane n’all.”

“It doesn’t feel enough,” Vic says gently, though she presses into Aaron’s touch. 

Placing his mug on the table, Aaron reaches for hers, sets it on Robert’s Wonder Woman coaster. He tugs her in, presses a kiss to her head. “It will get easier, alright?”

Of course he’d known. Of course. 

“I want to be happy.”

“You will,” Aaron says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the door swings open and there’s the sound of nails tapping against the floor. Laika and Nymeria skid around the corner, barking and heading straight for Aaron and Vic. Liv follows, cheeks pink from the wind.

Vic grins at her, as Laika jumps up. 

“What did I say about that?” Aaron says sternly, yanking on Laika’s harness to tug her back to the floor. She’s got way more pounds on him, but she defers like a puppy, ears laid back and contrite. 

Vic laughs, strokes Nymeria’s head, who’s much more patient. She closes her eyes, whines in her throat as Vic scratches behind her ears.

“Thanks for the help, Liv,” Robert moans as he comes into the house, bags hanging from his arms. 

“What’s this?” Aaron asks, sliding up to look at Robert over the top of the sofa. “Walk the dogs, you said, not do another monthly shop.”

“Oh don’t get him started,” Liv moans, thought Vic notices she takes some of the bags from Robert and helps him lug them into the kitchen.

Aaron’s watching Vic, his eyes worried. “Alright?”

“Yes,” Vic says, and is surprised to feel that she means it. She thought it would be hard, being around them, but it’s helping. “Want some help?”

“Vic,” Robert says, like he’s just noticed her. He looks between Vic and Aaron, brow furrowed. “Everything alright?”

“Yep,” Vic says, popping the P. Nymeria whines when she stands, shuffling backwards. “Want some help?”

Robert blinks, looks over Vic’s shoulder to share their weird communication without words thing they have going on. Vic ignores them and joins Liv in the kitchen, helps her seperate cold items from cupboard. 

“When you’re done not talking about me,” Vic tells Robert, shoving a four pack of beans at his chest, raising her eyebrows. “You were the one complaining about wanting help.”

Aaron snorts, though he grips Robert’s waist, presses up for a kiss as he follows Vic into the kitchen. 

Liv rolls her eyes. “If you’re gonna kiss instead of helping, I’m going upstairs.”

“No,” Robert says immediately, pointing at the piles of bags. “You left me chasing after Laika, you can empty those into the freezer.”

Hearing her name, Laika trots into the kitchen, barking. 

“Laika,” Robert snaps, then sighs at the harnesses they’re both still wearing. “Liv!”

Vic grins, opens the cupboard above the sink, where she’s fairly sure they keep the perishables, and exchanges a look with Aaron. “Is he always like this?”

“Worse,” Liv chimes in, calls for Nymeria, who trots up obediently. “See, Rob, it’s easy.”

Robert, who’s currently wrestling the excitable Laika out her harness, doesn’t look impressed. To be fair, Vic thinks, watching him, he had insisted on getting Aaron a German Shepherd.

“He had one before,” had been his exclamation when he’d come home with a rescue, a husky/shepherd cross who’d been abandoned in a park. Vic blames the amount of attention Laika received in those first few months for the way she behaves now. 

Liv gives Nymeria a stroke as she tugs off the harness, and the dog decides she wants to see what’s taking Robert so long. She’s a collie, gorgeous and soft, and Vic kind of loves her the most, though she much prefers the cats who stalk the upstairs like it’s their domain and their domain alone. 

Finally, Robert lets out a noise of triumph as he gets Laika out of her harness. He looks at his husband and sister, grinning, then points at Liv. “Next time you can get her our of it.”

“I got her in it,” Liv moans. “You’re just bitter because your cats don’t want to go walking with you.”

“Don’t start,” Aaron says, amused. 

“My cats,” Robert says, insulted, “are much better behaved than your dumb dog.”

“Oi,” Aaron says, at the same time Vic says, “Pretty sure he’s your dog too.”

Robert’s cheeks flame. 

Aaron looks at Vic, grinning. “Yeah. He was the one who stayed up with her all night when she was sick.”

“Don’t forget the days he spent off work to find her when she went missing,” Vic points out, smiling sweetly when Robert gives her a betrayed look. “He also picked her because you’d had a German Shepherd before.”

“Awww,” Liv says, mock sweetly. 

“Shut up,” Robert grouses, but accepts the hands Aaron rests on his waist, then the kiss Aaron presses to his lips. “That’s not making up for it.”

“Really?” Aaron asks, eyebrows raised.

Vic smothers a smile behind her hand. Liv mutters something under her breath. “How’s your art project?”

She says it casually, like she’s inquiring about a school project, but both she and Liv know differently. 

“Almost done,” Liv says, grinning. There’s a softness in her eyes that makes Vic’s chest tight. She’d wondered, in the beginning, whether Liv and Robert would ever get on, but she needn’t have worried. Their relationship is strong, loving, and Vic’s proud of her brother. “Wanna see?”

“Yes,” Vic says, and follows Liv to the ridiculous staircase that Aaron’s been complaining about as long as they’ve lived in the Mill. Three years, Vic thinks, the pang of missing Adam still there, but surrounded by the love and affection so obvious in the house, she can’t help but feel it too. 

“I want to make sure I got her right,” Liv says, when they’re out of earshot of Robert and Aaron. “I only have the photos you gave me”

“I’m sure she’s perfect,” Vic says, as Liv pushes open the door to her bedroom. There’s an easel set up in the corner, an expensive one she remembers shopping with Robert for. When Liv tugs off the sheet covering the canvas, Vic’s breath catches in her throat. The likeness is uncanny. It’s like her mum is staring back at her, every nuance of her face, every shadow catching the contours of her face in the right ways. “Liv.”

“It’s okay?” Liv says, nervous. “He’ll like it?”

Vic knows her brother misses their mother more vividly than her, and she blames her father for that. She knows that he carries guilt and anger and fear, just the same as she does, but it’s been allowed to fester whereas she turned hers into something different.

“He’ll love it,” Vic says, voice barely above a whisper. She wants to touch it, to press her fingers to her mother’s face. “Liv, she looks just like her.”

Liv’s face flushes, but she looks pleased.

“Oi!” There’s a shout from downstairs, and when Vic peers back over the staircase, she can see Robert at the bottom. He looks dishevelled, and Vic’s 100% certain she doesn’t want to know what he and Aaron were doing. “Fancy staying for a BBQ?”

Vic thinks about her empty house, the attic still half-cleaned. “My attic,” she starts. 

“We’ll help ya,” Robert says with a shrug, peering back over his shoulder. Vic doesn’t hear what Aaron says in return, but Robert nods. “See? We’ll come over and help ya afterward.”

Vic wonders why she ever thought she’d be alone. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Robert says, with a smile. Vic almost turns to go, but there’s something on his face that stops her. “C’mere.”

Vic frowns, but starts down the metal staircase, lets Robert tug her into a hug when she reaches the bottom. “What’s this for?”

“I love ya,” Robert says, softly, pressing a kiss to her head. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Vic says, because she does. She sinks into Robert’s hold, rests her cheek against his chest. Something makes Vic say, “I miss him.”

“I know,” Robert says gently. His hold tightens and he lets out a slow, even breath. “I can’t promise it will go away. But we’ll be here, Vic. Whenever you need us, whatever you need us for. Alright?”

Vic nods, because her throat is too tight to speak. “I love you too.”

“I know,” Robert grins, pleased with himself, and Vic doesn’t get it, but Aaron must because he groans. 

“How many times, Rob,” Aaron moans, head tipped back against the sofa. “Nobody cares about Harry Solo.”

“Han,” Robert says, scandalised. 

“Not that again,” Liv says as she jumps from the third step to the bottom. 

“Liv,” Robert and Aaron say simultaneously. 

Vic laughs, strokes the top of Nymeria’s head as she passes, and tries to fend off a jumping attack from Laika. 

There’s so much love in the Mill that Vic wonders why she ever thought there’d never be enough for her. 

#robron #fic by me #victoria sugden #liv flaherty #aaron dingle #robert sugden #otp: he's everything

[vannahfanfics]

Rainshowers

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Sakura Haruno, Shikamaru Nara

Good day, everyone! Here’s my story for ShikaSaku Week Hanami’s Day Six prompt, “Like Air in My Lungs (I Need You).” Enjoy!

“Ino. Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?”

Sakura’s eyes were lidded as she gazed forlornly out of the café window. Her hand was curled around a cup of black tea that was long since cold, over half full of the dark brew. The rain was pounding against the glass beside her; the glass looked as if it were frosted with the pumping streams that were cascading down the smooth, clear surface like a steady waterfall. For the thousandth time that morning, she sighed deeply and looked out the corners of her eyes at her friend, lips pursed in a self-pitiful pout.

“Sakura.” The click in her tongue indicated that she was in for a chiding. She closed her blue eyes as she set down her cup of green tea with a shake of her head. “Shikamaru has been broken up with Temari for three weeks now! Why are you here moping to me when you could be making your move?” Sakura groaned loudly and slammed her forehead down onto the table, making the cups rattle and silverware jump.

“It’s too soon! Shouldn’t I wait at least a month?”

“Girl! You waited six months before he even started dating her! It’s not like they were together for a super long time; they went on three dates,” the blonde scolded her critically. Sakura groaned into the finished wood of the small café table. “Hey. Look at me, will ya?” Obediently, Sakura lifted her head to peer at her with big green eyes; Ino was leaning her cheek in her hand and smiling sympathetically. “I know how hard it is for you to reconcile with your feelings after the whole Sasuke thing petered out, but if you never take any risks, Sakura, you’re gonna live your life full of regret.” Ugh. I hate it when she’s right, the kunoichi thought with a dour pout as she sat herself up and ran a hand over her wearied face.

“I know,” she grumbled in agreement. She turned to glance out of the window once more. The wind whisked up the rain to all but throw it against the glass in furious pitter-patters. The perfect parallel to her tumultuous mood. I just… Don’t want to ruin the status quo, she continued silently as her eyes drifted halfway shut. The rain continued to pour.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sakura had bid Ino a good evening and begun the wet, rainy trek home. The rain pounding continuously on the rubbery layer of the red umbrella she was holding over her head like a shower of bullets. The dirt street was flooded with numerous, deep puddles of dirty rainwater that splashed up the sides of her bare calves with every squelching step. Sakura tilted the edge of the umbrella up for a moment to peek up at the sky; it was choked with ashy gray clouds that rolled with quiet thunder and flashes of bright white lightning deep within their bellies. No doubt, it would be a long time before the rain let up. With a small sigh, she dropped her head back down, chin striking her chest. In such dismal weather, it was nearly impossible not to brood. Her hand curled up around her heart as it clenched tightly in her chest. She had asked Ino if she had ever loved someone so deeply that it hurt, because all Sakura felt these days was a dull aching beneath her sternum- the low, throbbing pulse of insurmountable longing. It was a painfully familiar feeling, one she had lived with for several years, and sometimes she wondered if her love for Sasuke had diminished at all, if maybe she were confusing her little crush on Shikamaru with these deep feelings of hers.

Then she would see him- just like right then, as he trotted out of the door of a small convenience store with one hand in his pants pocket and the other tossing a small plastic bag of canned coffees over his shoulder. Sakura stopped in her tracks, green eyes wide as they beheld him grimacing up at the stormy heavens.

“Man, what a drag… I should’ve checked the weather forecast today. This is getting old,” he muttered. His legs were splashed up the side with mud and Sakura could clearly see dark spots littering his clothes, evident of still-drying rain spatters. Had he walked there in the pouring rain? He apparently didn’t notice her, as he hopped down the store’s steps to land with a light splash in the muddied street below and start walking in the opposite direction. Sakura flushed and dipped her umbrella down to cover her face. She didn’t want him to notice her, and yet her heart was screaming in agony, wishing dearly to be greeted. She clenched her teeth as it constricted angrily within her chest; her ears rang with the rush of blood and Shikamaru’s soft, splashing footsteps. Her eyes flickered as the toes of his boots appeared just under the rim of the umbrella, passing her left side. She could go unnoticed. She could.

But did she want to?

“Sh-shikamaru!” she cried before her mind could stop her. Water jumped around her feet in a wide, curving arc as she whirled on her heel, and she accidentally threw the umbrella up too high, cause a sudden burst of raindrops to crash down into her face. Startled, she wiped at it quickly with her sleeve before blinking the water away to see Shikamaru staring at her with widened eyes. A mortified blush blazed across her cheeks, but she had already called out to him, so she had no choice but to stand her ground. “D-do you want me to walk you home? It’s pouring… You could catch cold.” She wished more than anything that her voice came out more confident. Hinata could run circles around her.

“You live in the opposite direction, though,” he frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. The coffee cans jingled with the movement. Sakura stared slack-jawed at him for a second. How stupid she must look! Of course it would be weird offering to walk him home when they lived on completely different sides of time.

“U-um, I’m just out for a walk. I’m not going anywhere in particular, so, it doesn’t matter to me,” she recovered lamely. His black eyes met hers for a moment, calculating. She wondered if he could see the nervousness blooming in her spring green depths.

“Well, you gonna bring the umbrella over here or you gonna just let me stand out in the rain?” With a squeak, she scampered over to him, hoisting the umbrella up to accommodate his tall frame. He slipped his hand back in his pocket as he turned to begin walking in step with her. Her legs were significantly shorter, so she had to set her pace almost twice as much as his to keep up. The umbrella bobbed up and down over their heads as she scuttled along beside him. “So what brings you out for a walk in this ugly weather?”

“O-oh, um, I met Ino for lunch at a café earlier, but I just wasn’t in the mood to go home yet.” At least it wasn’t a total lie.

“What, do you two get together once a week to exchange gossip or something?” he sniffed teasingly. Sakura’s face turned the color of her hair; yeah, basically, that was what they were doing. Shikamaru blinked at her stunned silence, then began chuckling. “Sounds about right. Lemme guess- Ino just had to spill that me ‘n Temari aren’t a thing anymore, right? Can’t tell her anything.” She couldn’t tell by the tone of his voice if he was actually angry that the blonde was spreading his business around or if he was just mildly amused; it was blank, void of much emotion at all, and when Sakura peeked up at him she saw that his face was pretty much the same. He stared straight onward with slightly lidded eyes. He looked deep in contemplation.

“… Did you really like her?” she asked quietly. If he was sad, she wanted to be there to comfort him, as his friend. However, part of her was terrified for him to answer that he had possessed strong feelings for the girl. That would just drive the nail into the coffin that contained her own feelings.

“No,” he answered, almost a little too easily. Sakura’s heart skipped with hope. She then flushed with shame. Why should she be happy that his relationship with Temari hadn’t worked out? That was a terrible thing! His eyes shifted to bore into hers again, making her wince slightly. Was she supposed to say something? What should she say? Sakura was just brutally honest; it was especially hard with Shikamaru to act all unperturbed.

“S-so… You’re the one who called it off?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” The question burned like fire on her tongue. Temari was smart and capable; honestly, Shikamaru would be lucky to have her. Of course, the answer could be as simple as he wasn’t feeling it. That was a perfectly reasonable answer, but doubt poked at the back of Sakura’s mind. The two had always had great chemistry, even to the point that people had assumed they were dating. It was almost certain that they would hit it off. So why…?

Shikamaru suddenly stopped, and she followed suit, looking at him in bewilderment. His hand slowly came up to wrap around hers that was holding the handle of the umbrella; blush shot up her arm to creep up her neck and face, and had Shikamaru not been gripping the handle tightly, the umbrella would be shaking from the quiver that had gripped her body. His dark eyes glittered with something that Sakura couldn’t place- amusement? Glee? Maybe a faint bit of derision? It was an intense stare that had a pleasurable shiver propagating from her head to her toes and back. She felt it, again, that suffocating constriction in her chest that made her lungs burn. The love that hurt. Electrified, she could only gawk up at him and wait for him to speak.

“Because I was just trying to kid myself out of the fact that I was already in love with somebody else.” His words were but ghosts, drifting over Sakura’s blush-stained face in feather-light wisps. She was so enraptured by them that she didn’t even react when the bag of coffee cans clattered loudly to the ground, nor when both his hands rose to gently cup her face. For some reason, only one thing and one thing only was on her mind.

“Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurt?”

“Every damn day.”

The seconds between his answer and what happened next were forever a blank period in her memory. Like a record skipping, she was suddenly just there, umbrella discarded and arms around his neck and lips furiously smashing against his in a desperate, heated kiss. The cool rain cascading down her skin foiled the burning sensation of lust flourishing through her insides like fire; everywhere his hands landed- her neck, her hips, her back- there bloomed fiery pleasure as her nerves short-circuited. Sakura hadn’t realized up until then how short of breath she was. As soon as his lips met hers, it felt like pure oxygen flooded her lungs, swelling them to maximum capacity. It was like he breathed life into her; she couldn’t breathe without him, she loved and needed him that much, and so she refused to part her mouth from his even as her head began to dizzy with lack of breath. When his tongue dipped into her mouth to eagerly tangle with her own, her knees buckled and she slumped against him, mind foggy as she began to slowly spin into suffocation. It felt so good. It felt like a part of her was made whole again.

She was panting hard when he forced himself away from her. Despite her gasping breaths, her face still chased his as it left, her mouth lamenting the loss of the taste of him, like bitter coffee and green tea and spices. He supported her limp frame with his sturdy arms as she slowly came down from the impossible high. She blinked as her mind came back to her. The rain had picked up considerably and they were both now dripping wet, beaded raindrops falling from their chins and elbows and seeping into their clothes to darken the fabric. Sakura laughed lightly as she swept a few of the pink strands that had plastered to her face.

“I let go of the umbrella,” she mused bashfully and looked down the street to see it rolling like a tumbleweed far down the street. She turned back to see that they had been standing in front of his house the entire time. Now I have to walk all the way home in the rain… Sakura didn’t mind it, really. With the gentle, bubbling heat pulsing through her body at the moment, she doubted the chill of the rain would be able to reach her at all. Shikamaru seemed to have other ideas, though.

“What a pity. Guess you’re not going anywhere until the rain lets up.” Her face turned beet-red at the sultry growl in his voice. She squealed in surprise as he suddenly hoisted her up, and her legs snapped closed around his hips on instinct.

“Shi-! Shika-!” she stammered uselessly. Her brain was far too fried to form coherent words. He gave her a twisted, mischievous smirk as he whirled on his heel to march up the path leading to his residence, while Sakura’s nails dug down into his shoulder in a white-knuckled grip. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“I’m quite lucid, thank you,” he purred as he kicked the garden gate latch up and opened it with a foot. He kicked it shut behind him, not seeming to care at all that it only bounced back open to begin flapping back and forth in the wind. “What, do you really wanna go on your ‘walk’ that bad?” Her face continued to flush at his teasing words. Of course she didn’t want to go on a damn walk! Mortified and shamefully excited, she leaned forward to bury her face into his shoulder as he carried her into the empty house.

It was certainly not how she expected to spend the rainy day, but boy, did she have some gossip for Ino for their next café meet-up…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece @shikasaku-week

#shikasaku week #shikasaku week hanami #shikasaku #shikasaku week 2020 #shikamaruxsakura #shikamaru x sakura #sakuraxshikamaru #sakura x shikamaru #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction

[lubdubsworld]

Sleepwalking to you, it’s out of my control. ( Jhope.)

Chapter 12

The mind, they say,  is like a rubber band. it stretches and accommodates, every bit of pressure that you put on it until one day it just....snaps. Now, it's unfair to blame the mind, because you see it held on. Till that last, fatal second it held on and fought and tried to stay strong. But then, because of it's nature, because of the way it's been made, it snapped. So don't blame the mind for snapping. Blame the world that didn't know when to stop with the pressure.

`"Do not go gently into the night...Rage, Rage against the dying of the light. " I whispered, staring out into the dark waters , lit only by faint starlight and the occasional beam from the lighthouse. "What do you think that means?" I turned slowly, staring at Hoseok. He was leaning on one of the deck chairs, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He frowned briefly before shrugging.

"I guess it talks about living with passion. When it's time for you to die, you still have a lot to fight for..." Hoseok said .

I turned back around, hoping he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill over. How did I tell him? How did I tell him that I didn't feel like fighting anymore. That the nightmares were becoming bigger, bleeding into my waking hours. I was scared of every shadow, every noise. Every whisper in the dark. Phantom fingers on my skin when I stood underneath the shower.

But mostly it was an odd sort of uncertainty.

I didn't remember that night. It refused to come to me, my mind shutting down any attempt to recall with such firm force that it made me nauseous, just trying to remember. But then, something or the other would trigger a flash of memory. A small snapshot : a broken moan, the sharp pain of fingernails breaking skin and drawing blood, the stench of blood as it dripped over my forehead and stained the sheets, the taste of iron as blood filled my mouth and gurgled out.

Ropes, a whip, the burn of a cigarette lighter on the inside of my thigh.

I swallowed, fingers clenched. Sometimes I wanted to sleep and never wake up.

The churning waters in front of me looked so tempting.

"Jiah... are you cold?" Hobi said , suddenly too close and I stiffened, aware of the way that even the smallest movement, done without me being warned, made my body curl in on itself . I didn't know what was wrong with me. Or how to make it stop. I wondered if Hoseok knew. I wonder if Taehyung knew. Did they see me differently, then I saw myself? Did they take one look at me and just  know?

I didn't want to think about it. i gave him a smile, wide and easy.

"A little. Should we go back in?" I said, shivering. Hoseok nodded and held a hand out.

"Come on."

I stared at his palm for a while before taking it . His hands were so warm.

Mine were ice cold.

The bedroom was dark, the bed neat and welcoming. I went quickly , crawling into the cool satin sheets , while Hoseok smiled. I turned on my back and watched as he carefully sat on the foot of the bed, grabbing my feet and taking off my slippers, dropping them on the floor.

"Wnat me to run you a bath?" He said gently.

I held both my hands out.

"Hold me." I whispered.

He obliged at once, kicking off his shoes and crawling into the bed with me. I sighed when his hands came around me, warm and soothing and grounding. I buried my face into the curve of his shoulders, letting the scent of his skin calm me down. He dropped a kiss on top of my head, absently , fingers stroking my hair gently.

"Can I ask you something?" He said suddenly.

I hesitated.

"Okay."

"Did you ever consider leaving me...? Before the accident?"

I shut my eyes. It was such a loaded question. I didn't really think I was clear headed enough to answer.

"Once. " I said finally.

"When was that?"

"The morning after I slept with Yoongi ."

Hoseok stiffened, his muscles going rigid before slowly relaxing.

"Yeah?" His voice shook.

I pulled back to stare at him.

"I wanted to go to him." I whispered. "Thought he'd hep me divorce you. Maybe he'd ask me out on a date. ." I laughed at the naivety. i was so young then. unaware that there were monsters in the world.

Hoseok stared back, eyes liquid pools of mystery on his handsome face.

"why didn't you?"

"Because I loved both of you. In different ways but , enough to know that I couldn't do that. I couldn't drive a ridge between you both."

"I may have let you go, you never know. " He said mildly bitter sounding.

I smiled a littler at that.

"Oh, I'm sure you would have. But Yoongi would have drowned in guilt and self blame. He didn't deserve that..." I shrugged. Hoseok hummed and reached out, pressing an open palm against the small sliver of exposed skin on my stomach. I shut my eyes, the cold , soft touch making my nerves sing. He stroked the skin on my tummy for a few more seconds before reaching out and kissing the side of my neck.

"I still want to kick him sometimes." He admitted.

I laughed .

"Because he slept with me?"

"Because you chose to sleep with him. Because he's a better man than I'll ever be." He whispered.

I groaned.

"Hobi.. don't."

He shrugged.

"What? Isn't it true?"

I shook my head and turned away.

"Go to sleep." I said firmly.

"I love you." He said suddenly. " More than anything else in the world."

My heart skipped a beat.

"I love you too." I said softly. His arm came around my waist, drawing me close, nose burying into the back of my neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I think we're ready for the therapy sessions. What do you think?" Taehyung said softly, staring at Jiah as she smiled at Hoseok while he regaled her with stories from his childhood. The two of them were out on the lawn, a half finished tray of food next to them and Jiah's feet resting on Hobi's lap. He was lightly kneading her ankles , face lit up in a smile as he watched her. They looked like a couple on honeymoon. Happy , vibrant. But there was a storm cloud brewing in the way her eyes darted, often around the deck. every sound made her startle . it was subtle but detectable.

Jiah was hyper aware of her surroundings, in a way that wasn't normal.

"I'm not sure if she's ready." Seokjin sighed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Why do you say that?"

"She's off her sleeping pills now and Hobi told me she hasn't been sleeping for the past three days."

Taehyung frowned.

"They're sleeping together, right? Is she awake all night?"

"No. But she's having nightmares. "

"That's to be expected. She went through something very traumatizing.There's no doubt that she has PTSD. nightmares, hypersensitive to sounds, triggers with flashbacks. The symptoms all fit. " Taehyung pointed out.

"Are you going to try couple therapy then?" Seokjin turned around to stare right at him.

Taehyung groaned.

"I've consulted my senior doctors and everyone agrees that it's an option. She's too fragile for the other options. I don't want to do it without discussing it well with Hoseok and Jiah. Especially Jiah. She still doesn't recall what happened that night. " He sighed.

He had to talk to Hoseok first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Flooding? What does that mean? " Hoseok frowned.

"It's also called Prolonged Exposure therapy. It's a form desensitizing mechanism. "

"Something like  feeding someone enough chillies till they become immune to the heat of it. " Seokjin supplied helpfully.

"But...she doesn't remember what happened. You said that yourself." Hoseok said, confused.

"She would have to remember it. Accept it. Acknowledge that it's a part of her now. It's going to be a slow and grueling process and I'd like to get started as soon as possible." He said firmly. 

" Hobi hyung, you should trust me. This has been  really effective in a lot of PTSD cases. First, let me explain what's happened to her that night and why she can't remember it  . Her memories are suppressed because of the way they were made.  It's something we like to call state based learning. Or, memories formed when she was in a state of high stress or trauma. These memories become repressed and technically, they're protecting her from the emotional impact of that trauma , but they'll make it worse for her in the long run. We have to retrieve those memories for them to lose the hold that they have on her. "

Hoseok looked pale as paper as he stared at him.

"How-How do you do that?"

" there are different ways. Some of them may seem intrusive but , if you can get her to co operate we can try and help her relive that night. But she has to agree. We can’t do anything until she agrees to it. " Seokjin said softly, apologetically.

"So you want her to relive the worst night of her life and you want Hobi to sit there and watch his wife go to pieces? " Yoongi smiled without mirth. “ Wow, Tae is that what you went to medical school for? “

 Seokjin felt a pang of sympathy for the pair of them. It wasn't hard to guess that the entire thing was taking a toll on them too.

Taehyung didn’t get offended by the words. 

"Hyung, PTSD is one of the most dangerous things when left untreated. You're doing something far worse, by not getting her the help she obviously needs. Right now she’s imprisoned inside her own head and when she can’t take it anymore, she’s going to want to break free. It won’t be pretty, hyung. "

"I'll talk to her." Hoseok sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No. " i said softly, staring at Taehyung. He sighed and held a hand out. 

"Jiah..."

"i don't want to talk about it. i don't want to talk about anything to anyone. "

"Jiah , you need to understand that-"

"Taehyung , enough." Hoseok said calmly. " You heard her."

Taehyung stared at Hoseok in disbelief and i felt relief flood my senses. 

"Hyung, she needs..." Taehyung began but Hoseok cut him off.

"Time. She needs time . And we'll give her that. " Hoseok stepped closer, linking his fingers with mine. " You should leave now."

TAehyung looked back and forth between us before sighing.

"This isn't over. " He said ominously, before leaving. i stared after him and squeezed his fingers.

"Thank you , Hobi."

He sighed.

"You're going to have to talk about it, someday. i'm only buying you time." He whispered.

I smiled a bit at that.

"Okay."

"Should we go for a walk then?"

"Okay."

~~~~~~~~~

Why I stood outside Hobi's room that night while he spoke on the phone, i'd never know.

I had been walking by to the kitchen when i'd caught my name and instinctively stopped.

"Jiah needs me Jimin! i'm not going to dance in the fucking showcase."

the words made me pause. What showcase?

"Jimin, i don't fucking care about my career, she's more important to me than-"

I gripped the glass harder.

More important than what? His dance? That didn't seem right. At all.

"Jimin , hear me out. She needs me . She really needs me right now. "

I stared at the water in my glass. I was so thirsty , I wanted a drink. But now my throat was closing up. Did i need Hobi? But then... I had him. He was here with me at all times. It didn't help. It didn't stop the screams inside my head. It didn't matter at all.

"She's not ready. She doesn't want to start therapy yet and I respect her feeling enough to-"

The glass of water fell, shattering on the floor and i stood there, feet drenched. Footsteps echoed as Hobi rushed to the door , flinging it open. He stood for a second, staring at me and there was something odd in the way he looked. A little bit of horror and a little bit of  fear. Like he was scared I'd done something terrible.

"Baby.. what .. are you okay?"

I swallowed.

"I'm sorry...i just..." I froze in place, watching him as he knelt down, gathering the broken pieces and i gripped his shoulders.

"Are you missing out on showcases because of me?"

He glanced up sharply, his eyes wide in surprise. There it was again : a fleeting glance of fear. He was scared.

Of me?

i took a step back. Was i frightening him?

"Don't worry about it." He said softly, moving back to the glass on the floor and i gripped his wrist. Hard.

"Hobi, don't lie to me." I whispered. " i need to know."

Hoseok swallowed.

"It's just one showcase, it's okay..."

Stupid. So Stupid. of course you're scaring him.He's scared he's going to be trapped here, in this hell you've made for yourself.

Just because you love someone doesn't mean you should stay together . Think of all the happy times in Hoseok's life. They only ever happen when you aren't there in the picture. Three years ago he was working his ass off, missing out on his dance because he had to support you and now, you're doing the same thing.

you're holding him back.

I felt nausea rise up inside me in a wave.

"Hey.. Hey.. stop it, look at me... Jiah..."

I startled when his palm came up to grip my cheeks.

"I... Hobi.. I'm sorry ...I..."

"Can i kiss you?" He said suddenly.

I stopped, freezing in place.

"Ki-Kiss?"

"if you want..." He said softly and i let my gaze droip to his lips. Soft, pink and a little wet. I licked my lips instinctively and it was already half acquiescence. I stared at him..

"i.. I want..."  

You. I want you. i want you but more than that, I want me. I want me back. The old me. The one who didn't feel like stepping off cliffs. The one who didn't hear screams inside her head all night. 

The one who took anything and everything life tossed at her and stayed true to herself. 

Where is that girl? Where did she go? She used to be so strong but I can’t find her anymore... 

Who was screaming in there? Why were they so loud and why wouldn't they stop?

Where is that girl when i need her the most?

"Baby?" He whispered.

"Kiss me." i said blankly. 

He hummed, reaching out and carefully taking my face between his palms, tilting his head and slotting his lips over mine.

Warmth spreads through me like a childhood blanket and I sag against his body, suddenly boneless and he moans into my mouth, tongue darting out to lick tentatively at the seam of my lips, each stroke slow and controlled , like he was scared of spooking me. I gripped him hard and there was no fear. No worry. Not even hesitation. I felt ...  free. But caught. Like a bird flying out of one cage to find itself in a bigger cage.

The tears fell then and I pulled back.

"Am i being selfish?":  I remembered asking him that before but the words spilled out again, nonetheless. " Do you think I'm disgusting?"

"Baby... Don't say that... Please don't say that..."  

"No... No.. hear me out. I've been trying.. to move on from this. I tried to write about it. In a journal... Taehyung told me that it would be like, just dipping my feet in, you know, testing the waters. Trying out the depth before I started therapy. But, " I laughed out miserable," The words, they ... just wouldn't come. I wrote ... about my father first... I wrote about how it felt when he told me that if I didn't marry you then, I might as well die... and then... then ... It just felt like i was drowning all of a sudden. I'd stepped into the deepest end of the pool and the waters were closing over me. It looked like a puddle, the hurt that my father caused but when i sat there and thought about it , it was just.. too much. " I swallowed.

Shutting my eyes, I took a deep breath.

"I can't start therapy. i don't think i ever can. " I said stupidly.

Hoseok stared at me, stunned.

"What?" He whispered. “ Jiah, you need to let Tae help you....” 

"i hate how it felt to try and think about what happened , Hobi. It felt like poison in my veins, Hobi. All that resentment and anger at my father. It felt like something toxic, eating away at my insides and I wanted to bleed it out of me. But , I knew it would just burn me in the process. " I looked away.

"Jiah..." The heartbreak in his voice made me turn back around, lips wobbling.

"I thought it would feel awful, afterwards? That i'd hate myself for doing this to myself. I mean, look at me. i need help. I need to get better. To be okay again. But , honestly, I just felt relieved.... But i didn't. I've done worse to my body. I've let Hansol do a lot worse. " I laughed. 

" I don't deserve to live, Hobi. I treat myself like dirt. I know , I screwed up but i can't go into therapy and talk about it. it would be worse than dying. I'm sorry for being such a burden but i can't do therapy. Not now, not ever. Please don't hate me. " I whispered.

 He made a noise of distress and pulled me closer, wrapping big warm arms around me and stroking my hair.

"I don't.. I could never... it's okay.. it's going to be okay...Don't ever say that!! i love you so much... I'm going to be here , we're going to get through this no matter how many days , months or years it's going to take ... i'm not going to let you go..."

I gripped him hard.  

" I want you to go. To this showcase. " I said softly. " Please, for me."

Hobi frowned.

"Jiah... Please... "

"I want you to dance. I can't live with the guilt , if you have to stop dancing because of me."

"i'm not going to stop dancing. It's just a showcase and-"

"An important one, if jimin is so insistent about you attending... I'm sorry, i couldn't help overhearing..."

Hoseok shook his head.

"I can't just leave you here, Jiah. "

"Look, it's not about you not going. It's about me trying to move on from this, as well. I think i should try some normalcy. i mean, we should probably start living again. Not just , you know staying cooped in a resort because of everything that terrifies me. i think that can help, a lot more than any therapy. Us being us. It can help me move on ." I was proud of how steady my voice was.

Hobi smiled faintly.

"You sound like... like yourself." He said softly.

"Myself?"

"Yeah... the way you spoke just now. Brave, firm. Solid, you know. That's what I've always loved about you. You're so .. sure of your choices. "

And that was the crux of the problem, I thought gripping my sheets as i stared at the wall, the room pitch dark, Hobi's even breathing next to me as I stared at the open windows that led to the deck. The sea breeze was pleasant.

I'd always been so sure of every bad choice in my life.

And now, I was just sure that any choice I made , would be a bad one.

#bts fanfics #bts imagines #bts jung hoseok #bts j hope

[alexdmorgan30]

11 Ways to Heal a Broken Heart in Recovery

Heartbreak. At 14 or 54, we’ve all been there, but today we push through the pain, one-day-at-a-time, cold brew sober. And here’s what’s helping me now, because, despite what still feels like an endless volley of water balloons hitting concrete beneath my breastbone, the fibrillation is in my mind, not my chest cavity, and that scrappy muscle thumps on, still propping me upright each morning to face my new reality.1. Find that God of Your Understanding and Glom OnWhen I reached Step 3 with my sponsor, I got an assignment: flesh out your concept of a higher power, in writing. Lisa M. wanted detail, a God I could see and talk to, and grab by the elbow. And because I’m neither original nor progressive, I came up with a male God in human form — a cross between Santa Claus and Mr. T. to be exact. With a twinkle in his eye and a glint off his gold tooth, my HP is jolly and generous, strong and sexy, and funny as hell.And at this moment, when I’m finding myself on the sucky side of one-sided love, it’s not bad to have a real hunk who loves me for an HP. After an especially vicious salvo, when the heartbreak balloons start to leak out the eye sockets, I can HALT, remember the in-breath, and picture HP (and yes, predictably, I’m looking heavenward). Funny, his response is always the same: with bronzed torso and silver beard, forearms flexed and crossed over a white undershirt, the big man in the sky stares down at me, then starts nodding reassuringly. Suddenly, he flashes that easy smile and I know I’m good.2. Slam the SlogansH.A.L.T., Easy Does It, Turn It Over, Just for Today, Live and Let Live, This Too Shall Pass, When One Door Shuts Another Opens, Fear Is the Absence of Faith, The Elevator Is Broken - You’ll Have to Use the Steps. I’ve become something of a short-order chef when it comes to using a few well-chosen words to support my sobriety. Day and night, I sling slogans, flip affirmations, and call out quotes from famous dead people. I’ve scotched them to the inside of my kitchen cabinets, along with the 3rd, 6th, 7th and 11th step prayers. They are the comfort food my soul craves now. “Success is moving from failure to failure with no lack of enthusiasm.” - Winston Churchill. “If you want to be loved, love and do loving things.” - Ben Franklin. Words that nourish, as I’m waiting for the kettle to boil. Having well-chosen words highly visible in the kitchen (or as a screensaver) can be a real lifesaver!3. Phone TherapyAnd here’s a slogan I’m slamming hard today: “We drank alone, but we don’t stay sober alone.” The old timers carried quarters, and I make sure I leave home with my phone fully-charged. I listen to a morning meditation walking to the train, text three newcomers on the platform, compose a longer text to my sponsor in transit, then dial my best sober gal pal as I push through the turnstile on the final leg to work. I send silly GIFs to lift spirits, including mine, and add a trail of emoji butterflies, praying hands, and peace signs. By 8:00 a.m., the lonely in me already feels not so alone.4. Explore PodcastsRecovery Radio Network, Joe and Charlie, and the Alcoholics Anonymous Radio Show are three in my queue. On my lunch hour or driving upstate, I take 30-60 minutes to laugh, cry, and identify…5. Make a Gratitude ListMy first sober Christmas, going through a divorce with two kids still believing in Santa, the above-mentioned sober gal pal suggested I find ten things for which I was grateful, save them to my phone, and recite them like a mantra through the Twelve Days of Christmas. I did:1. My sobriety 2. My sons 3. AA program of recovery 4. AA fellowship 5. Food in my stomach 6. Roof over my head 7. Colombian coffee 8. My dog 9. My extended family 10. God (HP has since moved up to the #1 slot)It worked. I said no to nog that first Yuletide, and made merry for my sons instead. And counting off my blessings still works today, when I’m a shallow-breathing shell just going through the motions.6. Make an Extended Gratitude ListWhen the restless, irritable and discontent in me keeps spilling the glass half-full and this positive punch list isn’t getting me over the hump, I pour out ten more things to celebrate, like: my pre-war bathtub, which holds upwards of 60 gallons of bubble bath and the fact that I live within easy walking distance of two subway lines so I can always get into the city on weekends.7. Make Meetings“Meeting Makers Make It,” “Get Sober Feet,” “Carry the Body, the Mind Will Follow.” These three slogans in particular encouraged me as a newcomer, and I’m calling upon them now, in cardiac arrest, when my heart needs serious heartening. So I’m hitting my home group, and getting hugs from retirees with double-digit sobriety who pass fresh Kleenex and envelop in equanimous smiles. I’m also checking out other meetings across town, then going out for...8. Fellowship AfterwardsI’ve started tucking my Boggle into my handbag when I head out to my Friday night meeting. At the secretary’s report, I pull out the box, shake it, and invite anyone interested to a nearby diner for passable pie a la mode and a few rounds of a three-minute word game. Sometimes it’s Yahtzee. We roll the dice and down bottomless cups of bad coffee. Last week someone brought cards, and I lost badly at hearts (ha!). It’s good, wholesome fun, and by the time I hit my pillow, I’ve significantly pared down the number of waking hours I could have spent obsessing over-ahem-HIM.9. Self-CareSelf-care is somewhat self-defined. These days, after I’ve covered the basics—eat, sleep, bathe—I’m noodling what more I can do to support my mental, physical, and spiritual self. Prone to self-pity and self-indulgence just now, self-care is really urgent-care. So I ask: am I under-meditating and over-caffeinating? Am I speeding up at speed bumps? Am I four months behind in balancing my bank statement? Am I using money to buy what money can’t buy and damn the consequences? Am I treating every Monday like Cyber Monday and abusing the free delivery feature of Amazon Prime? Have I forgotten yoga and found red velvet cake in Costco’s freezer? Are my spot checks spotty lately because I just don’t want to cop to this alcoholic acting out, and instead keep blunting the full force of feeling??? Yes to all of the above. And this leads me back to Step 2: turn to top management for a takeover.Working Steps 2 and 3 is probably the most caring thing I’m doing for myself today: seeing the unmanageable, then seeing the way out. And also forgiving myself for these self-indulgent splurges. So what that I’ve added three pounds to my midline and three pairs of silver sandals to my shoe rack? The rent is paid, and my latchkey kids still let themselves in after school and seem content to eat my crockpot soup and call this home.10. Get on your Hobby HorseWhen was the last time you read “Chapter 6: Getting Active” in Living Sober, that handy paperback that’s not just for newcomers? This month I’ve been making good use of subsection 6B: “Activity not related to A.A.”The anonymous authors suggest “trying a new hobby” or “revisiting an old pastime, except you-know-what” (Yea, Amstel Light). Fat chance I’ll pick up cabinetmaking, leathercraft or macramé, but I am baking granola and simmering bone broths.I’m also revisiting my adolescence with amateur YouTube ballet routines by hammy-thighed figure skaters and dancing to Heavy D. music videos late into a Saturday night. I’m choosing happy music over sad, and tuning in to The Messiah, not Blue Christmas.I’m even considering “Starting on long neglected chores” like editing my nearly obsolete recipe binder, now that I’ve found Pinterest. And while I can’t claim to be going out of my way “Volunteering to do some useful service,” I am trying to be more useful on my job. And just as helping a newcomer find a meeting helps me, helping a kid graph algebraic equations makes me feel purposeful (when otherwise I feel like a mess).11. Become a card-carrying member of the “No Matter What Club”For God’s sake, whatever skillful or unskillful actions you end up taking during this time of triage, please don’t drink over him or her. They are not worth it. (And I’d put money down—money that I don’t have—on a bet that they’d agree with me.)Voila! My top eleven tips to help you over the hump of heartbreak! Take what you like and leave the rest.Have you had your heart broken in recovery? How did you heal? Let us know in the comments.

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