#and casual touches slowly but surely become a fixed part of their routine until it starts feeling completely natural

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

main love language is touch x touch-starved is the ultimate character dynamic btw

#you never realize how much you need it until there are arms gently wrapping around you and it feels so warm #and the touch-starved slowly starts to learn that they can also initiate #and casual touches slowly but surely become a fixed part of their routine until it starts feeling completely natural #this is the shit okay #steddie #catradora #zukka #klance #martim #georgie x melanie #harrow x gideon #kiribaku #solangelo #merthur #nalu #victuuri #wow im noticing that literally all my ships are like that lol #sth abt the tenderness man it gets to me #also i love asshole characters and those never get hugs :( #plus the devotion is just A+ #calron

[thran-duils]

Was Ich Liebe (P.1)

Title: Was Ich Liebe (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Tony Stark.  Tony becomes enamored with a stripper at a club his hedonistic friend Thor owns. A casual sexual relationship quickly becomes possessive and the reader sees more of the underground mafia life than she would like to. The cherry on top is that Tony is married and so is she. Him to a woman who has no intention of losing her throne at any cost and the reader to a deadbeat alcoholic. Feeling trapped by both her previous life and the suffocating hold Tony is trying to put on her, the reader steals away in the night, which is not going to go over well. Words: 4,301 Warnings (for whole fic, more may be added): Dub-con, smut, infidelity, stripping, vaginal fingering, public sex, possessive behavior, angst, degradation kink, violence, physical abuse, domestic violence, language, drug use, alcoholism, death Author’s Note: I did not have the ability to do a one shot. As usual, this is 18+.

Intro || Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your legs and core were burning as you ended your routine to “Walk” by Pantera. You slowly slid down the pole as it was coming to an end, ending in a deep squat at the end, ass towards the crowd.

Turning back against the lights shining at you, you crawled on your knees seductively taking bills being held out and swiping up ones that had been tossed.

The tips were good tonight. You swiped your top from the ground you had thrown off halfway through much to the pleasure of the crowd, showing off your glow in the dark skull hand pasties. Happy autumn. And you walked off, holding your cash and looking forward to switching back to six inch heels to walk around now that your set was over.

Fixing your winged eyeliner, you spotted Thor coming in through the door to the dressing room. Everyone straightened up at his presence. He came straight over to you though. “Perle room, Y/N.”

That was a private customer room. It was easier being on the stage because you were blinded from the crowd for a lot of it with the lights. One on one was harder to dissociate since they were the only other soul in the room.

“You’re picking the songs. He paid for three.”

That was always a gamble; depending on what genre the customer liked, it could go up or down hill really quick.

Thor leaned in close and whispered in your ear, “And he’s a friend of mine, so behave, you hear? Make sure he leaves satisfied. He loves ass so grind, yeah?”

A friend of his was shady no doubt. But you nodded, making eye contact through the mirror. Thor smirked before planting a kiss on your temple.

“Good set by the way.”

“Thank you,” you said as he straightened up and turned to leave you.

Shit. That meant you needed to change. Which is why you always brought an extra set of lingerie. You went to your locker and pulled out the black set.

<><><>

Since it was going to be more intimate, you chose “Was Ich Liebe” by Rammstein to start. It would allow a lot of grinding.

When you walked in, he was already sitting on the opposite of the dark room in the black light. Even in the darkness, you recognized the man. It was not hard to do so with his high standing in the mob.

Tony Stark.

He was to be treated like a high-ranking customer and you were doing to do that.

You started on the pole, circling slowly before climbing and hooking your leg to spin controlled around.

Sliding down, you crawled on all fours to him, pulling yourself up by holding onto his knees that were already spread in anticipation of you. Turning around you ground your ass into his pelvis. Leaning back your face brushed his.

“What’s your name?” he breathed into your ear. You told him your fake name and his lips tugged up at the corner briefly. “You’re real name, sweetheart.”

“That is my real name.”

He chuckled, his nose nuzzling into your neck. “If you insist so, sweetheart.”

You fell into the music, alternating between him and the pole. Your second song started, “Problem” by Natalia Kills.

You moved back to his lap. His hands ran up and down your thighs as you grinded. Which was okay until his fingers slipped past your thong, cupping your sex as you ground into him. You lost rhythm with your lap dance and his breath was hot at your ear. “Just like that, keep going. You are doing beautifully.”

Men getting handsy in the private rooms was not unusual. Especially not ones who paid like he had but you workers knew to dispel it as much as possible. Do not let them get too bold.

You had to be crafty about how you maneuvered out of the situation though. He was Thor’s friend and you knew he was powerful. You resumed grinding, and his nose brushed your neck, inhaling deeply. His fingers threatened to push in and you reacted quickly. You moved out of his lap to dip down in your dancing, forcing his hand away. You were still doing what Thor wanted, giving him a good show. Your hands gripping your ankles, you moved your ass in rhythm with the song.

Tony was not going to be deterred though. Gripping your hips firmly, he pulled you back into his lap with a rough tug. He forced your legs open again and his hand was snaking past your panties again.

As the song sang about claiming your body, Tony’s fingers slid into your pussy and you jumped away from his embrace. You stood a couple feet away, holding your arms tightly around yourself. He was frozen, looking at you expectantly.

“You… you’re not supposed to touch us. It’s against the rules,” you told him, keeping the tremor out of your voice miraculously. You knew what trouble could come from denying a man like him.

Tony brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them off slowly, tasting you. Your heart was hammering with the intense stare off he was having with you. He was handsome as all hell, but you knew he was the type of dangerous you should not have in your life.

He finally shrugged. “Noted. My apologies. I’ll behave, scouts honor.”

He beckoned you back with two fingers.

You swallowed your unease and came back, resuming. He kept his hands off of you like he vowed he was going to. Still, you spent a lot of the time on the pole during your final song “Inertia Creeps” by Massive Attack.

At the end, Tony stood up and he came up to you at the pole. You looked up at him with curiosity; men usually did not move when you left the room.

He smiled devilishly down at you and held out a couple of folded hundreds. He was giving you $200 in tips? Your eyes widened and he forced them into your hand.

Before you could react, he leaned in and caught your mouth. His lips were soft but his force was rough. You were dazed when he pulled away. He winked at you.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, sweetheart. Thanks for the sweet dreams.”

<><><>

Next weekend you were called to the Perle room again. And again, you found Tony there. He chose the set list this time and had you starting out with “Dissolved Girl” by Massive Attack. He had enjoyed the other song so much, he wanted to see you perform more of the album in front of him.

“I’ve tried to stop thinking about you. It hasn’t worked.”

His hands came up, caressing your breasts. You turned your head and his hands loosened. He laughed, nipping at your ear.

“Right, right. The rules. Darling, do you know how hard it is to remember those around you?”

“I’ve heard that before. It doesn’t make the rules any less real,” you returned, pulling away from his embrace and sashaying back to the pole.

He was watching you hungrily as you worked yourself around the pole. There was a storm brewing in his eyes.

“How would you like to make some money outside this club?”

Dipping low, you met his eyes and saw he was serious.

“If you’re asking me to fuck you, I’m married.”

That was information you rarely gave out. But Tony seemed the type of man you needed to put a hard wall up with.

Tony gave you a wide grin. “No, not fucking. Just fun. I wanna have a night out. I just want company.”

Some of the girls did escort work like that. And since it was outside the club you got to keep everything, no tax was taking off the top. And your electricity bill was going to be higher next month since winter was coming.

You did not answer him immediately, rolling the idea around. Knees spread on the ground, dancing, you met his eyes again. He was still waiting for an answer.

Getting back up sultrily, you came to sit back in his lap. He hummed in approval as you said, “Sure. Where we going?”

<><><>

“Going to whore yourself out again?” Michael asked, his words already slurring.

You were wearing a peacoat coat over your dress but he could still it was short. He disapproved of you stripping but he always backtracked when you were able to pay the bills. And more so, bring him his favorite bottle of liquor every other night. Especially since he rarely brought any money in himself. You felt an obligation to him since you had been high school sweethearts.

“For your information, no. I’m going out with friends.”

A white lie.

“What friends? Your co-hooker friends? Glad you keep such great company. A bunch of pathetic bitches just like you, starving for validation…”

“No. Well-paying friends who want my company,” you spat without thinking, angry he was always putting you down.

He got up out of his chair and you moved quickly. The last time he had laid hands on you, you had to take a week off of work and Thor had been pissed.

Your hand was on the door handle, and you had it opened quick. He stumbled and that gave you enough time to get the door closed and move down the hallway. The elevator was not an option cause it was too slow and you took the stairwell, not missing him yelling expletives at you.

He would be passed out well before you got home.

<><><>

Your dress clung tight to your body. You looked around the restaurant, worrying that you were going to be stood up. You had been here for twenty minutes and had ordered a glass of wine.

You were halfway through it without a sign of him. This place was five star, and you did not want to do a walk of shame.

Thankfully for you, Tony sauntered in five minutes later and he slid into the booth across from you, adjusting his jacket as he did. Leaning back against the booth, he threw his arm across the back of it, relaxing back, looking at you. You had chosen the seat across the table.

“You’re punctual. That’s new.”

“Was I not supposed to be?”

“Darling. I never am. Next time let’s ride together. Reservations for 7? I’m here at 7:30 at best and they know to keep the table for me.”

The first date had not even started, and he was already talking about the next.

He suddenly noticed you had a chair and as the waiter approached. He gestured at you and said, “What’s this chair doing here? Is there supposed to be more people than can fit on this booth?”

“Uh, no, Mr. Stark. It was just put there in case someone wanted it—"

“Do you want it?” Tony asked you, interrupting.

You knew the answer he wanted. Calmly, you stood up and moved around the table to sit right up next to him. His hand lying across the back of the booth caressed your shoulder.

“No, here is fine,” you said.

“That’s what I thought. Now, let’s get you something delectable to eat to match how I know you taste. Top notch deserves the same in return.”

He winked salaciously and you blushed. This off-limits escorting was not going to last long; you could sense that. He was not a man that would be satiated with just a taste. He wanted the whole course.

And that whole course was you spread out for him whenever he so pleased.

<><><>

On the fourth date, he took the plunge.

His town car took the opposite way from your turn, and you looked at him.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere where we can enjoy each other fully.”

You opened your mouth, but Tony held a finger up to your lips, winking. There was a sinister feeling behind that wink, and you closed your lips. He smiled in approval, “You’re so well behaved, sweetheart. You’re going to be a lot of fun.”

At the hotel room, legs spread wide, Tony’s large hands held you at your waist as he drove up into you hard and quick. He was not a gentle lover.

He rocked forward quickly and in one fell swoop had managed to maneuver you to pull you with him and you ended up on top. Lining himself back up with your entrance, he plummeted back in, resuming his unforgiving pace. You cried as he held your arms tight, keeping you in place to use like his own personal toy. You were an object to him that he wanted to possess.

<><><>

Leg crossed over the other, relaxing back in the armchair, Tony demanded, “What’s her name?”

Thor told Tony your fake name without missing a beat as he worked across the desk. Tony had come here for answers and Thor would be hard pressed to give them away completely.

Tony stared at him across the table unimpressed and Thor stopped typing, noticing. He simpered, “Tony, it’s for her safety.”

“Are you afraid for her? Because of me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because her husband is a real piece of work.” He noticed the look on shocked Tony’s face, and he said, “Yeah, she wasn’t lying about that. I’m assuming she told you she was married. He might be a deadbeat, but he knows how to load a punch. If he found out she was doing more than dancing, I would be afraid for her. He’s already made her miss a couple weeks of work because of his Rambo fists when he’s gotten riled up just about the dancing. Which makes no sense to me because he barely brings money in, and she is essentially the sole breadwinner.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “And you want her to stay with that?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Seems like you did.”

Thor snorted, “No, I just know what lengths you are willing to go to get your way. And I’m not sure I want you taking this on. As your friend. It’s advice.”

“It won’t be hard. I want her, so it’ll be worth the effort,” Tony said.

<><><>

“It was nice,” you told Tony as you sat in the back of his town car when he asked you how you had enjoyed the night.

He had taken you to a high-end seafood restaurant on a large boat docked at the marina. You meant what you said; it was delicious.

“I thought you would like it,” Tony stated, scooting closer and an arm slipped around your shoulder, holding you closer.

He was staring into your eyes, and you smelled the bourbon on his breath. You no doubt reeked of alcohol yourself. There was something lurking beneath his gaze though. And you soon found out what.

“Y/N,” Tony murmured. You froze and he smiled at your shock. His fingers trailed up your arm and came to cup you under the chin. “That’s such a lovely name.”

Unable to stop yourself, you asked, “How…?”

“Money talks,” Tony informed you as his hand spread to hold you beneath the jaw, fingers trailing behind your ear. You tried to pull away but his arm around you held tight, stopping your movement. He smirked briefly, “I’m not here to hurt you, darling. Don’t ever think that. I just simply adore you. I wanted to know about you. I want to take this further.”

“Further than just the bed?”

“Yes. I want you entirely.”

His firm tone was sincere. What had you gotten yourself into?

He pressed the button, and the partition went up between the two of you and the front seat. His hand left your neck to snake up your dress. “I want to call you by your real name when I take you this time.” He kissed you roughly and his lips brushed yours as he vowed, “I’ll have you whenever and wherever.”

<><><>

Months later, you awoke in the king bed in the mountain top suite. Sneaking a peek at the bedside clock, you saw it was almost four in the morning. You needed to leave. Tossing a look at Tony, seeing he was still sleeping, you tried to unravel yourself from his embrace as gently as you could.

But it was futile.

Tony yanked you back to him as you tried to crawl out of the bed. You protested lightly and he shushed you by roughly rolling you towards him and pressing his lips to yours, growing in intensity as he woke from slumber. His leg wrapped around you, trapping you against him. His cock was already growing hard again after the short nap the two of you had taken after the last tussle in the sheets.

You tried to make space as you said, “You know if I’m going to get home the time I said I was going to, I have to leave now.”

You were hours from home. He had taken you up into the mountains for the last couple of days. You had said you were going on a work trip with your coworkers per your managers request to dance at a new club. Michael would never know. That is unless you came home at the wrong time; then he would start to get suspicious.

The last couple of days had been really nice. Tony had been kind… until tonight. He always treated you to the best and made sure you were well taken care of. But he had gotten… off when he noticed you tonight having taken a nice tone and smiled at a busboy as you dropped off dishes near the kitchen entrance that was out of your way. You had only been trying to be nice to the guy. You knew what it was like working customer service and you only wanted to make his job a little bit easier. And he was not hard on the eyes. Receiving small flirtations was harmless in your eyes and it boosted your mood. It had done just that for the guy.

But upon coming back to the room, Tony was callous, and you had to pry him out of his shell with sweet words and caresses. He had been condescending, asking you if you got off on pleasing men in front of him. When you had told him you did not know what he was talking about he had torn your dress down the front, ignoring your shocked cries at his brutal behavior, and forced you onto the bed. The tatters of the dress had been torn from you completely and he had done the same to your underwear and then forcibly removed your bra from you. He had not even waited for you to get wet before slamming up into you.

“Who gives a fuck what that good-for-nothing husband of yours thinks?” He nipped at your neck, sucking in roughly. His hands gripped and held you close.

“My face does,” you retorted, trying to unwind yourself from him. But Tony was quick, locking you back down. “Tony, please.”

You managed to unlock yourself despite his grabbing and you slid off the bed, hitting the ground, your ass hitting it roughly. He exhaled sharply, glaring down at you and you moved quickly backwards, getting to your feet unsteadily. He was already getting out of the bed, and you moved quickly, snatching up your bag. Your dress was ruined, which was no matter. You could return in your sweats and top.

Tony was on you though and his grip on your bag was tight and he yanked back, drawing you with it. You let go as you stumbled as to not lose your balance and face plant. He used his momentum to throw the bag across the room by the sliding glass door.

“Tony! Stop playing games!” you said desperately, trying to move towards where he threw it, but he stepped in your way. “You know I have to get ready! You can’t be jealous of him. You know what this is.”

“So what if I’m jealous?” Tony asked, continuing to advance towards you and you kept walking backwards. Your back hit the wall, stopping your advancement. “The thought of you with him makes me sick.”

“He’s my husband—"

Tony slammed his fist on the counter, and you jumped back against the wall, causing it to shake slightly. “Stop making fucking excuses! He’s a piece of shit and you know it! Why won’t you just accept me?”

“Tony, I do—” you tried to placate him.

“Don’t you lie to me,” he warned in a snarl. “If that were true, you would be loyal to me and me only. You know how I feel. I want you. Wholly.”

That was so unfair of him to say when you knew he was married. But you also knew better than to point that out. Not when he was this belligerent; you knew belligerent men were hardly able to be reckoned with and calmed down. No, you needed to use other facts.

“And you did, this whole weekend,” you pointed out in shaky tones.

Tony’s laugh was maniac, “’Weekend’. Yeah, that’s what I mean when I say wholly.”

You tried to dodge around him quickly to go towards your bag, but he jolted out and grabbed you around the waist, swinging you around. You kicked your legs as he dragged you. You bounced on the mattress, not fully on it but not fully off it either. You grabbed at the sheets to get leverage and you got grounded just as his hand closed around your ankle. You pulled away with ferocity, landing on the other side of the bed. Scrambling, you grabbed your bag. Tony’s arm came around you, pulling you back.

“Tony!” you cried out, your voice cracking. “Please stop!”

There was a sharp knock at the door and the two of you froze. Tony swore underneath his breath and let you go, causing you to stumble because you had been relying on him.

He snatched up his briefs and threw them on before storming towards the door as another knock came.

He opened the door a crack and sighed frustrated, “What?”

You heard Happy, “Uh, I was coming to get Y/N… it’s time to take her back? I went to bed super early so I would be ready to take her back now?”

You were relieved to hear someone with sense.

“Fuck!” Tony snapped, tossing the door open and you squeaked, still naked. You rushed towards the hall to grab your sweats and sweater out and throw those on.

When you emerged again, Happy was waiting by the door and Tony was necking the bottle of bourbon he had bought. He slammed it back down on the counter and glared at you. You went to go towards him to kiss him goodbye to try to start to smooth things over, but he held up his hand forcibly and you stopped. He took another swig without looking at you.

Hurt, you turned towards Happy, who was looking at Tony with scrutiny as well before following you out the door. You fell asleep on the car ride home and when you arrived back at your place, Tony still had not texted you.

<><><>

Clutching your duffel bag, you climbed the stairs a week later to your apartment. Tony had been clipped in his responses since Happy had taken you home. You were growing simultaneously frustrated and nervous with possessive, aggressive behavior.

Upon walking in, you saw the living room was upturned. Your blood chilled and you immediately dropped your bag, going for the switchblade in your front pocket of it. It was out as you grabbed your cell phone out of your bag.

Just as you were about to dial 911, Tony emerged from the hallway, holding up his hand. “Darling, it’s just me.”

Dropping the hand with your phone, you demanded, “’Just you’? What are you doing?”

Tony shrugged, “What I needed to do.”

You did not like the way that sounded at all. And then you noticed all the blood on his hands and on the wetness on his black jacket, which was no doubt more blood. Your hand clutched your switchblade tighter. Tony’s eyes dropped to it, and he looked back up at you.

“Sweetheart, there’s no need for that. It’s just me.”

“’Just you’? Where’s Michael?”

Tony rolled his eyes, annoyed. He turned his back and walked towards the kitchen. He flipped the switch on in there as he moved towards the sink. You moved to follow him and upon seeing more of the kitchen, you saw Carol and Rhodes were sitting at the table, having a drink.

“Where’s Michael?” you repeated.

Washing his hands in the sink now, without a care for the blood splattering, Tony told you, “I could have used a gun, but this was personal.”

The horror of what he was admitting without outright saying it was washing down on you. Your hand wavered, threatening to drop your switchblade.

“You…you…” you stammered; your chest was tight.

Tony continued rinsing the blood off of his hands, unbothered. He finished as you stood there frozen by your shock. Shaking his hands off, he wiped them on his black jeans and turned back to face you. As soon as he started to come close, you regained sense of self and your hand gripped tighter on your blade again.

Tony was not having any of that. He was quick and gripped your wrist tightly, twisting it so you cried out, dropping the blade. He held you up to the wall by your throat.

His word was law sinking around you, “No more excuses, Y/N. You’re all mine now.”

~~~

Song list to set the mood for me while writing:

Was Ich Liebe -- Rammstein Walk -- Pantera Problem -- Natalia Kills Inertia Creeps -- Massive Attack Dissolved Girl -- Massive Attack Just For Me -- Saint Jhn feat. Sza

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx

#tony stark x reader #dark!tony stark #dark tony stark #dark marvel #my shit

[livesincerely]

dress you up, dress you down ch. 3 - business casual

aka the Tie Fic. Chapter two here.

Also on Ao3

00000

“Wait, wait, go back,” Katherine says, barely holding back a laugh. “Jack keeps doing what?”

“So, he’ll start getting ready, right?” Davey explains, gesturing with his free hand. “And then, right in the middle, he’ll get distracted or start telling a story or ask me a question, and end up just standing there for ages with his pants half buttoned or his shirt hanging open, like it’s totally fine, no big deal.”

Davey glances left and right to make sure the road is clear, then continues on, Katherine’s hand tucked companionably in the crook of his arm as they walk along.

“It’s driving me crazy, Kath, I am this close to losing my mind,” Davey says, thoroughly caught up in getting this all off his chest. “It’s a miracle I’ve gotten through these last few weeks without throwing myself off the fire escape; no one should be expected to withstand the full force of Jack Kelly first thing in the morning, it’s too much to ask of any one person. And I can’t even just try to avoid looking at him, because if Jack notices he always starts asking me if I’m okay or if anything’s wrong and I can’t say, ‘oh, no, Jack, I’m fine, it’s just that you’re too pretty for this mortal plane and I’m kind of struggling to exist in your presence’ because obviously, so then I have to make something up—“

“You aren’t a good liar,” Katherine comments.

“—And I’m not a good liar!” Davey exclaims. “And I’m definitely not a good liar when Jack is looking at me with his stupid, soft brown, puppy dog eyes and his dumb, messy, adorable hair, or when he says ‘Dave’ in that voice and I just— I cannot express enough how difficult it is to convince Jack that there’s nothing wrong with me when I can barely look him in the face.”

Katherine doesn’t even attempt to stifle her next snort of laughter, the sound bursting out of her.

“It’s not funny, Katherine!” Davey says. “I had to start using Les as a human shield just to get through the morning!”

“No, it’s pretty funny,” Katherine disagrees, shoulders shaking.

Davey huffs out a breath.

“I don’t feel like you’re appreciating the gravity of the situation,” he grumbles.

“Oh, boo hoo, a pretty boy likes to stand around your bedroom half naked, giving you plenty of opportunity to ogle at him uninterrupted,” Katherine says, rolling her eyes at him. “What an incredible hardship you’re facing.”

Davey flushes.

“...I don’t ogle at him,” he mutters.

Katherine raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t!” Davey insists. “I can barely keep from embarrassing myself when I’m doing my best not to look at him—I’d have spontaneously combusted by now, otherwise.”

“Uh huh,” Katherine hums, pinning him with a knowing look. “Right.”

“This is your fault, you know,” Davey continues quickly before Katherine can press any further. “I was perfectly content with my life as it was, but no, you wanted him to have nice work clothes and now I’m the one that has to deal with how painfully good Jack looks in a tie on a regular basis.”

“He’s actually wearing it?” Katherine says, surprised. “Given the stink he put up while we were picking it out, I figured we’d hardly ever see him in it unless one of us made him wear it.”

“Well, I wish I could make him stop wearing it,” Davey grouses. “I swear he does it just to torture me—the damn thing is practically haunting my dreams at this point. I’m pretty sure I could fix him up with one hand behind my back, he wears it so often.”

“Wait,” Katherine starts slowly, her expression caught somewhere between judgement and glee. “Have you been.... tying Jack’s tie for him?”

“He doesn’t know how!” Davey protests, face flushing a touch deeper. “He doesn’t know how and I haven’t had time to teach him yet, so I always have to— Stop laughing!” Davey sputters, swatting at Katherine’s shoulder when she devolves into a flurry of giggles. “It’s nothing, it’s not a big deal.”

He decides not to mention the fact that, whenever he goes to fix Jack’s tie, he swears he can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze like a physical presence—almost thrilling in its intimacy, like the warmth of a hand on his cheek or the feeling of fingers carding gently through his hair—except that whenever he works up the nerve to check, Jack’s always looking somewhere else, casual as can be.

How he can’t tell if it’s actually happening or if it’s a figment of his imagination, the sparking tension that seems to flash and flare between them, how he has no idea what he’d do if he actually caught Jack’s gaze in these moments, but that just wondering about it sends his heart beating a few paces faster.

Even if he wanted to try to explain it, he’s not sure if he could put it all into words.

Thankfully, Katherine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his sudden bout of introspection; she nudges Davey playfully in the ribs.

“Sure it isn’t,” she says, clearly delighting in his embarrassment. “Please, tell me more about how you and Jack have built an entire morning routine together—“

“Oh, look, we’re here,” Davey hurriedly interrupts.

The doors to The World stand as tall and imposing as ever, though the effect is softened somewhat by the flood of workers rushing out of them, heading out into the city for their lunch break.

Davey and Katherine linger on the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to come out and meet them, but he never appears.

“He should be here by now, shouldn’t he?” Davey asks, after a few minutes pass by with no sign of Jack.

“Lunch started ten minutes ago,” Katherine confirms. “If he doesn’t hurry, he’s not going to have time to eat.”

“He probably got caught up in one of his art inspirations,” Davey says with a shrug. “I bet he didn’t even notice the bell ringing.”

“Then let’s go fetch him, shall we?” Katherine says, stepping confidently into the building, tugging Davey along behind her.

Davey’s been to The World several times by now, but he still isn’t all that comfortable being inside the building, always feeling distinctly out of place. Katherine, of course, walks right in like she owns the place, which she sort of does, leading the way through the lobby and up the main staircase until they reach the floor for the Art Department.

They find Jack right where they thought he would be, seated at his desk with a pen in hand, deeply engrossed in his latest series of sketches and totally unaware of the world around him... including the small gaggle of his coworkers standing just off to the side, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they watch him work.

A small part of Davey’s brain can’t blame them for staring: Jack makes for quite the sight in his dark slacks and matching vest, a crisp white button up tucked underneath. He’s become a bit disheveled in the hours since Davey last saw him—his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened slightly, exposing the line of his forearms and a hint of skin at his collar—and he wears it incredibly well, looking far more handsome than he has any right to after half a day’s work.

The rest of his brain, however, stands at attention—a fierce, heated sort of irritation prickling just under his skin. Davey feels himself slow to an uneasy stop, a frown pulling at his features.

He happens to catch the eye of one of them: a young woman who appears to be about his age, with blue eyes and dark, curly hair, stepping out of the crowd as if about to approach Jack at his desk. Davey’s not sure what his expression does in this moment, but when their gazes meet she freezes, her cheeks flushing a touch pink as she ducks her head, and she quickly returns to the safety of the crowd.

“Typical Jack,” Katherine says with a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the flock of admirers waiting in the wings. “Okay, let’s grab him and get out of here—“

“I’ve got it,” Davey says abruptly, stepping forward.

Jack doesn’t acknowledge his approach, utterly focused on adding a few precise bits of shading to the cartoon he’s hunched over. His fingers are dotted with ink stains, his hair a little ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it, and Davey feels himself soften at the sight of him, that sharp edge of annoyance fading as quickly as it appeared.

Mindful of not startling Jack while he has a pen in his hand, Davey carefully calls out, “Jackie?”

Jack glances up, distracted, and then does a double take, his expression quickly turning sheepish.

“Aw, hell, is it lunch already?” Jack asks, setting his pen down.

“At the same time as always,” Davey confirms, leaning against the corner of Jack’s desk. “Figures you’d get so caught up in a project that you ignore your stomach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says with a grin, pushing his chair back. “I know, don’t start.”

He stands up and stretches—full bodied, with both arms over his head—giving Davey a long, generous look at just how well everything he’s wearing is tailored to him.

“Where’s Kath?” Jack says, oblivious to the way Davey’s eyes are riveted to the subtle flex of his shoulders and chest as he shakes the stiffness out of his hands. “Is she meetin’ us there or...?”

“No, we walked here together,” Davey says, clearing his throat. “We’re just waiting on you, Jackie, love.”

The endearment slips past his lips of its own accord, far too affectionate and far too honest.

Jack stills, blinking at him in open surprise, clearly catching his mistake. Then his expression shifts, a bright flicker of warmth lighting up his face.

“So, let’s get a move on,” Jack says with a soft smile, blessedly allowing the moment to pass without comment; Davey lets out the breath he’d been holding, relieved. “At this rate, I’m not gonna have any time to eat.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Davey says, trying for something casual, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “What, you didn’t notice everyone else leaving all of the sudden?”

“Shuddup,” Jack says. “You know I don’t mean’ta get distracted. An’, hey, everybody ain’t left yet.”

Jack gestures to where a few of his coworkers are still standing, who try to seem as though they haven’t been watching when they realize Jack is looking at them. Davey’s earlier frown returns with a vengeance.

“See, it ain’t just me,” Jack says.

“I thought we were getting a move on,” Davey says lightly, hooking two fingers under the front of Jack’s vest and tugging slightly to get his attention. Jack’s eyes snap back to his with a speed Davey can only describe as gratifying. “Lunch isn’t going to buy itself.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack murmurs, allowing himself to be steered back towards the staircase. “Where’re we goin’?”

“It’s Kath’s turn to pick,” Davey says.

“So uptown, somewhere weird and expensive that she won’t let us help pay for,” Jack surmises.

“She promised not to pick anything too strange anymore after last time,” Davey offers, though he’s a bit apprehensive himself. “It won’t be that bad... probably.”

Jack snorts. “It’s the probably that I’m worried about.”

“Buck up, Jackie,” Davey says, curling his hand around Jack’s forearm. “If I have to eat it, you have to eat it.”

“Hey, Jack,” Katherine says once they’re close enough, hitting Davey with another knowing look when Jack steps forward to hug her. Davey bites his lip, gaze falling guiltily to the floor. “Ready to go?”

“You mean, am I ready for your latest poisonin’ attempt?” Jack asks. “Sure, if that’s what’cha wanna call it.”

“I was not poisoning you!” Katherine volleys back. “Those were a delicacy⁠—”

“They was disgustin’, that’s what they was,” Jack replies. “So what’s on the table today, O’ Queen of The World? Sautéed rose petals? A single black bean roasted over an open flame? The left claw of the rare Chesapeake lobster?”

“Why do I even bother?” Katherine dramatically laments, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You uncouth swine.”

“You’re the one that dated me.”

“A momentary lapse in judgement, I assure you.”

“Hey!”

As they head back downstairs, Davey can’t help but throw one last parting glance over his shoulder⁠⁠—Jack’s crowd of admirers has mostly dispersed, the various workers going back to their desks to eat or sulk now that there’s no one to gawk at⁠—and surge of satisfaction rushes through him, unbidden, yet undeniable. 

“Dave!” Jack calls, he and Katherine having made it most of the way down the staircase in the meantime. “What’re you doin’? C’mon!” 

“Sorry,” Davey says, hurrying after them.

“What, there somethin’ interestin’ goin’ on up there?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Somethin’ caught your eye?”

“No, Jackie” Davey says simply, not quite able to resist a smile. “Nothing at all.”

00000

Chapter four here

Tags!

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #the tie fic #*final cut #*editor's note #*the writing desk #tease series #jealous Davey is right up there with flustered Davey tbh #listen: i love them

[deafwestnewsies]

be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

#newsies #newsies on tour #newsies on broadway #newsies live #newsies 1992 #javid #javid fanfiction #javid newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #sarah jacobs #newsbians #newsies fanfiction #javid au #my writing

[drspencr]

always in my heart | part one

pairing: spencer x reader

summary: you know that it’s too late to fix your relationship with spencer; but what if a terrible accident gives you another chance?

word count: 3.1k

content warning: angst, car accident

a/n: before you ask i did not proofread the last part hehe,, also! it jumps right into angst so beware

masterlist part two

You could see it in his eyes. The way they were distant when he smiled at your jokes or how uninterested they looked when you told him about your day. You watch him stray away from you until you found yourself alone in your bed at 2 am wondering what went wrong. Every day, you see him falling out of love. And the worst part is that you’re reminded of it every time he says those three empty words; I love you has never felt so meaningless. 

Every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would shoot you a cold look as if he has told you multiple times to not talk about it. He would stop talking to you for the rest of the evening in hopes that you don’t bring it up again. So you let it go, hoping that it’ll resolve itself. But as time went on, those evenings turned into hours, and hours turned into days. Eventually, he was giving you one-word answers: “good”, “fine”, “sure”, “okay”. It was hard enough that you had your own busy schedule. You don’t even remember the last time the two of you had sex or shared a special conversation.

You figured it was a case that hit too close to home– something that took time for him to open up about. But again, as weeks went by, he continued to dismiss you. You were so worried for Spencer that you brought matters into your own hands and called Derek. 

You’ve only talked to Derek a handful of times. Each conversation you shared with him revolved around casual matters: sports, food, jobs, hobbies. So he was surprised when he saw your contact light up his phone.

“Hey, y/n. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, for the most part. I just uh…” you closed your eyes, contemplating whether or not you should continue. “It’s nothing urgent but is it okay if we meet up in person?”

“Yeah, of course. Does Friday afternoon sound good? We can meet at the corner of Elk and Rhodes.”

“Sure that sounds fine. And do you mind not telling Spencer? Please?”

The line goes quiet for a moment before Derek responds back, “sure thing. See you then, y/n.”

Friday afternoon rolled around sooner than you expected. You weren’t even sure what to ask let alone how to bring up the subject. It’s hard asking for help considering how unique your relationship with Spencer is. After all, not a lot of people can relate to having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory who travels the country to catch murderers. 

You step into the corner cafe on Elks and Rhodes. There weren’t many people at this time of day so you took the liberty of taking the window seat where you watched people come and go. It was 12:09 when Derek arrived and by then you’ve already gone through half of your cup.

“Hey, Derek!”

He smiles as he goes in for a side hug, “Hey, y/n. How’ve you been?”

Your smile falters at the question but you quickly cover it up before he notices. “Good, and you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Here let me buy you lunch.”

“Oh please, you shouldn’t, I was the one who invited you. Let me pay, it’s the least I can do,” you insist as you move in front of him to block the cash register. 

Derek takes notice of your desperate urging and figured that whatever you brought him here for was more important than he expected. He steps aside for you to order, “okay, but I got you next time alright?”

You tried not to freak out at the fact that you were sitting across one of Spencer’s best friends. Derek is very intimidating. God, he was probably profiling you at this very second. Sweaty palms, bouncing knee, lack of eye contact– all telltale signs that someone’s nervous. But as anxious as you were, Derek didn’t seem to notice as he happily bit into his sandwich.

With your food still untouched, you hesitantly lean in. “I would love to catch up with you, Derek. But I’m assuming that you’re on your lunch break so I’ll try to make this quick. It’s about Spencer.”

He only nods and wipes his mouth with his napkin, “what’s up?”

“This is gonna sound weird,” you laugh, hoping that it will take some of your tension away. “But is… is Spencer okay? Like at work? Did anything bad happen?”

Derek crosses his arms and leans back in his chair as he chews on his food. He was studying you, trying to figure out what this is all about. Your heart rate speeds up anxiously as you wait for his answer. You were unsure if you wanted his answer to be a yes or a no; either way, each had its own bad fortune. 

“Nothing’s happened from what I know of.”

Your heart fell. “Right,” your voice barely above a whisper. So it was all because of me, you thought, he’s like this because of me.

Derek lowered his head to meet your eyes, “If you don’t mind me asking, are you and Spencer okay?”

You continued to look down at your food, embarrassed to tell your side of the story. Deep down, you knew that your relationship with Spencer was derailing but you were afraid that if you admitted the problem, you would be validating its existence. “Well that’s the thing, I don’t really know. He won’t talk to me.”

He nods slowly. Derek of all people knows that Spencer doesn’t like to talk about his problems until he’s ready to confront it. He normally ignores the situation until it interferes with his daily life. But with you it was different. Spencer found it easier to talk about his feelings around you. He claimed that you brought him peace and tranquility to his restless, busy life. And you took pride in that. But now, you weren’t entirely sure if what he said was true.

“I asked if something was bothering him,” you started. “And usually it would take him a couple of days to tell me what was wrong but now he just shuts me down. The past few months I’ve noticed that he’s becoming more distant and aloof.”  You raise your head with furrowed brows, alarmed at the conclusion you’ve created. “I’m starting to think that I’m the thing that’s bothering him.”

Derek was quick to rebuttal your statement. “Hey now, kid. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you make Spencer happy.”

“Or used to,” you mumbled.

He sighs, “don’t beat yourself up, y/n. Knowing Reid, he’ll probably come around sooner or later.”

You nodded even though you didn’t find much comfort in his words. You desperately wanted to believe that what Derek said would turn out to be true. But he doesn’t know how lonely it feels to be in an empty relationship, he doesn’t know how it feels to watch your significant other fall out of love right before your eyes. 

“I can talk to him if you want–”

“No,” you insisted, “please, it’s okay.”

“If something’s going on, I want you to know that you can talk to me. Alright? I know how hard it might be to keep up with Reid, am I right?” he jokes, hoping to lighten the mood. “Hang in there, y/n.”

Your silence kept Derek from pressing more on the matter. It was clear that you got the answers you needed and didn't want to talk about it anymore. So for your sake, he let it go. 

“Do you think homemade dinner would suffice for now?” you asked, brows furrowed. 

Derek gives you a warm, sympathetic smile, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You smile back, gratefully. “Thanks for meeting with me today, I appreciate it.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You hug your goodbyes and thank him once more before heading to the grocery store. In the parking lot, you excitedly take out your phone to send a text to Spencer.

Y/n: Hey Spence, I’m cooking your favorite tonight :)Meet at my place at 7?

Surprisingly, he texted back in a matter of minutes.

Spencer: Okay, I’ll try to clear my schedule.

Your breath hitched in your throat while your eyes read his text over and over again. After comprehending his response, you let out a sigh of relief. It’s not every day Spencer responds to your text at all. You felt a light glow inside you as you walked towards the store, head held high. 

It took you three hours to set everything up. You tidied the house, retouched your makeup, cooked pasta, making the pesto extra nutty. All with a newfound lightness in your step. You were hopeful that this gesture would help things get back into a routine– or at least make it seem like it. You just wanted everything to be normal, just for this evening. But unfortunately, your sanguinity was short-lived. You knew it was too good to be true. 

At 7 o’clock sharp, you made finishing touches to the plates and poured two glasses of red wine. You sat on one side of the table, satisfied with your preparation. 

At 7:30 you sent a text to Spencer asking if he was okay.

At 8:15, you poured yourself a fourth glass of wine and dialed your boyfriend’s number with trembling hands. There was no answer.

Just as you were going to put the untouched food into a container, a knock echoed through your apartment. You inhaled deeply, mustering up mental strength for a conversation you didn’t even think you’d be having in the first place. 

You were frustrated, to say the least. You spent so much time and effort into tonight and he couldn’t even send you a quick text back. Short and vague answers are one thing but standing you up was another. This was a whole new level of low. 

Another set of knocks echoed, “y/n, you there?”

You rolled your eyes and stomped your way to the entrance, opening the door forcefully.

Despite the raging anger inside of you, you managed to keep your tone at a normal level. “You’re late,” you seeth.

Spencer walks in, dismissing the spite in your voice, “sorry, I got caught up at work.”

You closed the door behind him, “you could have texted me.”

“I know, I forgot.”

“You forgot, huh.”

“I’m sorry.” He goes in for a hug. Before you know it, your head is buried into his chest, inhaling his scent. Warmth spread throughout your body, melting away any angry thought you had towards him. Spencer hasn’t hugged you like this for a long time. His hand sat firmly on your waist and his head rested at the top of your head. As much as you enjoyed it, you didn’t want to. You knew that it wasn’t real. 

“I can warm up the food again, go change into something comfortable.” You said quietly, parting ways with his embrace. He looked at you, a soft, dull tone in his eyes, “okay.”

The tension in the air was thick as the two of you sat quietly, eating your microwaved pasta. An occasional question about each other’s day. You really wanted to strike a conversation but you had other things bothering you. You were never good with confrontation. You didn’t like how quickly the conversation turns into arguments. Because of this, you tried your best to lay the foundation of your point slowly.

“Spencer, you know I’m not one to jump to conclusions.”

He takes a bite of pasta, trying his best to avoid your eyes, “I know.”

“But I have to ask...”

“I’m fine, y/n? It’s been months, can you drop it already?.”

Your heart dropped and your head darted back at his sudden burst, “that’s not what I was going to say.”

He looks up apologetically, “sorry.”

He went silent, flustered. His knee bounced with anxiety and anticipation for what you were going to say next. You shake your head and count to ten, trying to let go of his response. 

“Do you–” you pause as you search for the words you really wanted to say, “why don’t you love me anymore?”

Spencer sets his fork down, “I never said that, y/n.”

“You didn't have to. I already know.”

He didn’t retaliate your accusation which alarmed you. You looked at him expectantly, hoping he would say something to defend himself. But Spencer stayed silent, unsure of what to say. So many thoughts and excuses ran through his head but none of them was a good enough response.

Spencer couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He sighs uneasily, ashamed to tell the truth, “I still love you, it’s just different now. I don’t… I don’t love you that way anymore. I’m sorry.”

Despite the softness in his voice, the words jabbed at you like knives. Your greatest fear becoming your reality.

You found your hands clinging to the side of the table. Your eyes stung with tears as you tried your best not to cry in front of him. Your voice quivered, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You stand up and laugh bitterly. “You didn’t want to hurt me? I spent sleepless nights wondering if I made you happy, wondering if I was good enough for you, wondering if you still loved me!  For months, I fought for both of us, and you had the audacity to just stand there and watch me try and fix this relationship. You left me in the dark, Spencer. And I was hanging on by a thin thread of hope. Do you know how much misery you put me through?” 

His voice was small, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

You lean over the counter, head in your hands. “Spencer, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Please.”

He makes his way over to you but you raise your hand before he makes another step. “Y/n, please. I don’t want to leave things like this please–”

“Spencer. Just go.” You sobbed. For the first time, you looked into his eyes. They were glossy with tears just like yours, a genuine sadness in them. 

He felt a wave of guilt as he stared at you, so close to breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The door closed with a small click and you fell to your knees. Hair stuck to the hot trail of tears that ran down your face and you hyperventilated as you struggled to find a rhythm in your breathing. 

There were still many more questions you had for Spencer. But you couldn’t bear to look at him in the face again. Loving a person who doesn’t love you back feels like lemon on a wound– a slow, slow sting. You watched him leave you and no matter what you did would have been enough to get him back. Although, you found a bit of relief knowing that in a way, you set him free. You still loved him and you just wanted to be happy– whether you were in his life or not. It was unfortunate that he didn’t find his happiness with you.

You don’t know how long you were on the floor crying and drinking wine. But when you woke up, it was dark. The only lighting in the house came from your ringing phone.  You squinted at your screen, waiting for your vision to focus. There were two missed calls from an unknown number and eight from Derek, all from the past hour. 

“Derek?” you croaked, bringing yourself up to your knees. “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, y/n. Don’t freak out, but Spencer was in an accident.”

You scramble to your feet to turn the light on, “what do you mean accident? Is he okay?”

“He’s in surgery right now but we don’t know anything else.”

“Where?”

“Hunter Medical.”

You didn’t even bother looking in the mirror before you left. “On my way.”

The roads were empty at 4 am so you took the liberty to speed to the hospital. Derek’s phone call definitely sobered you up. Upon arriving, Derek and Aaron were already at the entrance to greet you. They exchanged looks as they saw you stumble out of your car with a wrinkled blouse, smudged makeup, and tangled hair. “Is he okay?” you asked, lifting up a bra strap.

“They’re closing him up now, no complications. Are you okay?” Aaron inquired. Your eyes were bloodshot red and puffy and your faded lipstick has found its way to the side of your face. 

“Me? I’m fine… But what happened to Spencer?”

“Drunk driver,” Derek sighed, “Some guy T-Boned his car into a pole.”

“Oh my God,” you breathed. It was too much. You can’t even think straight. The wine was barely wearing off and all you could think about was how it was all your fault that Spencer was open on a table. Derek and Aaron nodded to each other, mutually deciding to talk to you in the morning when you have a clearer mindset. 

“C’mon y/n, let’s get you cleaned up a little.” Derek led you inside as Aaron followed behind.

You spent three long days in the hospital. After finding out that Spencer fell into a coma, you never left the premises of the hospital. You spent your days going in and out of the ICU when visiting hours were active. Every day, you meet the rest of his team, and every time, they give you words of comfort and hugs. You were too ashamed to tell anyone about the fight you had with Spencer, besides Derek. Not only was it humiliating to tell but you were afraid that they were going to stray from you too and as selfish as it sounds, you needed all the comfort you could get. 

Derek somehow persuaded you to go home and shower, and you did so with lots of retaliation. He insisted that Spencer wouldn’t be going anywhere. But the atmosphere, however, felt different when you came back. You found Derek with his head in his hands, something that you rarely saw him doing. 

“I’m back.”

He stands up, startled. “Y/n, hey.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Derek sighs, “look there’s no easy way to say this but... Reid doesn’t remember anything.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember anything? Spencer remembers everything.”

“No y/n, I mean he lost his memory.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #nikki writes #mine #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfic (Chapter II)

Summary: Chapter two is a little plot heavier than Chapter 1. Javier wakes up the next morning after the raid he had attended as a consultant for the DEA and the questions he avoided during the night are still very much unanswered and Isa, his wife, needs to know more about what’s going on. The second part of the chapter is in the past so we get to know how Javi got to be a consultant and how this affect his family life.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Domestic Javi!, fluff, implied sexy times. Spanish and thoughts in cursive, translations are between parenthesis right after the dialogue line.

A/N: Hey, thanks to everybody that liked and reblogued. I was a bit weary of uploading this ‘cos this fic feels more like a characters study than any other thing. I’m just fascinated by Javi, from this chapter plot will move faster. S.

Chapter 1

Double life

"Daddy, wake up" Elvira grabs her father's arm that rests languidly at the side of the bed and shakes it until he answers:

“Morning" his face smashed against the pillows and his brown hair disheveled

"Good morning" she kisses him on the cheek and stays really close to his face, still pretty much asleep Javi starts snorting softly again “Daddy wake up!”

"You're hungry?" Javier clears his throat and opens widely his eyes as to convince his body that it has to get up. Elvi grins at him, with those honey eyes and that crooked smile she is the cutest creature on earth.

"You lost another one" he points at her mouth

"Yeah, yesterday, it was moving really funny so mami convinced me to get it out. I didn't even cry!" She tells proudly

"Such a strong girl! Let's get you a good breakfast then, what do you want?"

She smirks devilish and looks over Javier’s shoulder to make sure her mother doesn’t hear, but she finds her laying on bed completely naked and she seems puzzled for a second

"Why is mummy naked?"

"Oh" Javier pushes the covers over Isa that sleeps soundly. "You want those sugary things...the captain..."

"Cap’n Crunch!" Elvira raises her small arms excited

"Yeah, let's get those"

Javier adjusts his underwear under the sheets making sure everything is in place and gets out of bed. He lifts Elvira to his chest while she giggles.

"I love you, daddy" she holds his face on his little hands and he thinks his heart is about to explode.

"I love you too" Javier kisses her forehead, resting his child's head on his just for a second. He feels how the tangles around his heart become undone with her small, warm body against his. Everything seems kinder, happier, like if all of the sudden sunshine had pierced him deep inside where he hid his fears, regrets and pain.

He smells her hair for a second and then leaves her gently on the ground

"Let's eat"

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

The light between the curtains is like a knife to her eyes even under the covers. Her body is exhausted, her muscles relaxed and unwilling to cooperate to get her up. Isabel had heard her daughter’s laughter but thought that Javier could handle the situation and make up for the time he had expend who knows where the day before.

She doesn’t complain about being busy all the time with Elvira, she actually really likes it and is dreading the moment when summer will be over and she’ll have to spend the day alone with Elvi being at school. But every day she finishes the daily routines tired and instantly falling asleep when she goes to bed, after juggling between doing the chores and entertaining her daughter. It has been months since Javier’s head was elsewhere.

Knowing she is not gaining any more sleep, she gets up. The heat of Texas comes through the glass windows and she feels that even as naked as she is she could melt.

Isa puts on one of the big, old, soft t-shirts that Javier rarely uses and a pair of his shorts. Wearing his clothes, with his scent still lingering on them, is one small solace she finds when he’s away. She takes her nightgown and panties and throws them in the laundry bin, seeing Javier‘s clothes from last night, she grabs them and inspects the pockets before throwing it with the rest of clothes. She finds a few coins, a pen and a half emptied Marlboro packet that she squeezes on her hand. Maldito veneno (Damned poison)

At the kitchen table, Elvira is telling every single detail of her pool day at the neighbor’s house that Javier had missed. When Isa arrives, she hugs her daughter from behind and kisses her head before grabbing a cup of coffee from the kitchen counter.

"Look, daddy prepared breakfast" she says stuffing her mouth with those multicolored cereals.

"Oh, I see, he grabbed a bowl, poured the cereal and the milk and voilà." She kneels beside her but is smiling directly at Javier. “Daddy of the year” she raises her cup and Javi smacks his lips but says nothing.

"No me diste los buenos días, princesa" (You didn’t say good morning to me, princess) Isabel holds Elvira’s hair and starts to untangle her mane with her fingers.

"Buenos días, mami" she kisses her leaving a sticky mark on her skin.

"After that you will eat a piece of fruit, me oiste?"

"Sí" she smiles engulfing another full spoon too big for her little mouth .

"And I don't get a good morning?" Javier adds looking at his wife over the cup of black coffee.

Isabel walks slowly towards him and brushes her lips on his forehead. She opens her right hand in front of him, the Marlboro packet squished inside.

"Morning"

With a dramatic gesture, she opens the trash can and throws the plastic packet angrily. Javi observes her but says nothing.

"You're mad at daddy?" Elvira asks looking between the two her little face concerned.

"A little" Isa responds

"Why?" Her little voice breaks

"I misbehaved. I didn't listen to your mother" Javier answers and pinches his kid chubby cheek softly “That’s why you have to listen to her always”

"Have you apologized?" Elvira leaves the bowl aside as to fully focus on this pressing matter and crosses her arms over the table

"I have, many times" Javier faces his wife with a smirk

"Twice" she clarifies “and they're not enough"

"Never" Javier sips coffee from his cup and winks at his wife. Elvira looks at them confused.

"Mami if he has apologized I think you have to forgive him"

“Yeah, I guess I have to" Isabel takes a sit at Javier's right side and holds his hand on hers. The simple golden ring in both their hands makes her feel a pinch on her heart, she was so young and so scared when they got married not knowing what she could expect from him and, and on top of that, having a newborn baby that demanded all her attention.

Now, 6 years later she can even begin to express how fiercely she loves her daughter and how all the sacrifices she made were all worthy for her beautiful baby.

Javier is another thing. Sometimes she thinks of him as the sea, something you can see, touch and be submerged in, but in the end there is a depth you are not able to understand. There are things that lie on the bottom of his heart and mind that she is not welcome to visit. And she loves him, and has an ardent passion and need for him but she feels as if he’s slipping through her fingers every time she tries to hold him.

"Can I finish breakfast watching TV, please?" Elvi’s question gets Isa out of her thoughts.

"Yes, but grab an apple"

The little girl jumps out of her chair already chanting some song she knows from her favorite cartoon show.

"So what was the operation that you had last night?"

Isa usually asks him about his job every morning and Javi always answers briefly without many details, mainly because he is not that interested but when he decided to counsel for the police, she started to insist more, trying to calm her worries, but Isabel grows more and more anxious with his vague answers. She had met him after leaving the DEA, and though he hadn’t told her about his life in Colombia, she knows that Javi was a broken man, lost in dark memories. In those six years of marriage he had been better, he was still the same, but he smiled more, was kinder, more open. But the shadow of his old self lurks through the house and Isa feels how her anxiety twists her stomach watching his husband crumble before her eyes.

"There were a few trucks passing the borders, they suspected they were hiding drugs” he finished his coffee and casually eats cereal from the box

"Why on earth would you be there at the moment they caught the transport? I mean, why were you on the raid?"

"You’re asking if I was ever in danger. The answer is no, I'm here, am I not?" Javi took her hand that still holds him and kisses her knuckles.

"Yes, you are, but my question is..."

"But" he sighs

"You're smoking again; you are not sleeping quite right. You think I haven't noticed? What is going on?"

"I'm fine"

"You're stressed"

"I said I'm fine"

"Then why are you back to the old habits?"

"You really are going to just drink a coffee for breakfast?"

"Don't change the conversation, Peña"

"Look, there's nothing to worry about. I was just there to help them out since I’m experienced” he turns the chair closer to her and poses his hands over her knees softly caressing her with the pads of his fingers “But everything is fine”

"Alright" she concedes "so is it done? The operation?" She looks at him from under her eyelashes

"I don't know, maybe they need me a few more times"

She’s about to say something when he presses his lips against hers and gets up saying "I'm going to see if I can repair the AC, it's fucking hot in here"

"Language" Isa says before he leaves the kitchen.

She finishes the coffee her gaze fixed on the trash can where she has thrown the cigarettes. Too nervous to eat anything she starts cleaning up the kitchen. The lasagna from last night still intact on the counter, the repetitive songs on the TV is loud and she feels the headache coming.

“Elvi turn it down, please!” The girl ignores her the first time, and a second...and a third time.

“¡Elvira Peña, baja la tele ahora mismo!” (Elvira Peña, turn down the TV right now!) She screams coming to the living room.

The kid pouts and turns it down looking angrily at her; the apple she took is still intact by her side “And eat your fruit!”

Gosh, this is what I’ve become, the annoying wife and the tiring mum

Javier doesn’t know many things, but one thing that is always true is that shit follows him like a dog after a bone at every step of his life. After all the chaos that occurred with Cali and him leaving the DEA, he had spent a few month with Chucho back in Laredo. But soon enough, the atmosphere grew thicker consuming the air in his lungs and he woke up every day sweating and out of breath. Dreams of blood were leaking from the darkest parts of his memory polluting his nights.

“Mijo, ¿qué pasó allá?” (Son, what happened there?)his father asked every time and he found himself out of words. Not because he hadn’t them in him, but out of fear that if he began speaking the words would choke him and the disappointment he’d see on his father’s eyes. If they only knew he thought. If they only knew the things I did.

So after a time, he had to leave home again. It was better for both of them to be parted. Javier found the most boring job out there with his skills: Consulting companies that imported and exported things from Latin America. He translated documents, made calls in Spanish, and basically died a little every day in an office job, with bad coffee from a machine and many cigarettes each day to cope with the absolute weariness.

But again, shit followed him. StarsTextile Exports INC, nothing more than a normal company that passed, apparently, textile goods from South America to the US but you just had to dig a little to see the shady numbers they managed, a tangled list of companies’ names and banks in various tax havens. When he untangled all that mess what was left was a clear link to the biggest Cartel in Mexico. Shit. He even thought for a moment to let it pass, to just turn a blind eye like everybody did. But after many sleepless nights, he made the call.

“Agent Murphy”

“Hi, Steve, it’s Javier” he said softly suddenly feeling a little embarrassed of the time that had passed without calling his friend.

“Jav?!” Steve exclaimed “it’s been a long time...H-h-ow are you?”

“Fine, fine, you?”

“Great, I’m in Miami. But why you call me at the office? You alright?” he asked with a concerned tone.

“Yeah, it’s...well, maybe it’s nothing. But I need you to take a look at something”

“What exactly do you want me to check?”

“Some documents, I’ll send them to you”

“Great. Where are you now? Still at your pops?”

“No, well. I’m in Texas but I live with my wife.”

“Wait! what! you said wife?!” he exclaimed

“Yeah, yeah. Long story”

Javier had to hear his old college laugh for a good five minutes before he could say another word.

“I need to meet her. Gosh, I can’t believe it. Connie is gonna die when I tell her”

“Yeah...”

“Listen, I know you didn’t want to talk about you getting out and everything but I’d love to talk if you want. You know that...”

“I’ll send the documents right away, okay? You can call me at this number whenever you have any conclusion” he interrupted.

“Alright, Javi. It’s good to know from you. I’ll check those out”

Immediately after hanging up the phone, Javier felt like shit. He hadn’t contacted Steve, a good friend, in a long time. He knows his big out of the DEA would be a matter of a long conversation with him, a conversation he doesn’t want to have as he doesn’t want to tell all that to Chucho or Isa. Those days were gone, that crap was far away, he repeats to himself knowing that his memories have dark claws that hang on him like his shadow, reopening wounds he thought were healed.

After that brief phonecall, more followed. Steve and Javi found a perfect hour to talk when both Connie and Olivia and Isa and Elvi were asleep. They chatted about the documents, clearly there was something weird and Steve, though he could not confide anything to a former agent, agreed to disclosure tiny details. The DEA was behind StarsTextile Exports from months, but anytime they came close, they would hide again with dubious moves like changing company names, CEO’s and corporate headquarters.

“I see your instinct is still intact, Jav. You should still be with us” lamented Steve in one of their midnight conversations

“Yeah...but what can we do? nothing” Javi huffed

“We’ll see, I keep you informed”

“Yeah, thanks” he agreed but a little voice inside him replied why do you care? why do you still care?

“So, can you tell me about your wife? Connie keeps asking me for more information” Steve asked

“Her name is Isabel. She’s younger than me”

“Nice! Is she pretty?” the agent jested

“She is. We met at a bar; she was bartending for the summer while she was off college. I had just arrived after Cali” he explained

“She must be quite special. I mean, Jav...you left another at the altar” Steve replied shyly

“Well, that was another time and yes, she is...she is...a good woman and a good mother” Javi lay down on the sofa and turned his face towards the aisle, he could see the dim light of Isa’s nightstand lamp still on. She was always waiting for him to come to bed.

“How long did you wait to have the kid?”

“We didn’t. She got pregnant unexpectedly and then we got married” Javi sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh! I don’t want to be indiscreet, but that’s why you married her?” Steve muttered

“Kinda, but as I said she’s an amazing woman”

“Are you happy?” Steve cut him

“What is this? Are you my therapist now?” Javi chuckled

“No! no! just Connie, well, Connie and I, we worried, we wanted to know if things were okay with you. It’s been a long time, Javi, and the things we saw... well, we’ve been through some shit”

“I’m fine” his voice cracked, the more he said those words the less meaning they got

“Fine, God, Javi Peña, a family man, I still can’t believe it”

Javi smiled

“Yeah me too”

“But it’s nice, it keeps you grounded. Now you have a place to come back”

“Right...”

And also thousands of questions, expectations, and nowhere to hide when all I want to do is be alone, he thought but didn’t say another word.

“It’s late and I don’t want to wake up the girls” he said before biding goodbye to Steve and promising to keep in touch.

A week after that conversation, Steve told him about the operation that the DEA was preparing at the frontier near Laredo. And last night, he rejoined the agents just as a consultant. But again shit followed him and they asked him to be present and advice in case they needed him.

Even though he was far up on a hill with a few other agents waiting for the transport to arrive, he heard clearly the gunshots and they left him with a terrible headache and a familiar yet horrible ring in his ears. He felt his heart beating hard and fast inside his chest. The rush, the thrill and the fear all very well-known to the old Javier and he could sense a part of him suddenly awake, begging for more, the tingling sensation on his muscles that he was doing what he was made for. It scared him. He had decided that he was through it all. He could not be back, but there he was, lecturing those agents, finding evidences where they looked clueless. He was made for this, and though he didn’t like the praise, he hadn’t felt as good about himself until that night.

But the DEA asked for more, always does. He had given them his all and they paid him with lies. But again he said yes to keep on going with this partnership and teach the field agents and give some advice on how you take down a cartel. Like if we actually won the war on drugs, like if we actually made things better

With all these, he kept Isa in the dark, giving just vague answers about who call him late at night and about what was going on at his job.

The look in her amber colored eyes breaks his heart with each lie he tells her. She had met a broken man in Laredo many summers ago, he never said anything really specific about his time in Colombia, but Isa was perceptive enough to see his cracks and shadows and everything he wanted to hide. She had lighted his life like a timid candle in the night, opening the darkest rooms of his mind and inundating them with her presence and comfort and domestic life.

There was no space for the old Javi, always running and burying his demons in alcohol, sex and cigarettes, in this new reality there were bills to pay, school supplies, family duties and morning conversations.

And at that moment, “family guy” Javi and the “ex-DEA but again working for the DEA” Javi were battling inside his mind making him feel like he was living a double life.

Half of him wishes to stay, go to the pool with Elvi, Sundays at his father’s house and hold Isa tight every night; but there again, the air grows thicker, the days are long and he misses the rush, the thrill, the only way of life he had known for so long.

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña FanFic #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Narcos Netflix #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

[kidneys4karev]

Jolex depression fic pls

My first jolex prompt... and my first jolex fic. I had so much fun writing this?

Talk me Down

TW - depression, past abuse

That night she dreams in shades of blue. It's the lone coloured wall from her room in the facility, far nicer than the hospital's inpatient rooms. Temporary holds didn't need pretty walls and childrens stickers, or the soft toys Jo pinched between her hands to avoid the alternative of the target being her own arms. Temporary holds were just it- temporary, which couldn't be said for the facility, where the walls were blue or yellow or pink and abstract paintings started to move if you stared at them for too long. Where people were stuck, and Jo was stuck.

But the facility was supposed to make people better, and for the most part, it had. Her meds had evened out, the ones she'd take in the morning with a blue gatorade for the energy that sleeping five hours couldn't get her. Therapy helped too, as little as she wanted to admit it- Jo wasn't exactly the kind of person to ask for or even allude to needing help. She hadn't needed people before, and God, it had taken a lot of deprogramming to remind her that now she had a whole damn village.

She was getting better. Back at work, holding steady, Jo was getting better.

And yet when she wakes up from her dreams of faded blue walls and abstract paintings, Jo knows that it's back. 

There's a heaviness set deep in her bones, an aching that irradiating from everywhere and nowhere. It's a vice, her own ribcage a weapon turned against her, tightening around her lungs until she's suffocated slowly. Her own husband would later find her blue in bed if she couldn't draw in proper breaths, but Jo knows that's not the case, because the way she's drowning is nothing she can touch or stop or fix in the safety of the OR in her dark blue scrubs. It's a mental battle with physical symptoms and God, Jo's tired of it.

Really, Jo's just tired.

Her alarm rings throughout the loft, invasive and far too loud, each beep ringing in her ears. She lets it go on anyway, despite how grating the noise is to hear. 

One Minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

No one comes to turn it off, so she concludes that Alex's out, at the store, getting coffee, sorting something out. Knowing him and Meredith, one of them's probably having some sort of crisis over an early bottle of tequila. Either she's having boyfriend troubles and called him, or he's having issues and called her. He probably had issues with her- maybe already knows what kind of day it is. What kind of week it is.

When the beeping becomes more unbearable than the act of moving to turn it off, she rolls over and shuts it down.

Hazily, she thinks the time reads 5:30.

-

This time she dreams in indigo, a darker colour than the facility walls, rather the blue that landed her there in the first place. Paul's face lurks in the shadows, and she's there too with her arms painted violet and blue and a nasty shade of yellow. Most of that time she's blocked out, violent memories stored at the back of her mind where she won't have to face them until her next therapy session. Still, that's years of moments she's been robbed of, negative ones or not- it's her life and her trauma and her brain denied her the right to see it.

Still, she remembers fragments last night. The murky in between where he'd take her out for dinner and grip her too tightly when she'd laugh at another man's jokes. It's moments like those, peaceful on the surface, threatening underneath, that are usually lost on her. It's the safety she felt buying her first ever house at 34 Cherry Lane, and the fear she felt the first night he turned her home into a crime scene.

She wakes from the indigo to Alex coming home, the usually faulty lock clicking behind him. He's seen her still in bed and she knows it, despite her closed eyes and quiet prayers that he'll leave her alone.

But, unfortunately, in Jo's current opinion, Alex is a far better husband than that.

She can hear his footsteps slowly make their way over to her, stopping a few feet from the bed.

"Jo, it's nearly 7. C'mon." His voice is calm and steady, but Jo knows him far better than that to believe it. He's hoping she'll reply, a muttered 'five more minutes' or at least a pillow shucked at his face. He can only hope for that, laziness and sleepiness and mild irritation, because Alex knows what the alternative is.

She hums under her breath instead, something she hoped would somehow translate to 'leave me alone'. Judging by the silence, the abrupt halting of footsteps and all, Jo assumes that Alex got the message. He's seen this far too many times not to recognise it for what it is.

"Alright. You need anything?" Again, he's trying to sound casual, but it's all a poorly built facade. Alex worries, always has, always will, and it's evident by the sharp intake of breath. Despite that, she can't even bring herself to reply- luckily, her husband seemed to catch on.

"You want to talk about it?" He asks. Again, Jo doesn't respond.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Nothing.

He exhales slowly, likely nods to himself, knowing him, but she can't exactly confirm with her eyes closed. It doesn't matter anyway- she can't think about her husband's feelings without a pang of guilt, and she really can't deal with that on top of the fog.

“I’ll see you later. Call me if you need anything,” he adds, though he must know by now that it’s futile. She won't call and they both know it, but who would Alex be if he didn't try, right?

“I love you?” She knows what he’s doing, trying to provoke a response, but to her it sounded more like a question than a statement. Like he was asking if he loved her, doubting it at any sign of distress. Jo didn’t blame him- she wasn’t so fond of herself either.

It's only when the door clicks shut, cool breeze reaching Jo from the briefly open front door, that she distantly wishes she'd just spoken to him. About the facility walls and the paintings and the new memories of indigo and violet and unstable houses, but she didn't and she won't, no matter how much she knows it'll make things feel better. She doesn't tell Alex because the horrors of 34 Cherry Lane died with Paul, and Jo thinks that secrets are best kept behind blue lips.

-

He comes home early.

Time passes both agonisingly slowly and all at once in a state like hers, where the hours seem to drag on endlessly one moment, and yet the time between Alex leaving and returning seems painfully short. Disorientated, it isn’t until she sees the time that she realises he’s only been at the hospital for 13 hours, and that despite the occasional stumble to the bathroom, she’s been asleep for that long too.

Whatever- she closes her eyes and tries to fall back into her slumber, made impossible by the sound of Alex crashing about in the kitchen. Whatever he was doing, Jo didn’t know, nor care, just willing him to shut up or leave or cease to exist for a fleeting moment, just enough to return to somewhere where she doesn’t have to feel for a while.

She pulls the pillow over her ear and shoves her head into the mattress to block it out.

For the most part, it worked, though it was unclear whether the sound was properly muffled or just that Alex got the message. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but almost as quickly as she’d fallen asleep, her husband was shaking her awake again.

“You need to drink something,” he said, his voice soft, as it had been that morning. “You haven’t eaten or drank anything today, and you need your meds. C’mon.” His tone, though gentle, clearly left no room for arguments, one hand holding out a couple, small pills, the other with a plastic cup clutched in it. She exhaled slowly, propping herself up on an elbow, taking the pills from him. She washes them down with the milkshake, mildly dazed, nearly dropping the cup in the process. It’s good, something chocolatey, and it tastes damn better than the crap the hospital cafeteria offered. Still, she only drinks half of what Alex required, pushing it and him away simultaneously.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, clearly concerned.

Jo answered him by passing out.

-

He takes four days off of work, and though she didn’t ask him to, she knew there wasn’t any room for discussion. Part of her was glad for the company, relieved that she wouldn’t be as alone in that apartment as she felt, had someone to ground her, but mostly she was pissed off. His presence was testing her patience, despite knowing he meant well, only wanted to keep her safe and make sure that she was okay, so instead of snapping at him, she opted to ignore him. She fell into a routine in those days- wake up, stumble to the bathroom,  take her meds, drink half a milkshake, sleep, repeat. He was stressed, she was tired, but it worked nonetheless.

When he has to go back to work, he sends Link, and God, she resents him for that even more. Link’s her best friend, but he doesn’t get this like Alex does, hasn’t seen her like this before. He tries his best, bless, makes stupid little comments about the TV or himself or Amelia or Alex, tries to make her smile, usually to no avail. Still, she lets him be, puts him through uncomfortably long silences that he no doubt hates more than she does, and likely scares him half to death when he finally goes home. Alex is at a loss and she knows it, but she can’t bring herself to care.

On day eight, Alex makes her crappy box macaroni, the stuff she practically lived on in highschool, still enjoyed far too much to be healthy. She manages the entire box, spread out over two sittings, making him reheat it the second time, and could’ve sworn that she’s never seen him look so happy over two dollar macaroni. The next day, she eats that and crappy takeout for dinner, watching old cartoons on the couch. On day ten, she doesn’t do any of it.

On day eleven, she watches Upstream Color on her TV just to have something to watch. She doesn’t half understand it, doubts she would on any other day, let alone one where her brain struggles to catch up to her feelings. Despite the confusion, she finds it pretty, albeit a little pointless- arctic blue seeps into her dreams, the colour of the hospital sheets that night her kidney nearly ruptures. It was starting to seem that everytime Jo closed her eyes, she was back there, replaying one horrific night after the other, with her husband- her good husband, the one who would never lay a hand on her, she had to remind herself- unable to do more than watch helplessly. Despite that, she wakes on the couch to Alex’s indigo blanket draped over her and can’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles.

-

It takes one week, four days and twelve hours for Jo to recover enough to have a conversation with him. By this time, their blue, bruised eyes have faded slightly, back to their surgeon-standard tiredness. Alex, though worried, has learned to stop watching her all night, and Jo’s slept so much that she’s not quite sure she can physically sleep anymore.

That night she theaters between her world and his, curled up on the couch with her black and white cartoons looped on the TV. This time there’s no vodka in her system, and her laughter’s not wild enough to convince her best friend she’s manic or broken or lost, but it’s enough to draw him from the bed to the couch.

He’s looking down at her, wrapping in the indigo blanket she’d claimed as her own somewhere along the way. It was his, originally, something she’d clutched and wrapped around her for months now, insisting it was nicer than anything she owned, acting like it wasn’t the way it smelled just like him. Sometimes when he was away, or on long, drawn-out shifts, she’d wrap it around her shoulders and pretend like it was him, or on the nights where she missed him dearly, but couldn’t stand to accept his arms.

Tonight, it was just a comfort, something she’d just picked up out of habit. Come to think of it, she was pretty sure that Alex had left it on the couch for her, considering that definitely wasn’t where it had been that morning.

She glanced up at him, knowing he was hesitant to sit down, to bother her before she was ready, wondering whether to push her or leave her alone. She made the call, patting the couch beside her, moving over to make room for him to sit down. Instantly, she moved to the side, leaning against him until her head was on his lap, his hands finding their way to her hair. Slowly, without prompting, he started to braid her hair- she had no idea where that idea had come from, but it wasn’t as though she was going to stop him. It felt nice, despite that fact that her hair was probably gross and greasy from her severe lack of showers.

“You feeling any better?” He asked eventually, breaking their comfortable silence. He’d been itching to ask her, and she couldn’t exactly fault him for it, despite how much it irritated her. She hummed in response, eyes still trained on the TV.

“Yeah,” she breathed. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was smiling, brown, blue-circled eyes lighting up at the simple prospect of his wife getting better. 

“That’s good,” he replied, trying to sound encouraging. That too irritated the crap out of her, but God, she wasn’t going to ruin the mood now- ruin his mood.

They lapsed into another silence, and despite that resolution, she couldn’t help but overthink. Should she be apologising? Her therapist has explicitly told her not to, that it was out of her control, something she couldn’t help and shouldn’t be held accountable for, but Jo wasn’t so sure about that. When delivering bad news, surgeons still apologised, were still held to a fault for not being about to save the life of whoever’s care they were charged with. This was still a drain on Alex’s life, whether it was down to her or not (which part of her was still convinced it was).

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, eyes fixed straight ahead, scared to look behind her and make eye contact, “I know you didn’t sign up for this.”

“Jo, this is exactly what I signed up for,” he insisted, his hair-braiding coming to an abrupt halt. “You said this might happen again, we knew that. I knew that. But when I married you, I made a vow. In sickness and in health. That hasn’t changed, Jo. It won’t change.”

She turned her head, eyes meeting with his. God, it was so obvious how tired he was, despite the improvement in sleep. Tired mentally, just like her- maybe not the way she was, but that didn’t change that fact that she’d been a shell of a person these past few days, and that had to have taken some sort of toll on him. However, she could also tell how Goddamn sincere he was- he meant every word he was saying, and that had never been more clear to her.

“For better or for worse,” she added quietly, the corners of her mouth turning up into the slightest of smiles. That set Alex off, who’s face morphed instantly from a frown to the brightest of grins. If Jo didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he’d received some sort of promotion, rather than a stupid smile, but of course, that didn’t matter to him. A victory was a victory, no matter how big or small it was.

“I love you,” he said, his voice soft in a way she knew was reserved for her and her alone. Even when they were just friends, best friends, the way he spoke and acted around her was always different than with everyone else, in a way that made her feel loved rather than lied to or singled out. For the first time a man knew how to love her, and how to show her that he loved her.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

#alex karev #jolex #jo wilson #atticus lincoln #greys anatomy #grey's anatomy #jo karev #fic #fanfic #prompt #request

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Tell Me Where It Hurts || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre finally tells Morgan what’s wrong.

@deathduty

Contains: discussions of past abuse

It was strange to think a medical drama could become so interwoven in her routine, but there was hardly anything else Deirdre would rather have playing as she held Morgan tight against her (she was getting used to the added force, though she never would forget the way her arms had once held her gently). The show worked as an even better backdrop to their sporadic making-out (she was acclimating better to the pressure here, urged by her ceaseless want). If she focused entirely on the sensation, she could almost convince herself that things were as they once were. But as her body pulsed, her heart tugged towards Morgan, she was cursed with a permanent bitter-sweet reminder of what had happened--a banshee could not escape death or its calling. The vision of Morgan’s death curled around Deirdre’s mind and foisted by the urging feeling, Deirdre drew her lips back and smiled speciously; a deceptive act she had done countless times before, learning quickly how best to hide her aches under mundane actions. “Morgue,” she breathed, raising a hand to roughly thumb along Morgan’s jaw up slowly to her cheek. “You didn’t tell me what Remmy taught you.” She found Morgan’s hand with ease, taking it in her own and pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles, taking flesh between her teeth as she pulled back to grin widely. For all her pain, mischief hadn’t yet found a way to work itself out of her brown eyes. “It’s not anything you can use with me, is it? Who’s to say thirty-two is too late to discover I enjoy being punched with the proper form in bed.” Deirdre laced her fingers with Morgan’s, leaning in to press another kiss. “How are you feeling?”

It was easy to ‘be here’ when Morgan’s main concerns were how many episodes they were away from the plane crash at the end of season six and how gently she was touching Deirdre back while she was held. She was getting used to the ghost-fuzzy feeling of her banshee’s skin on her fingertip, skating them over the trails of freckles down her arms, curling them through her long hair. The alchemy of accessing her heart flutters, once instant with the cold brick of Deirdre’s hands, was becoming easier to find with the ample practice they allowed themselves. Morgan leaned into her firm touch, smiling languid with appreciation. “Yes, my love,” she said. She gave a small smile at the proposition, chuckling. “Oh, you don’t want to see what my form looks like right now. As if I’d ever dent your beautiful face even if I did know how to.” She kissed her back, clinging to her lip as she parted. “Today I’m doing pretty okay,” she said. “I always feel better with you. But in general, still pretty okay. Good, comparatively speaking.” She kissed her again, running her fingers up to her scalp and combing back her hair. “How about you? You’ve kinda been hitting the stomach soothe tea more than usual.” She quirked a brow, inviting Deirdre to open up.

“Are you sure?” Deirdre lingered by Morgan, leaning into her touch. “I think I’d like to see all sorts of forms…” Her voice dripped with suggestion, following along as Morgan went on to describe her mood. Okay was good. Good comparatively speaking was great. All of this was strides from laying down at the bottom of the pool, or talking to taxidermy animals--and for that Deirdre couldn’t be happier. But it wasn’t perfect, and she had been told repeatedly that there was no point unless things were perfect. She was happy enough to move along though, focusing on what was good instead of what wasn’t. Deirdre opened her mouth to retort--something vaguely funny and half suggestive, she imagined--when Morgan brought up the tea. The tensing of her body could not be hidden, but it could be played off with the quirk of her head and a soft smile. “Have I?” She started, but quickly sighed the thought away. She never enjoyed lying to Morgan, even if the act didn’t make her sick. “It’s just---” She sighed again, pulling away. There was no easy way to explain how often she’d been tossing around lies, the startling ease some of them came to her with--or even that some of these lies had been offered to Morgan. Days of saying she was doing okay, or was feeling fine, had begun stacking up. Not to mention, of course, the bizarre cycle of lying she’d picked up when talking to her family. “Nothing, really.” She decided, tensing through a sharp stab through her abdomen. “I mean, it’s--” she sighed, “I like the flavor of the tea.” And that part, at least, wasn’t a lie.    

“You have,” Morgan said gently. She didn’t need her human senses to feel Deirdre tense in her arms, or to notice how she pulled away, averting her attention. And now that her attention was alert, she noticed it again, as she said it was nothing. “Hey--” She followed Deirdre across the bed, brushing back her hair again. “Hey,” she crooned, softer still. “Don’t make yourself sick. You can tell me. I’m good. And I wanna be here for you. Even if it’s something hard--” she thought back to the pained look on Deirdre’s face when they were on the floor the morning after she’d trashed the house. Could Deirdre have really been sitting on something for that long? (She could, she had, but it had always been awful, lasting things that weren’t just necessarily to do with Morgan.) “It might be better to try. I just don’t want you to have to pretend, you know?”

She had wanted to believe that, nice as it was, that she could lean on Morgan a little more, a little longer. But what kind of a person would that make her? How could she sit here and subject Morgan to more pain? Deirdre’s face fell into a deep frown, brows furrowed together as she considered trying to find the words to explain. In her pit, the words swirled darkly, but they would not solidify. In some other part, she remembered that pain was hers alone to bear--and that if she suffered, she should fix it by herself. Her lips parted to offer explanation, but her mind rejected it. In the end, nothing but garbled noises of frustration left her. “You are here for me,” she explained though a mostly clenched jaw, “by the simple act of being here. Let’s not---” Her mouth slammed shut. She groaned, trying to pick her words carefully. “I’m not---I don’t feel sick. It’s not--” She didn’t know what to say or how to say it, if she even wanted to summon the daunting task of trying in the first place. “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m just tired.” Her body, however, rejected each assertion--flinching as she continued. Bile burned the back of her throat. She rolled away from Morgan, looking through the ruffled sheets to find where the remote had gotten lost. If Grey’s Anatomy could start again, Morgan would ask less questions and thus less lying she’d have to struggle her way through. Unfortunately, the remote remained hidden.

“Babe,” Morgan called, chastising her with the kind of annoyance that drove her to use the moniker in the first place. I love you, but I wish you would stop. She knew this move, and she knew it wasn’t meant with any malice. There was only so much upset she could muster for something that wasn’t truly aimed at her. But dammit, this wasn’t how she wanted to spend her day. Whatever the trouble, it had to be bad for Deirdre to resort to the kinds of tricks she hadn’t pulled out in...stars, at least since Morgan started staying here after the hospital. She sat back, reaching out to tug gently on her arm, just enough to show her what she wanted. “How does this look like ‘okay’?” The remote had fallen on the floor, Morgan could see it from her seat on the bed, but Deirdre was too frazzled, too intent on hiding or avoiding to see it. “Please, babe, look at me, at least,” she said. “It’s okay if it’s hard. We have time for that. But you’re… I wanna do more for you. And being bottled up like this doesn’t seem like it’s doing any good. You don’t have to hurt by yourself, my love. Let me in, please.”

And how could she not, when Morgan said it like that? But wanting to and following through were two different actions. Deirdre looked over at Morgan with an expression that she hoped could illustrate at least half of how much she was trying to, but simply couldn't get the words to leave. Where did she start? What did she say? Was it really okay to saddle Morgan with more? To be selfish enough to ask her, in her own pain, to listen to Deirdre's? "It's nothing," she assured again, sighing and moving back to her. She was halfway into her lap, halfway into pulling her girlfriend into her arms and halfway through trying to think of the best way to push this conversation away when her phone's ringing cut between her concentration. Deirdre pressed a quick kiss to Morgan's cheek as she leaned over her, grabbing the damn thing off the nightstand. She stared at it. 'Mother' was plastered across the top, the ringing like an alarm that begged for her attention. She stared at it. Her grip on her phone had turned from casual to white-knuckled. Her hand shook. She stared at it. She normally spoke to her family frequently, but the differing timezones meant she never had to answer a call around Morgan—which she preferred, Morgan was something she couldn't stomach through lying about. But this was strange, as though her mother knew just when to taunt her. Deirdre turned, at once throwing her phone, with great accuracy, out the door and against the stair railings, where it tumbled down with loud clunks until it shattered against the marble tiling below. Finally, the ringing ceased. Or perhaps it had sometime between Deirdre staring and the phone flying out of her hands.

She glanced back at Morgan, for a moment considering how she could explain that that too, was nothing. Instead, she crumpled, pressing her forehead into Morgan's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she began, knowing what she was about to do—what emotions she had to reveal despite her best efforts to hide. "I really do want to help you, and I want to make this good, and as easy as it can be but—" she swallowed thickly. "Nothing has been easier, harder, than love." She shivered, her body fought against each word and unlike her confession of love, this was different. This she didn't need to share. This she should know better than to dare bring forth into words. She opened her mouth and imagined she had something beautiful to say about how long and how terribly things had been brewing inside of her, and how she would fix it and it was okay and all Morgan had to worry about was herself—that she would be constant, secure and steady and without her own complications. Or something instead about how much she wanted that, how hard she was trying for it, how tired she was of trying and failing and trying and failing and how all she'd ever known to value in life was acceptance and now she had none. No one. And she couldn't ask Morgan for this too. Instead, she slumped further against her, her tense body dissolved with defeat. "Do I help?" She asked pleadingly. "Is it enough?"

Morgan caught Deirdre as she crumpled, scooping her into her arms and holding her close. She pressed a hard, lingering kiss to the top of her head, remembering how the gesture had once calmed her from her distress on Valentine’s Day. “Hey, don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry,” she whispered. It was strange, hearing her own words offered back to her, just as anguished as she imagined they sounded when she spoke them. But she couldn’t understand how Deirdre could be uncertain. How could she not know that she was the reason Morgan made it out of bed at all? Did she really not understand how much even her touch pulled Morgan out of her death-pit? How much seeing her face gave Morgan the courage to shut away her darkest impulses? Of course nothing was easy. Even in death, nothing could come easy for Morgan. But stars, she couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if she were on her own. How much longer she would stay on the ground, how easily she might slip into something worse. “Oh, Deirdre,” Morgan spoke her name softly, bringing a hand to brush her cheek. Gentle, like she had when she was alive. “You help me so much. I can’t imagine how you have the energy for all the help you give me sometimes. Getting me out of bed, getting me brains, telling me I’m okay, holding me, staying patient with me when I’m barely saying anything. You keep me going in so many ways. Even just seeing you--” she kissed her head again. “It’s more than enough. It’s not even a question of enough, Deirdre. And I know it’s been hard. All of this has been so hard for us. But whatever you have to give, it’s always enough. I mean that.”

"But it's not hard. Taking care of you, it's not—" Deirdre lifted her head, something between confusion and desperation played between her features. This had been the easy: loving Morgan. Taking care of her, finding it within herself to hold her, feed her, help her along her routine and asking about her day. But this did not feel like help. "My mother broke my hands," she explained, seemingly unrelated, "repeatedly. I learned how to use them despite pain, I learned how my body would heal, I learned how to fight. She was helping me." And she had hoped the message was clear; this was what she knew of help. She knew help to come with horror, confusion, pain. Help was the humans who begged for their lives, when she let them, despite how often she explained the fate she was saving them from. Help was people fighting against her, shunning her. Help was her knowing the gift she provided, while others balked. If she was helping Morgan, why didn't she hate it? If she was helping, where were the bloodied knives and dead bodies? It was easy, it shouldn't have been easy. Deirdre barely noticed she spent her breaks finding brains for Morgan until she found herself driving back to the office with a car full of them. "It helped," she assured desperately, unaware of who was right or wrong now—a division that had been so clear to her once. "It means I can do this." She laced her fingers with Morgan's, squeezing tightly. Her hand knew pain, it knew how to handle pain, how to brace itself for it and how to function despite it. Her pain had taught her care, provided her with the facility to hold Morgan tighter and to be held back just as tight, all unflinchingly.

"It's not hard to take care of you. If it's help, shouldn't it be hard?" What was hard instead was being loved. While loving came easy, the reverse was met with resistance. And while she wanted to believe Morgan, while she trusted her far more than she did the broiling other feelings inside of her, she couldn't tell right from wrong anymore. She closed her eyes, imagining the ringing of her phone, now a ghost. She figured she could just say thank you and move along, they could turn back to Grey's Anatomy and pretend they'd had some conversation about this. The rest, Deirdre would be better at swallowing. They wouldn't talk about the phone she'd flung out of the room and she'd call her mother back and brace herself through more lying. "And is it really help if this is what I'm doing now?" Leaning on her, selfishly wondering if her pain could be fixed too—if she could learn love better, and if Morgan could teach her. Was any of it enough if this was what she was giving? She opened her eyes and searched Morgan's for any sign that she might start kicking and screaming and fighting her and then Deirdre could say that she had helped. She squeezed her hand harder, dulled from pain after having been broken so many times. "I love you and that makes sense. The rest makes sense." But nothing else did.

“Okay, maybe that part’s not hard,” Morgan said, finally coming around to the idea. Something in her still rebelled, flailing with confusion at the implausibility of it all. She had done practically nothing to earn this. She wasn’t even cashing in on her looks on days when even the shower was too complicated and depressing to consider. She whined and she was quiet and she asked for more and more. Hold me. Kiss me. Carry me. Stay with me. Harder. More. Please. Every day there was another thing. The only way Deirdre could take it so readily, eagerly in some cases, is if she was driven by the same compulsion that was driving Morgan. She was on a good day, which helped, but she felt as though she could take any number of asks. More than that, she wanted to, if it would help. If it would soothe even some of Deirdre’s hurt, she’d haul ass late into the night. So, balanced yet or not, maybe it was true. “But our situation, what we’re adjusting through--” Morgan went quiet along with Deirdre, sensing her deep in thought. Despite the horrific things she’d heard about her childhood, she wasn’t braced for what Deirdre said next.

She was careful, at least, not to say anything at first. Her face was out of sight, so there wasn’t any need to reign in how her eyes widened, how her mouth dropped. She was always breathless, so maybe even the shuddering inhale she drew went without notice. She pressed another kiss to Deirdre’s temples, tenderly now, so careful she wasn’t even sure if they were touching at all.

“Hey,” she said softly, prodding Deirdre’s fingers to loosen from her hand. “You don’t have to do that, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me. But listen--” She nuzzled her way down to her ear, lips grazing the skin as she spoke soft. “Help doesn’t have to be hard. As long as it makes things a little better, it’s help. It doesn’t even have to be much. You could hold my hand gently--” She re-threaded their fingers loosely, then squeezed, just a little, a far cry from how Deirdre had squeezed a moment ago. “And as long as I can see it, I know how much I like it, when you hold my hand. And how good it is. And it helps. And doing this--oh, my love, can’t you imagine what a relief it is to hold you back, to give you something back, to support you for even a fraction of the ways you support me in? I never want you to suffer, but I am so relieved to be here, holding you through this moment if nothing else. Helping me doesn’t mean you never get help in return. I don’t want anything to do with an idea like that. It’s even its own kind of help, knowing I can do this. Getting to. Being trusted enough to. Help does not have to mean hurting, or struggling Deirdre. I don’t want that for us if we can help it. Help is just making things a little better. Of course it’s something we give back and forth. Of course it can feel good. It can be soft. It can feel like love.” She looked down at Deirdre, gentle and certain. “And I do love you, Deirdre. So very much. And it’s so much better, that your help just feels like you loving me back.”

If she wasn’t proving anything, then what was she doing? If this was help, then what was everything else? Deirdre listened, her face twisted completely with confusion. She could hear what Morgan was saying, surely she understood the individual meanings of each word, but strung together the sentences made no sense. She could understand being loved back--barely, the notion was still fantastical to her. She could understand Morgan’s desire to help her back, to want to navigate through whatever strange feeling Deirdre was having. Morgan had turned her grip from firm to gentle and Deirdre opened her mouth to argue that there was no point to that---that if she couldn’t feel it, then what did it matter? How cared if Deirdre could? Gentleness was an offering she did not need. But her sentence caught in the back of her throat, her gaze dropped to their hands. It was nice, as much as she wanted to argue, it was nice. And she had missed the feeling. Since her great-great-grandmother’s passing, the only person who had held her hand with such care was Morgan. Since her death, motions and sensations became firm and rough and while she didn’t mind them in the slightest---she hadn’t thought about how she missed this softness. Morgan had tried to be gentle before, but Deirdre had never considered it was an act done purposefully, she assumed Morgan was simply figuring out how much pressure and energy to spend. And if this was help, if this gentleness could be felt and appreciated, what exactly did she have her hands broken for? If this was help, what had she been doing all those years and months and weeks prior to this?

Deirdre closed her eyes. She waited until Morgan’s words would fall over her like revelation and suddenly she would understand completely and all would be right and turmoil could be replaced with something productive. The moment did not come. She opened her eyes, shocked to find them wet. She raised her free hand to her face, surprised to find herself crying. “What’s my life been for then? All of it? I mean, if this is---” She swallowed. She turned and gestured to the small scar on the side of her forearm. So tiny and inconsequential and yet it had been the most painful thing she’d gone through. “Iron burn. So my mother could show me how it hurt. So I would know to avoid it, or handle it better.” And when a warden got her years later, another small and unimportant scar, she understood that pain well enough to manage to scream through it. It had helped. It had saved her life. She knew that, she understood that, that made sense. She explained this straight forward, but when she turned her attention back to Morgan’s words, her face screwed up with confusion again. “Shouldn’t it be more, Morgan? Shouldn’t everything be--” More? Better? Make more sense? How could help be this gentle? How could love be this kind to her? “If this is---what was everything else for then? If this---if what you said before is true, if I really was born for more than---” She swallowed, the question too hard to form. “I don’t understand. I want to understand but I don’t---I don’t understand.”

“Hey--” Morgan crooned softly. She let go of Deirdre’s hand to wipe some of the tears from her cheeks. “You’re safe right now, I’ve got you. Okay?” Deirdre seemed on the verge of bursting, and as much as she stammered through her thoughts, Morgan knew what she was asking for. She knew the awful revelation Deirdre was approaching about her mother, her childhood, all the bullshit that had poisoned and drowned her for so long. Morgan wasn’t sure if she could say it for her, if it was kind or right to. She drew Deirdre up and closer to her so their faces touched. She kissed her cheek, the lightest of touches, just a flutter. Her skin was so light against her lips, soft as a breath. “I don’t know what it was for, if that’s something for me to say, my love. But I do know, with all my heart, that you were born for more than hurt. You didn’t deserve to be hurt like that by anyone. Help doesn’t have to hurt to be real. Even if I didn’t know that before, I would’ve learned it from you these past few weeks. Your help doesn’t hurt one bit, and it’s done everything to help me get to my good days. And everything else is true too. I don’t know why it took so long to find you. It’s not fair, it’s not one bit fair to you. But it’s true and it’s yours now. All gentleness, all the help.” She pulled away enough to get a good look at her banshee, coming up to the edge. She hoped her look conveyed that she could jump. That she would not break if she took this into her. “Sometimes it's harder to understand that something can be true for ourselves, and not just for other people.Tell me what’s hard and I’ll try,” she murmured. “Anything, Deirdre. I’ve got you.”

Deirdre listened quietly, holding her breath as if even the softest exhale would blow down this straw-house of a moment. As though she could break it, just the way she’d been taught to destroy. Morgan’s words felt no more true than they had moments before, but she held them close to her--unable to understand yet but so sure she would eventually. Some realization slithered around the front of her mind, slipping through her fingers. Is it mine, she mouthed the words, though sound did not form. Was it hers? Could it be? If Morgan’s impending death was what pulled Deirdre to the other woman--if even this had been sullied by fate’s cruel hand? “It’s not...like that,” she breathed finally. “I was raised to do one thing. Born to. And I learned the best way I could. And that’s not---” Not wrong. It couldn’t be wrong. Except, Morgan was explaining the exact opposite to what her mother had drilled in. One of them had to be wrong, in some way. Deirdre was too afraid to make that judgement. “I am sworn to servitude. It’s just that this is--” Better, almost. This makes her happy. She had realized, with great pain, that sacrifice did not bring her much joy. Deirdre tensed again, watching Morgan pull back and look at her like--- “No,” she swallowed, her eyes betrayed the frailty of her heart. “I mean, I don’t---” she swallowed again. “I don’t know what do---how do I say it? How do I--” She stiffened. For so long she had grown learning emotion was wrong, she had walked through her life with the assumption she could not feel at all--even if she wanted to. She could not begin how to fathom summoning thoughts and feelings on purpose, enough to share them. By all accounts, this was taboo. “Why do you---you make this face sometimes when I talk about my family, or my childhood. Why do you do that? What does that--I don’t know what that expression means.” She assumed it meant she didn’t like those stories, and so Deirdre never shared them, even if she wanted to. “Is it bad?” Did Morgan not want to hear them--hear this?

“Having a duty, even yours, doesn’t mean people are entitled to--” To torture you, Morgan wanted to say. She wasn’t certain if that was the thing to say. Deirdre seemed almost frightened, like she might shatter or run if the wind changed and made her feel unsafe. She petted Deirdre’s hair, searching her face for a sign that would tell her what to say, that would help her banshee get across this thought. But she could only watch as Deirdre fumbled along, finally taking a turn that made Morgan lower her gaze, thrown off the course she thought they were headed on. “I don’t mean to--” To what, exactly? To look horrified at every new childhood trauma she accidentally uncovered? “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her again. “But it’s not...bad. You aren’t bad for telling me. I want you to. I want to know everything I can about you, Deirdre.” This much was straightforward and true. Deirdre could believe in that much from her. “If anything my mom did had left a mark, wouldn’t it make you sad? If she had done some of those things to me--you wouldn’t blame me or want me to stop telling you. If I told you...someone hurt me. That…” She hadn’t really been hurt before, not the way Deirdre had. People had been cruel, but not like what she told her. And it hadn’t been her family. Not like that. It wasn’t close to comparable. “...In high school, I did, once--some kids did decide to hurt me. You wouldn’t want me to keep that to myself if I wanted to share it, right? But you would feel something. You would maybe wish you could do something even if there wasn’t any point...” Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Not everything turned around neatly and she was keeping the simple heart of Deirdre’s question at a distance. She sighed, gesturing to forget what she’d just said.

She cupped Deirdre’s face gently in her hands. “I just hurt for you, when I realize how much you’ve been made to suffer. No one has to suffer like that, no matter how important. And I love you, so of course I wish kindness for you. I wish gentleness and understanding for you. And sometimes the person who hurt you in your stories--” Maybe more like all the time. “Was someone who should’ve been finding the balance between making you feel loved and showing you how to live. I don’t...I can’t know how that balance would have been struck. But from here, imperfect as my understanding is, I just see that past you hurting when she didn’t have to and I hate that no one did anything to make it better for her.” Was this making any sense? She asked silently. Was this helping? “Did anyone...was there ever a time, Deirdre, when anyone tried to make it better for you? Tell you that it should be at least a little different? At least once, that you remember?” Someone must have, she thought. Even once, someone must have seen how wrong this was and tried.

Deirdre had begun to suspect, with growing clarity, that there was something Morgan wasn’t saying--just as there was something stuck at the back of her throat. “No, I...wouldn’t.” She answered cautiously. That much she knew for certain, she’d want Morgan to feel comfortable enough to share any story she wanted to. But senseless violence in high school, the cruelty that humans committed to each other, was different from the methods that had been used to train her. She paused for a second, waiting for Morgan’s explanation to follow. It did not. Her eyes grew wider, and a confusion free of accusation rested on her features. “You don’t think--It’s not--” she swallowed. “But it’s not---it’s not like that. It’s just...the best way to learn. Most banshees achieve mastery in a much longer time, but with certain techniques, that result can be achieved faster. And it needed to be, because I was so young.” That was her mother’s simple explanation, at least. Her grandmother never paid much attention to it, and her great-grandmother seemed to agree. It was her great-great-grandmother that appeared to take issue, though the teachings between a mother and her daughter were sacred. “It wasn’t suffering. It--” She tensed again, feeling Morgan’s hands on her face. There was something she wasn’t saying, exactly, and Deirdre feared asking what it was.

“My great-great-grandmother called the teachings archaic,” Deirdre said after a moment. “She was raised that way, but she claimed there was no point in trying to do it so young, or even with such frequency. She was…” Deirdre closed her eyes. “..it doesn’t matter. We were all raised more or less the same. Every teaching has been passed down.” Then opened them slowly. “It’s normal, for us. Does it make you--do you not like it? I am loved simply because I am family, all my mother had to do was teach me how to serve--and she did just that. I don’t see the issue.” Except that there were...several. And if she ever were to think any of Morgan’s words were true, she first had to believe her mother was wrong, a task she felt incapable of doing. “I think I...understand what this must sound like to you. But I assure you, it is not that. I achieved mastery at 15, in order for that to be, I had to learn to conquer pain; to hold my breath, to burn my skin, to rid myself of emotion. Perfection is the only way to be…” she trailed off, “or it was, I suppose. I don’t know anymore. To be with you, to be doing any of this, violates a number of the things I was taught. And I can’t help but think…” That something would come along and take it away. Or that it was wrong (and if it wasn’t wrong, then something else, something much worse, was).

Morgan’s heart sank. She did not let go of Deirdre, she did not break her gaze. She wasn’t certain if she could break Deirdre from her past. It was so monstrous to her, coming out would hurt just as much as being shut in must have been. She wanted to ask if Deirdre hadn’t cried or wondered if it wasn’t fair, sometime early, before she was numbed and broken into believing it had to be for her own good. “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Deirdre,” she said quietly, searching for something to say, lest the silence drag on too long. “For any reason. And I would never stop you from doing what you have to do. But you’re here, and you want me. And it...it still works. You’re still you and you’re incredible. They can exist together, you letting me love you, and you being all that you are. And maybe...maybe they always could have. I can’t know that the way you might, but it’s what I wonder sometimes.” But there was something else that needled at her, something she hoped might be safer to touch than whether or not some part of Deirdre had always known, safer than whether or not Morgan was ruining her banshee life by loving her. “Your great-great-grandmother, Clíodhna? What did she think? You...you mentioned her for a second. Did she ever tell you anything else?”

“Can it?” Deirdre asked in a whisper, reaching a hand up to lay over Morgan’s. In her darkest hours, she had hoped that was true. She had wanted it to be. She wanted the world where she could have both, but she doubted the possibility of its existence. “My…” Deirdre tilted her head, “why do you want to hear about her?” She had spoken of her fondly, once or twice, but never dared to venture through a more personal tale. “She said a lot of things.” Many of them confusing like Morgan’s words, though she understood better the importance of her being raised the way she was--or, so Deirdre assumed. They hadn’t spoken much towards the end of her life, and each conversation typically ended tensely. “I’m not sure I understood much of what she was trying to say…” She pursed her lips, lost in memory. Her fond childhood memories of her were coloured by their harsh later interactions--but despite it, there was something Clíodhna said without fail. “She did love me. I remember that. The last thing she said to me was....that I was raised wrong, and that she was happy she wouldn’t live to see me ruin my life.” She paused. “I don’t know if she meant this, exactly. But I imagine she’s happy she can’t see it anyway.” She omitted the fact they’d argued prior, or her words about the stars and the nature of love. She had tried harder than the rest of her family to impart her wisdom to Deirdre, but she’d never listened the way she should’ve. “My mother didn’t like her much, and I don’t think she liked my mother. I never knew why. I was told not to ask. Why do you ask?”

“It can. I still believe that. I mean, it already does and, if Clíodhna tried to love you too, she must have known...that it could be, right? She would’ve known if you could have both, maybe…” Morgan couldn’t tell if this had been the right question to ask. Deirdre seemed to close up more at the mention, rather than opening up. She dropped her hands to link them loosely with Deirdre’s, skating her thumbs carefully over the little bones. She couldn’t imagine how cruel someone had to be, to know Deirdre, to know any little girl that needed you, and to break her hands and make her work through the pain. She shivered, trying to make the pieces connect and failing helplessly. “You said she thought the teachings were archaic,” which was honestly a relief, even if it just confirmed a suspicion Morgan had worried at in her head. “And...in your nice stories, she’s in them a lot. When you were jarring pears while the sun was setting, and how she said the shadows look like monsters, and that’s when it’s time to come home, and her books--she was the one who liked Jane Austen. You gave me her books. And...if she was good to you, I mean, if she treated you differently, maybe she said something else. Um...less angry than ruining your life. Just...something that can help you with these questions. I don’t know…” Morgan sighed, still tenderly brushing Deirdre’s hands. “I do know that you don’t have to be perfect. I know that...you don’t have to do anything to be enough. Not for me, at least. You just are. And all the little things you do, that you think are just a matter of course, are so much help. I don’t even know how to explain how much. I know I love you because you’re Deirdre. I think it might be true for other people, other couples who aren’t us, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be, but I know...I do know that it’s like that for me. And with all that you are, and how easy it is to love you, it just can’t be wrong.”

“She did….mention that….” Deirdre swallowed, “...living solely for our duty was...not ideal.” She struggled through the admission, remembering how betrayed she was to hear the matriarch of their family say it. She had not reacted kindly to the sentiment then. She shivered against Morgan’s touch, nearly flinching away--her body remembered the pain it had faced, even if her mind knew Morgan would never willingly hurt her in that way. The topic had only served to bring those feelings back from the corners Deirdre had shrunk them into. “She was. She did. When I had nightmares as a child, she held me until I slept. But she...I don’t think she liked the woman I grew to be. She was kinder to me when I was a child, she just seemed...tired when we spoke.” Like she’d given up, but Deirdre didn’t like to think about that. She preferred to remember the woman as she used to be, the gentleness that she offered against her mother’s harsh hand. “Maybe she did...I don’t---I don’t like thinking about it much.” Unknowingly, somehow, she had failed her. And then she had died before Deirdre could learn how to make it right. The terms of her approval were elusive, she seemed to like Deirdre best when she did nothing at all---when she was a child. In that way, she was often reminded of her when Morgan extended kindness. “Yeah?” She brought her hand up, brushing back Morgan’s hair and leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips, humming blissfully against her. So much seemed uncertain, but in the span of hearing Morgan speak, the confusion had quelled. She could believe then, with great simplicity, that Morgan was right. “I love you too, because you’re Morgan. Even now, my love. If you say it, I’ll believe it then. That this isn’t wrong. I’m not sure...what that means for the rest, but I’ll figure it out in time.” She paused, leaning in to press another quick kiss. “But she was good to me; what little I know of taking care of things, I learned from her. She taught me how to soothe the animals, or find certain landmarks in the sky. She celebrated my birthday in secret with me, when it wasn’t a custom worth observing. I--I miss her. She would’ve liked to meet you, I think.” Deirdre sighed, “was there...something else you wanted to say?”  

Morgan swept her arms around Deirdre as she kissed her. They were fleeting, a brush of a moth’s wing against her lips, but Morgan pressed them together with a burst of fierceness from all the pent up helplessness. She squeezed her, face buried in her shoulder. “You should tell me more about her sometime. You said that’s how you honor her, right? You can tell me more stories about her.” She loosened her hold on Deirdre’s body, sacrificing the pressure of hard, clinging touches for the ghost-tickle of soft circles on her back and gentle fingers through her hair. “I don’t think so, no,” she said, lifting her head to kiss her cheek. There might have been more on her mind, but she didn’t have in her to condemn Deirdre’s mother for treating her the way she had aloud. That wasn’t a revelation she could argue out of her, and she wasn’t sure if she had the energy for it in the first place. And Deirdre, in all her distress, already seemed to suspect the truth. How much would she really be helping if she dragged it out of her, kicking and screaming? Morgan shifted and brushed her lips against hers. “Just...maybe, given what she said...maybe learning to live for other things besides your duty is something that she would’ve been happy about. You would know, but from what you’ve told me, I think she would.” Kissed her again. “Do you want to ask me anything? I’m yours, you know. Whatever you want.”

Deirdre hummed, she couldn’t feel where this conversation had led, or if there was any goal to it, but something inside of her lifted---some manner of pain became easier to carry. “I did say that,” she shivered with each soft touch, having grown used to the more firm pressure they used. She hadn’t offered many stories of her family on account of Morgan’s seemingly adverse reaction, though she saw no reason to keep them to herself now, having cleared the response up. “It’ll be a year since her death in July. I assume my family will ask for me back in Ireland for that but…” She sighed. “...I don’t think I’ll go.” There was a lot she didn’t know how to say to them, and she didn’t want to figure it out. “If she’s happy for me, she would be wrong to be. I think she’d know that.” Deirdre sighed into the next kiss, no more convinced of any kindness she was supposedly due. At the very least, she could say she knew now that she did help Morgan--and if it was true that she helped nothing else, she was happy enough saying she had done this one thing. But her great-great-grandmother was not the thing she wanted to talk about with her girlfriend in bed. “Actually, there was--” Deirdre untangled herself from Morgan, kissing her quick and firm as she pulled away and tried to get off the bed. “--something I wanted to give you.” She finished, moving into the closet. “If I can just---” She paused her rummaging to pop her head out, looking into the room. “Stay there,” she smiled, teasing, before turning back to her pillaging.  

Morgan couldn’t tell whether or not she should feel guilty over being this relieved that Deirdre was backing away from the ledge of that revelation. She had come closer than she had yet, and Morgan hoped she wasn’t kidding herself by thinking that some of the bars Deirdre’s mother had put around her heart had come loose. “I didn’t know she passed that recently. You could go, if you wanted,” she said. “Whatever you want to do, I’m with you in it.” In the woods Deirdre had made it seem like meeting the family wouldn’t be such a traumatic mess as it might have been when she was alive. Well, with everyone but her mother. Morgan didn’t know what to hope for there either. She could barely see into the next day, much less two months. And Deirdre being in her mother’s clutches again terrified her in a way little else did. Much as she wanted to see inside the rest of Deirdre’s past, she also felt safer with an ocean between the two banshees. She took the change in subject eagerly, inching only as far as the edge of the bed before Deirdre popped out to scold her into staying put. She was glowing again, teasing again. When was the last time that had happened? “I’ll be good,” she called back. “I’ll even cover my eyes!”

Deirdre suddenly regretted burying her present so deep behind her clutter, but she was half-afraid Anya would dig it out somehow and ruin the surprise. It was also where she kept most presents she thought to give Morgan, but wasn't sure exactly if they'd be liked—that necklace she'd bought days ago, that mug she got when they first started dating simply because it reminded her of Morgan. But among them, was something she had procured recently, and had been excited to share. It had taken a great deal of effort, and some manner of trading to obtain, but the moment she saw it, she knew she wanted it for Morgan. There was no better time to share than now. She pulled the small dark velvet box out, shoving away the rest of the mess back and striding to the closet door. She leaned against the frame, head tilted. "You're a sight, you know." She smiled softly, though the expression was lost to the woman who had, endearingly, chosen to cover her eyes. But the statement was no less true, and Deirdre had always found Morgan beautiful, especially when she took a moment to admire her from afar—and even with her tousled hair and newly pale skin, perhaps more so, in a strange way. She would explain that later, she decided. She was spent for words, and even as she thought to ask Morgan about Ireland and if she'd come, Deirdre was consumed by her excitement instead. She moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge with her body turned to Morgan. "You didn't need to close your eyes," she said softly, creaking open the velvet box.

There, cushioned in the middle of dark silk, was a drop of gleaming amber, no larger than her thumb. And in its center, perfectly preserved for some million years, was a small flower. As far as fossils went, amber had to be the most beautiful. Its bright orange color was perfectly polished, and once held to the light, the flower would reveal clearly each vein and fold. "You can look," she smiled. "You destroyed your things, and I wanted to give you something more to keep instead. Something to build back what was lost. Admittedly, I've been looking at the perfect fossil to get you for...a while now." Because those were rocks and remains and it seemed like the best of both worlds. "I saw this and I knew I wanted you to have it." Because it was beautiful and simple and rare and so much more than anything Deirdre could say with words. "It should be a little harder to shatter if you ever get mad but…" she smiled, "death can be beautiful, and you can build what was taken."

Morgan lifted her hand from her eyes, cracking a real smile with anticipation as she heard Deirdre’s voice lilt musically in that sweet way it did when she was feeling fond, even happy. Was she happy, really happy? Morgan almost asked, but that was the kind of question that would deflate the balloon before it’d had time to rise. “I wanted to be thorough,” she said. She beamed up at her banshee. She really did seem delighted, not just with herself, but with Morgan, despite her not having done too much that she could reckon. But hadn’t she just said it was the little things that helped the most? She looked down at the box in Deirdre’s hands. The amber was the brightest, richest honey yellow. The little petals had frozen peeled backwards, welcoming. There was a stem and leaves, and flakes of pollen seeming to blow into eternity. Morgan lifted it carefully, cradling the drop in her palm. It was so light, you wouldn’t have thought it could hold so much. Morgan brought it up to her eye and peered through it, giving the smallest, most breathless laugh as the world turned golden and warm for a moment. She nearly reached out to Deirdre right then, but stopped herself to put it back into the box for safe-keeping.

Then, as soon as she set it aside on the nightstand, she threw herself against Deirdre’s body, wrapping her up snug. “Don’t ever let me shatter it. Don’t even let me try. I want to be able to hang onto it forever. I want it to stay with us. It’s...it’s good bones, you know? It’s small and extraordinary even though it’s just one little flower, but it’s…” Surviving, in its own way. Living and not. Blocked away from the rest of the world, and treasured. Morgan could understand what she was supposed to see in it, and even if she couldn’t bring herself over that metaphor bridge into magically accepting everything, she felt something in her warm at knowing this was how Deirdre saw her, in spite of everything. “It’s beautiful, is what it is. It’s really so beautiful. Thank you.” She let herself squeeze her tight, as hard as she wanted her, as fiercely as she ached to try for her. Then, when she had drawn in all the pressure that she dared, she loosened her hold and situated herself more gently in her lap and lifted her head to brush their lips together in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, my love.” She moved her lips to the curve of her jaw, just as deliberately soft. “You know, the remote was on the floor the whole time, but I’m thinking…” She kissed her way down her neck, brushing her hands over her breasts and the dip of her waist with great care. She strained against the urge to take all of her firmly into her hands but she wanted to give her this. This gentleness, this softness Deirdre’d had so little of in her life and missed enough to shiver for it--she could give this to her in return, for starters. She paused in her movements to look at her meaningfully. She didn’t know how to explain how badly she wanted to give this without touching wounds on each of their insides. Yes, it was to do with what Deirdre had told her and how helpless Morgan felt. Yes, it was because she wanted to do something for her while she was still feeling good, something just for Deirdre. No, she wouldn’t be able to feel it, and if she thought about that too much, she might start to slip back into the dark. But she could be a selfless dead girl for a little bit. “...Maybe we should let Seattle Grace fend for itself a while, and I can thank you in a little more than just words.”

Deirdre watched Morgan pick the amber up, smiling fondly as she regarded it the way Deirdre hoped she might—the way she had when it finally was delivered to her house. There was something unspeakably magical about seeing the world colored warm through the amber, through watching something so beautifully preserved for eternity in one single moment. It was better, she decided, than the assortment of other things she bought Morgan but assumed the better of giving. Though if she enjoyed presents so much, Deirdre figured she could share those too; lead Morgan through each moment that had prompted the mostly inconsequential purchase. There was so much she wanted to give Morgan, most things seemed to fall so horribly short of what she wanted to say. "Yeah?" She smiled, watching understanding play through Morgan's features. She smiled a little wider, knowing she didn't have to explain—all the better, she lacked the energy to summon anything profound for the moment.

She paused on the threshold between pressing them harder together, stunned by gentleness extended to her. She opened her mouth to argue, unable to summon words against the brush of Morgan's lips against her skin. There was no way Morgan could feel any of this, and Deirdre moved to argue, moved to tell her that she could apply more pressure if she wanted, when she was stopped by the expression offered to her. Her concern melted as she understood. And though she'd never enjoyed being doted on, it was always better if it was Morgan—most things were. She leaned into her touch, finding that perhaps no words were needed at all to bring forth the profound. Her guilt washed away with the rest of the unpleasantness that sat inside her. If just for the moment, for what Morgan wanted to give, she surrendered. Deirdre's fingers unfurled from where they were poised to apply pressure. She leaned against her softly, exhaling finally. "I'm yours."

#tell me where it hurts #wickeds writing #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #abuse tw #(discussions of) #emotional abuse tw

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

* yan! Kira but instead of killing women for their hands he kills women that look like s/o (s/o left him lol)

It should be noted that you, the reader, don’t make an actual appearance in this story, but hopefully, this still satisfies your request, Anon!  Tried to do something a little different this time.

Warning: Kira is a creep.  Non-explicit sexual content.

i.  you are someone who did not die when you should have.

For Yoshikage Kira, hate had become something comfortable, routine, and every morning when he woke up he found it settling into his lungs as naturally as the air he breathed.  Air that somehow, with almost unnatural persistence, still carried notes of your perfume, despite the fact that he’d scrubbed his bedsheets with every detergent he could think of before ultimately throwing them out and buying a new set entirely.

You had a habit of doing that.  You were gone, a ghost, a memory he found himself reaching for when he wasn’t thinking about it (especially now, in these horrible moments between sleep and wakefulness, when all he could think about was the warmth of your skin against his), and yet wherever he looked he could see your hands resting upon the pillars of order he built his life around, threatening to smash it all to pieces with one delicate, almost casual push.  You were gone, but the empty air of your absence had a weight to it all the same, and as Yoshikage Kira forced himself to sit up he could feel it crush him a little more.

He didn’t look at his bedside clock as his feet hit the floor.  Even without an alarm, he had always woken up with more than enough time to do as he pleased and take the morning at his own pace.  It was something he noted with a satisfaction bordering on vicious as he dressed himself, accepting how hate rubbed against his skin like a second shirt.  You had taken his sleep from him, and his peace, but his routine was still his.  It was the only victory he had in a war only he was fighting, and if he allowed himself to dwell on it a heartbeat longer than he had to, Kira would have found it breathtakingly pathetic.

Was it hate that pricked at his hands as he cracked a second egg into the pan, or was it just hot oil?  Was that hate that warmed his skin as he sat down to eat at a table that now felt too large for a single person, or was the sun oddly bright for this time of day?

Kira forced himself to take a deep breath, chewing a bite of food he couldn’t taste.  Hate ebbed and flowed when he glared at the space you obstinately refused to occupy, racing down the lines of his arteries and veins in a rush that threatened to make him light headed…

The scrape of his chair against the kitchen tile barely registered as he all but fled for the bathroom.  He had time, he had time…it wouldn’t do to leave the house in this state.  You would take his peace and you’d take his sleep, but you wouldn’t take his routine and you certainly wouldn’t take his composure.

This was the litany of lies he told himself as he shed his clothes and stepped into the lukewarm blast of his shower, as if any amount of water could wash away the hate clinging to his skin.  Masturbating was a clinical, joyless affair, one he approached like an act of revenge as he forced himself to think of any and every woman he’d encountered recently who didn’t look a thing like you, imagined them doing the things you’d always refused to, a doll-like, docile, obedient glaze of adoration in their eyes as they breathlessly whispered and cried out his name in that way you never did.  Gratification wasn’t the goal here; if it were, the disgust that deadened his insides would have turned this into yet another defeat.

He wasn’t even hard.  His careful, practiced strokes were of absolutely no interest to his cock; he might as well have actually been scrubbing himself clean, for all the time he’d spent here.  Kira realized he was biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, a streak of red running down his chin only to be obliterated in the flow of clear water.

You wouldn’t take this from him.  You wouldn’t.  His hand clenched, hard enough to actually hurt, as if checking to make sure he actually could still feel something, and then he started again in earnest.  He kept trying, and he kept failing, long after the water had gone cold, and he realized with a belated sense of horror that he had lost all track of time.  

For the first time in his uncompromisingly mediocre career, Yoshikage Kira was late for work.

ii.  they were victims of love, every one of them.

It takes a person and fixes them to the center of the universe.  It renders them more compelling than gravity, more terrible than death.  It makes them the foundation of dreams, the cornerstone of waking thoughts, the roof overhead that shuts out the stars.  It makes their absence unbearable, but their presence overwhelming.  Your pace quickens at the thought of chasing after them, your hands tremble in anticipation of what you will do when you reach them, when you feel their skin against your fingers.

What are we talking about?  Taste its name on your tongue.  Did you call it hate, or love?

She whimpers, a strangled animal bleat of weakness as he slams her head into rugged brick and dirty asphalt—not hard enough to leave a smear of drying maroon, not yet.  If she offers resistance, it’s unnoticeable, she just whispers something in a desperate rush he doesn’t bother parsing.  He considers the tone of her voice, turns it over in his head.  It will have to be good enough.

He assigns her a name.  The You of tonight isn’t anything like you, not really; not in smell, not in touch…

Kira leans in, unusually forward with someone he’s just met, and licks, dragging a long stripe along her jaw with his tongue, blind to her shudder at the contact.  He tastes sweat, and foundation, maybe a distant hint of the sample fragrances from the perfume department at Kame-Yu.  

She doesn’t taste like you, either.

There’s a fear here, though, a muted terror in her eyes as he pinches her flesh between thumb and forefinger and forces her to look at him.  Her eyes are the wrong color, the wrong shape, but they have the very same look You used to give him, back when you were still his and knew you’d been bad, and you were finally alone to receive the punishment you so thoroughly deserved.

This You is an inferior substitute.  A pale shadow of what the real thing would look like, would feel like, but Kira can’t help but feel a stir of excitement as his hands (so large, compared to her, fitting around her neck like she was made for this, and in that way the two of you were identical) rest against the hollow of her throat.  He doesn’t press, not yet.  He wants to savor this moment, has to fight against every atom in his body screaming at him to get to the good part, but his patience is wearing thin, and going by the uncomprehending horror on her face his composure has already failed utterly.

You had a habit of doing this.  This is so like you, he decides, and in a very deliberate move he presses his hips against You instead of leaning away, letting her feel every inch of what You did to him, thin fabric all that separates her from its full obscenity.  He brings his face to hers, close enough that they’re almost kissing, and despite Your frantic jerking she’s powerless to get away.

“You’ve made me late for work today,” Kira breathes, watching wisps of hair float away from her face with the action, “I’ve never been late before.  You…humiliated me, in front of everyone I work with…as if your misbehavior at home wasn’t enough…”

You’re saying something again, breathless pleading he’s heard a thousand times—you always did this, you always tried to get out of what happened when you acted out of line—Kira I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kira I was just talking to him, were you following me I saw you on the train please don’t hurt me who are you talking about I’ve never seen you before I don’t even know who you are—

“Whatever will I do with you?  I’m starting to think you enjoy being treated like this.”  Deliberately, gently, almost for emphasis, he crosses his thumbs over her windpipe and presses, feeling his cock twitch in excitement as the start of her scream becomes a strangled squeak.

This You fights back, and maybe the two of you are more alike than he first thought, because she claws at his wrists and feebly reaches for his face and chest and neck in the same way you once did, and it’s just as futile as when you tried.  He squeezes harder, and the tattered remains of his restraint evaporate entirely as she thrashes, canting her hips against him, and he ruts back, letting You have everything you asked for.

You had a habit of doing this.  He doesn’t bother counting the seconds the way he used to—this was a punishment, after all, and if you didn’t learn you’d just do it again—and the faster his heart beats the harder he squeezes, until he’s certain he’s felt his fingernails break skin, tearing You apart the same way you continue to tear at him.

For several seconds, once You finally grow still and he’s all that’s holding her up, Kira thinks that she’s more resilient than the others, because he’s still feeling a pulse.  Slowly, belatedly, he realizes that what he actually felt was just his own pulse; his grip is that tight.

Catharsis graces him, caresses his chest and makes breathing just a bit easier, but he knows it won’t last.  As if a switch had been flipped, all his interest in You is completely gone; he simply lets go, letting her fall at his feet in a heap, already beneath notice or care.  His attention now turns to the front of his trousers, as Killer Queen steps out of him in an easy breath and already gets to work, erasing all evidence of the prelude to your punishment, of this inferior You.

Kira clicks his tongue, an indulgent tsk as he sees what you’ve done to him, once again.  You really can’t find it in you to behave yourself, can you?  How is he supposed to go walking around, with this mess you’ve made him make of his clothes?

Hate settles around his shoulders, comfortable, routine, as he steps away and takes off his coat, holding it in front of him to hide the damage.  If this is what he feels like now, he can’t wait until he’s caught up to you, until he finally has the real thing.

#yandere x reader #yandere kira #yandere jjba #by me #I tried something different than my usual style I THINK please let me know if it's any good oh jeez #Appropriate song to listen to: Choke by IDKHBTFM #alright crisis averted got the readmore working again

[itsallabigmess]

Solace - drabble #01

A/N: Here it is, guys. I have at least two more drabbles in mind but I’m not sure how many I’ll be posting. Hope you all enjoy it! (Please make sure to check my Solace scenario if you haven’t yet. Otherwise, I don’t think this drabble will make much sense.)

A.

It’s been four months since you decided to try. You don’t think you ever felt this happy. Memories of your past life were slowly being forgotten, locked in some dark corner of your brain, giving space to all the love you were now receiving. Love that you could not believe you were able to feel.

There was no sense of rush with Jinyoung. You two were still taking things slow, just as he said you could. He made sure you knew you were the one setting the pace for your relationship. Your scars were still healing, and he was there to hold your hand while you were still working on finding yourself.

You were still working as a temp and the agency had allocated you in an office where everybody seemed to purposely mistreat you. It was tiring and stressful and the only thing that helped you deal with it all was knowing that you had a place in Jinyoung’s warm embrace at the end of each day.

Friday came and you couldn’t be happier that the week was over. Jinyoung was waiting for you in front of the boxing studio, a big smile opening to you as he saw you getting closer. You could not control yourself, jumping to hug him, Jinyoung having to take a step back to not lose balance.

“Come to my place tonight,” he said, releasing the embrace but not enough for you to get far “I want to make you dinner.”

“I won’t object to that,” you smiled, getting on the tip of our toes to kiss him.

Jinyoung was a great cook, you learned after you started spending nights at his place. You were still taking turns spending the weekends at each other’s place. Watching movies and talking until late hours about whatever that came to mind was your new favorite kind of routine.

You got out of shower already wearing one of the pajamas you left in his place, to find Jinyoung lying on the bed, checking his phone.

“My mom is sending another box of books this week,” he told you, putting the phone on the bedside table. “She also says hi.”

“I think we will need to open a library. I never met anyone who had that many books,” you laughed, laying on his side.

“I’m thinking about selling or donating a few,” he turned on his side to look at you “Most of it is from college.”

“I can help you with it.”

Jinyoung lips curved up, one of his hands reaching to touch your face, caressing your cheeks gently.

“Kiss me,” you asked and in a second his mouth was on yours, softly moving. You hoped this feeling would never end. The sensation of electricity running through your body every time he touched you.

Jinyoung parted the kiss, leaning his head back, only to feel your hands pulling him back, lips clashing a bit too harshly.

“We are demanding today, aren’t we?” Jinyoung smiled between kisses, voice already sounding breathy.

“I missed you so much this week,” you admitted, caressing the hair on the back on his head. “All I wanted was to be with you.”

“Good thing we can stay in bed for the entire weekend.”

“Then kiss me more,” you jokingly whined and Jinyoung complied, his tongue massaging yours, waves of pleasure flowing through your body. Jinyoung slowly shifted his body on top of yours, a little moan leaving your mouth when you felt his weight over you. The slow kissed being replaced with more passionate ones, a hunger on your boyfriend’s lips you never felt before. You and Jinyoung have been sleeping together for some time now but that’s all you do. Sleep. Sex hasn’t been brought to the table yet, Jinyoung still being contained as how he kisses and touches you. Making out the way you wore doing now was the furthest you ever got to do something physically intimate. So, as you felt his hand move up on your side under the pajama shirt, you felt your body tense.

You loved Jinyoung more than you ever thought you could love someone. But you weren’t ready yet.

“Jinyoung, stop,” you hold his wrist, turning your face away from him, heart agitated.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, lifting his body and sitting by your side. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

You looked at him only to meet his regretful eyes. “It’s okay, I just…” you said, trying to sound calm but your voice failed you, cracking mid-sentence. “I don’t think I can just yet.”

“Baby, it's okay,” he rushed to say, afraid you were about to start crying, turning his body towards you so he could cup your face, “We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.” He smiled weakly, fixing your hair before getting up. “I’m gonna get ready for bed. Why don’t you pick a movie for us?”

Leaving you alone, even if for just a few minutes, was the best and worst thing Jinyoung could do. But you knew he needed a moment to process what just happened, the same way you did.

You never took it for consideration, how all the waiting must feel to him. Even if he was patient. Jinyoung never made you feel like you were depriving him of something so basic of human nature. But you knew that it must take a toll on him.

You could smell his body lotion when he sat next to you in bed. Jinyoung asked you if you were okay again, touching your face, thumb tracing your cheeks when you nodded.

After the first time you stayed over at his place, Jinyoung transferred the tv from the small living room to the bedroom, so you could cuddle while watching movies together. You usually fell asleep before the movie ended, and the sight of you gingerly resting your head on his chest, knowing that you felt completely comfortable with him, filled his heart.

Jinyoung didn’t want to push his luck. He knew that he overstepped a line that maybe even you didn’t know was there. But he was becoming greedier with all the time you spent together. Seeing you sitting in one of the sides of the bed, playing with your fingers instead of getting closer to him the way you always did was already making him nervous. Even if he tried his best not to show.

“Hey, aren’t you a bit too far from me?” he tried to ask casually, adjusting the pillows behind his back.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to…”

“Come here,” he said, lifting the covers to give you space, kissing the top of your head once you laid down, his heart becoming calmer when you hugged him.

You were exactly where you belonged.

You woke up to find you were alone in bed. It was already morning but still too early for any of you to be awake. Jinyoung was sitting on the couch, reading some book, wearing the glasses you only knew he had after you started dating.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” you asked with a hoarse voice, walking toward him.

“Hey,” he smiled “I didn’t want to wake you. I lost sleep.”

“Is it because of last night?” you asked, biting your lower lip “Are you… mad at me?”

“Of course not!” Jinyoung dropped his book on his side, taking a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk about it, afraid of how you would feel. But he also promised himself to always be open with you. “I’m only mad at myself.”

“Why?” You frowned in confusion. You expected Jinyoung to be frustrated on how you stopped the course that the night was taking. Not being angry at himself.

“I didn’t pay attention to you. I let myself go and… I promised you we didn’t need to rush anything.”

“Jinyoung, we were making out. Of course, you let yourself go.”

“But I should have asked you,” he insisted, and you could feel how it was bothering him, his eyes trying to avoid yours “I shouldn’t touch you like that without making sure it’s what you want.”

You gave two steps towards him, Jnyoung still sitting on the couch. “Give me your hands,” you told him, extending your palms. He placed his hands on top of yours after a few seconds, and you slide your fingers around his wrists, bringing his touch to the sides of your hips. “This is okay,” you said, moving his hand to your waist “This is okay,” you said again, now moving his hands to the low curve of your back, then shoulders, neck, leaning a bit on his direction, kissing his palms before placing it on the sides of your face. “I don’t want you to be afraid to touch me. Ever.”

Jinyoung let out a breath that was stuck on his throat, pulling you to sit on his lap, hugging your middle as your arms closed gently around his neck. “How did I get this lucky?” he whispered, dropping a kiss on your temple, making you chuckle.

You stayed like that for a minute, Jinyoung running his fingers through your hair gingerly, until you decided to get up. “Should I make breakfast for us?”

Jinyoung was faster, getting on his feet and lifting your body as if you weighed nothing, a gasp falling from your mouth as he carried you in a bridal style. “Let’s go back to bed. I don’t think I kissed you enough last night.”

#jinyoung #park jinyoung #got7 #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung scenario #jinyoung drabble #jinyoung got7 #jinyoung angst #park jinyoung scenario #park jinyoung fluff #park jinyoung drabble #park jinyoung angts #got7 fluff #got7 angst #got7 scenario #got7 drabble

[words-and-seeds]

For the 2 part prompt Drabble, 22 and 11 for Jacob Seed please?

From here.

I hope you like it!

22 - Jealous& 11 - “Need some help?” - Jacob Seed x OC April Hepscott

Jacob didn’t consider himself the jealous type. Any relationships he entered tended to be of the purely physical variety, and he was careful to choose partners who didn’t want anything more from him than a sexual release.

Things with April had been different from the get go. Their animosity toward each other, for one thing, had been just that - despite what John chose to believe and drop hints about. It had been a deeply held animosity, stemming from completely different world views and opinions.

She was a healer, he was a soldier. He ripped people to pieces in his trials, both psychologically and physically; she didn’t like that she sometimes had to put the pieces back together again, and she hated that sometimes there was nothing left for her to fix.

It hadn’t been until quite a few months later, when Jacob had learned more about her background and her life, that he started to see her as a woman and not just one of his brothers zealous followers. Then, late one night, in the aftermath of a raid by Palmer’s goddamn Whitetail Militia, when both of them were covered in blood - albeit for entirely different reasons - and the adrenaline was screaming through their veins, they had found an outlet for all that tension.

Jacob had covered her mouth with his, intending to test the waters - and, yes, to stop the flow of words from her - and she had surprised and gratified him by pushing him into a chair and riding him to a sweaty, exhausted finish.

When it was over, things had been okay until she had started to rest her head on his shoulder. That had felt too much like cuddling, and he had never been okay with cuddling a woman, it sent the wrong kind of message. Fucking was one thing, but cuddling was something else entirely - a line he had never crossed.

He’d practically shoved her from the chair in his haste to get up, and he’d cleaned up and discarded the condom without a word and barely a glance in her direction. Then he spent the next few weeks vaguely regretting - when he had the time to think about it - that he hadn’t handled the encounter as well as he could have, and she was not likely to want to repeat the experience. Which was a damn shame, because the sex had been good.

Then he’d found himself outside her door under the flimsiest of pretenses. If she said anything, or asked why he was there, well, there had been an upswing in Resistance activity and John and Joseph were worried she might be a target. He had hoped it was enough to get his foot in the door and he’d be able to apologize for the way he’d left things the last time. Then, he would get around to communicating his interest in a repeat performance.

It…didn’t exactly go to plan, but since he still found himself balls deep inside of her as she was bent over the arm of her plush couch, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He supposed he was lucky she didn’t toss him out on his ass when they finished, but he still left as soon as he felt he could.

Since then, they’d seen each other at least once a week for a quick, hard fuck. At least, that had been how it started. One cold, rainy morning, she’d offered a cup of coffee and he’d found himself agreeing. Then it had just become part of the routine to share a drink and small talk, and then a drink and sharing things that had happened during the week, or what each thought of the Joseph’s sermons, or just talking. Sensitive topics were still avoided, since neither of them was comfortable enough to risk an argument.

And now? Now Jacob didn’t know what the hell they were or where they stood, and that bothered him. And the fact that it bothered him, bothered him.

So, he definitely wasn’t in the right state of mind to walk into April’s makeshift clinic - in reality, a spare room in the Veteran’s Center that Jacob had felt he could spare, after a little convincing from Joseph - to see one of his Chosen leaning into April and speaking in a low tone. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language was practically shouting.

Jacob scowled and cleared his throat deliberately. The two of them jerked apart, looking very guilty to his suspicious eyes.

“Oh, Jacob. I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that. Did you need some help?” The question was directed at his Chosen, not at April. He kept his eyes on his Chosen slightly too long for the man’s comfort, and Jacob knew it. The other man dropped his gaze, then stuttered out an excuse and - there was no other word for it - he fled.

Jacob turned his gaze on April, who was staring at the floor, her blonde hair covering her face. He thought it might have been shame, or even nerves, but he was completely unprepared for the laughter dancing in her ice blue eyes when she looked up.

“What?” he snapped.

“Did you enjoy that?” she replied.

“What?” he repeated, not even trying to hide his growing frustration.

“Swinging your dick around, I mean.”

He stared at her, eyes slightly narrowed, as he contemplated turning around and walking out the door, ending things immediately. He could see it all so clearly - he could go back to his life the way he liked it: with his uninterrupted routine, his solitude. No complicated scenes, like this was shaping up to be. He had just about made up his mind to do just that when she took one of his hands.

Jacob stiffened up. This was physically intimate contact - that wouldn’t immediately lead to sex - that he hadn’t initiated, and it was in full view of any of his men who happened to walk past the room. He almost shook himself free, but it would send a message that he wasn’t really sure he wanted to send. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy her touching him, in the context of the bedroom - or living room, or kitchen table, as it were - but casual physical affection was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to respond and it put him on the defensive.

“Don’t worry,” she told him, “I think you look good with green eyes.”

Now that was too much. Jacob disentangled himself and put some distance between them. “I was not jealous. I was just…” just what, though? He didn’t know how to explain it, even to himself. Just marking his territory? That made it sound like he was about to pee on her leg.

Normally, when things stalled between them like this, April seemed to recognize that he couldn’t or wouldn’t go on and she would steer the subject back onto firmer ground. Now she just watched him, waiting for him to take the lead. He knew this was going to be a turning point, and he either needed to move things forward, or put them back to what they had been before - cautiously professional around each other.

“I wasn’t jealous,” he said again, but slowly, as he thought through what he would say next. “But if we’re going to be fucking each other, you’re not going to be fucking anyone else.”

One of April’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “I hope you don’t think that goes one way. If I’m not sleeping with anyone else -” Jacob’s lips twitched at her rephrasing of his words, “then neither are you.”

“You’re the only one I want. Only you.”

#jacob seed x oc #jacob seed #fanfic #far cry 5 #fc5 #I don't know if I got Jacob's character down #I'm still new to writing him #and also I should have gone to bed like five hours ago #but I hope you like it #mags writes

[pingubarnes-blog]

A meowing dare (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

AN: I was dared by @valkyrieofsmut to do this! Just a warning, I haven’t written a fanfic in YEARS so please don’t be too harsh on my dorky heart! It’s almost 3 am, I couldn’t sleep and this just came out of my head! 

Prompt was from @dangerousvikings Halloween challenge :

#12 I dare you to run in place while meowing for two straight minutes.

Warnings: none...maybe a few curse words? Don’t remember if there’s any to be honest

So yeah...Here is the mess from my head!

You and Bucky had a weird dynamics. There was visible attraction between the two of you, everyone could see it. But the way you two treated each other made people question it.

Random punches in the shoulder were no stranger to you. Making sure to watch out which arm you’re about to hit was a lesson learned the hard way. Let’s just say compound’s freezer and the peas stored in it became your best friends very soon.  Random wedgies were no stranger to Bucky. Making sure not to use his left arm was a lesson learned the hard way. Getting your panties stuck in his arm was not a problem. The problem were your painful screams in his ear and freakishly strong punches he got for tearing another panties of yours. And not in the way that, to you, would be acceptable.  When it came to teaming up against each other in various pranks and dares, you two were horrible. The worse the dare, the better.

Missions with the two of you were a nightmare. You would always fight because you both had a vision on how something should go, but it was never a shared vision. You wanted to be sneaky, he wanted to go straight for the head. You’d want to torture them to get what you want, he would straight up punch them so hard the pain was unbearable and they’d just spill it all. He’d give them a scary-seductive-assassin look and he’d get all the info he needed. You’d talk so much they usually ended up giving you what you want just to make you shut up.  Yeah, you were both successful, but could never have that perfect combo. That Steve and Natasha perfect flow. Tony and Rhodey mind connection. No! You were Bruce and Hulk. Only ten times worse. You were a total mess as a mission duo, but somehow it always ended up as a successful mission.

But when it came to teaming up in prank or dare war against your team mates you were one mind! One devious mind! Or as Natasha would call you: “Sadistic assholes!” There was an ongoing dare/prank war in your team. At first it was all fun and games. Drinking dares, a bit of nudity here and there, karaoke in unexpected places, animal scares. Small things. But you two took it to a whole new level which slowly made one member by one drop out of the whole thing. I mean…Putting fire ants in Hulk’s pants during a mission was kind of funny. He smashed the bad guys in a matter of seconds. Okay, so he did kind of break a public pool cause he jumped in a bit too hard but hey… He saved the day thanks to your and Bucky’s devious mind.

The last ones left in this ridiculous war were you and Bucky. Now was not the time to be predictable. You had to think carefully about this one. Make it simple and unexpected. You were in your own thoughts while searching for some snacks, trying to think of new dare or prank for Bucky. You knew he was just as stubborn as you and he wanted to win this war so your dares had to be embarrassing. All that time, little sexy shit also known as Bucky Barnes, pulled the oldest trick in the book there is. Butter on the floor. In a matter of seconds, your already very graceful self, was all over the kitchen. You looked like a lovechild of a pelican and Tonya Harding. Skating through the kitchen while waving your arms like you’re about to take a leap into the pretty blue sky. Bucky was almost pissing himself from laughter, but you managed to stop yourself in a way he did not expect. Grabbing onto his thighs and holding on to them for dear life. Way too close to places your hands touched only in his wildest dreams. Your anger and will to strangle him right there and then vanished the moment you saw Bucky Barnes get flustered and choking on his own breath. It was kind of cute. Okay, it was very cute. You wanted to pinch those flushed cheeks and peck his nose.

You were not blind. You could tell he liked the way you looked. You often caught his eyes roaming your body and him checking you out. His tongue would wet his lips when you were talking and his eyes bore into you. You could tell he liked you cause these were the same things you did when he was in the room. Your crush, as of recently, started to be more than a crush. Those stupid butterflies attacked your belly every time he opened his mouth. His jokes were suddenly becoming funny to you and those eyes. Well those eyes will be the death of you one day, you were sure of that. You could tell he was touch starved by the way he would hug those little pillows that were all over the place. He loved soft things such as that fluffy cardigan he still claims he has no idea how it ended up in his room. He was a big traumatised fluffy softie with a sadistic twist. Your type of man. However, that did not mean you’d go easy on him. Mamma did not raise a soft bitch! You had to play dirty. So you’d sometimes touch his arm and your touch would linger just long enough to get him to blush. You’d casually fix his hair, walk with a bit more sway to your hips around him. And used the oldest and cheesiest trick in the book. You sucked a lot of lollipops around him. Poor guy forgot all about his plans to mess with you cause you messed with his head, his heart and other body parts.

___________________________________________________

It was 3am when an alarm woke Bucky up. Mission back up alert. Steve and Natasha needed back up and they needed it fast. Bucky quickly got dressed and ran to jet that was going to take him to where Steve and Natasha were. Already waiting, there were you. No makeup, hair in ponytail and wearing that damn sexy tight suit that looked anything but comfortable. “Hello Rapunzel, glad you graced us with your presence.” The ever sarcastic word vomit coming from you. “Shut up Y/N it’s too early for…for…well for you!” He said pointing at you up and down and turning his head to computer giving him all the info about mission he needed.

The ride was quiet. Focus was what you needed at times like these. No bickering, no teasing. Silence. Something that was rare when you and Bucky were in the same room.  As you landed, Bucky stood in front of the door ready to jump out of the jet when all of a sudden you just had to do it. You slapped that round perky ass that was staring at you. He froze. His colour draining from his face. “Have you been working out?” You asked with a wink.

“I…Wha…” His mind was blank. Was this payback for that butt pinch he gave you a while ago? You knew that was part of the dare. Wait? Did you like him? Were all those things you did for the past week flirting or…?

“Come on Elsa! We have to go and save our girlfriends!”

“What? Jesus Y/N I swear to god, you are not in your right mind.” Bucky shook his head, a smile escaping him as he ran after you.

The fight was brutal and for the first time in a while you two were perfectly cooperating. Avoiding punches, cooperating, killing a few baddies. It was all good until, out of nowhere, you ran into a trap. Room filled with electric walls and you were surrounded by way to many agents to fight them off all by yourself. Steve and Nat were nowhere to be heard, your coms were blocked.

So this is how you die…You are going to die without having banged Barnes or trying those perfect choco rum cupcakes Wanda was talking about. Damn it.

“I dare you to run in place while meowing for two straight minutes.” You heard Bucky’s voice. “What?!” “I dare you to run in place while meowing for two straight minutes.” Bucky repeated leaving you stunned.  “What the hell is wrong with you?! We’re about to die and you are giving me a fucking dare?! Hydra really did mess up your brain.” You spoke through heavy breaths while trying to fight off agents coming at you.  “Just do it Y/N. I have a plan. Please! And if we make it alive, you’re a champion!” He smirked as he killed another agent.  “Uuuugh FINE!!!!!” So you did it. You started running in place while meowing. At least you’ll die any minute now anyway so the embarrassment won’t last.

To say that agents were confused was understatement. They were not sure if it was a robot. If you were just insane or had a similar past as Winter Soldier and some type of reset was hit in you and this, whatever it was, happened. In those two minutes of that insanity, Bucky managed to get to control box and do some quick rewiring. “Doll get on the floor!” You did it without hesitation as Bucky connected two wires and created some type of electric magnetic field that knocked out everyone standing up.

___________________________________________________________

The ride on the yet was filled with laughter as Bucky was telling Steve and Nat how funny Y/N looked while doing her crazy cat routine. Even Y/N laughed. It was funny, she’ll give him that. As they were getting out of the jet, Bucky pulled her to side, nodding to Steve and Nat to leave them alone.

“Thank you for trusting me out there! I noticed the box and the only thing that came to me was a weird dare to distract them. I really did not mean to embarrass you.” Bucky said honestly.

“Bucky Barnes, are you blushing?” She noticed his rosy cheeks making another adorable appearance.

“Wha…No…Doll stop that. Don’t look at me like that. I’m just trying to…” He did not finish the thought. Those soft lips he dreamed of were on his.  He saw stars. Lots of them. Galaxies. And kittens and puppies. He tasted chocolate cookies. Wait no…that was her lips gloss.

“Thank you for saving us Barnes! I could never be mad at you. Well…for too long!” She winked at him and started leaving, but he was faster.

One thing led to another and all the pent up sexual tension between them was out in the open. They barely made it to his room. Crashing into walls, knocking out vases in hallways. They were a mess waiting for this moment to happen for so long. Bucky could not remember when was the last time he took his clothes off so quickly.

“Bucky get those off, I need you! I need you so bad!!” She moaned into his neck, bodies trembling with need for each other. He was completely naked, his hands were all over her body and her hands touching him in all the places he imagined all those months ago.

“Bucky…”She whispered into his ear seductively as she gently bit him and squeezed his perfectly naked perky ass.

“I dare you to run in place while meowing for two straight minutes.”

 TAGS: @valkyrieofsmut  @dangerousvikings

#mias&laurashalloween #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #writing challenge #marvel fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

[kpopblog]

His Favorite Patient

Locked doors. Hushed voices. Passionate movements.

    This was your routine. Every visit whether it be schedule or for an “unexplained cough”. The two of you would become inseparable the moment he closed the door. You needed this just as much as he did, despite each of your drives. You were simply in it for a quick fix, a way to rid yourself of an ever growing craving for someone. While he originally denied the idea of someone as professional as himself being involved in such a scandal. However overtime as you had convinced him with sweet promises and propositions you began to become emotionally invested. Now it wasn’t just for the intense and passionate sex, though it was a wonderful perk. But now you were there yearning to know more about your physician and amazing lover. You couldn’t help but wonder with each tight grip, each moan quickly covered by a hand, or each graceful thrust if they were worth anything.

    Your mind was quickly brought back to reality by the sudden feeling on his teeth gnawing on the nape of your neck followed by small,gentle kisses to excuse his urge. Though, to you it only made the sensation worse. Now you were aware of every thrust and grunt he would make against your body much like he had been the entire time. Unlike your mind, clouded by insecurities and doubt, his was filled with nothing but thoughts of you. His eyes couldn’t help but notice every drop of sweat on your body as your intimate act was coming to an end.

    “A-Ah...fuck! You’re so fucking good.”

One…….two.…thre-

    “Yes! Right there, please Jin…...j-just one more time”

One….two….

    By the end of his last thrust you slammed your mouth onto his in hopes of muffling your moans. Soon after this stunt Jin thrusts faster, crazed by your sudden orgasm. Once they became slower and deeper you knew he was close and you began teasing him. You grab fistfuls of his hair as you nibble on the sensitive part of his left ear. All while your other hand skillfully travels up and down his body, grabbing and lightly brushing across all the right places. Jin couldn’t contain himself much longer as your mouth began to wander and he came while pulling out of you.

    “That was pretty close there,” you say as you softly chuckle.

    “Yeah….maybe a little too close,” Jin says as he presses his forehead to yours. The two of you lightly pant as you move closing the space between both of your lips, only breaking eye contact to deepen the kiss. Jin slowly backs away despite your shared desire for more only to disappoint you, “I hate to be the voice of reason my dear but, we need to clean up. I do have other patients and I don’t think you’d want them to see anymore than my handsome face.” Comments like these are ones that make you question what you are to him. And your head soon is clouded with the same questions from earlier in your “check-up”. He obviously has some emotional value attached to you…..

    You clean yourself up and gather your clothes as these thoughts continue. You want to ask him if it’s more than just meaningless sex or a quick fix. You need to know if he is willing to start a genuine relationship with you...or maybe he already is in a relationship. Jin notices the slight change in your mood and questions you to see if he had unknowingly hurt you or did something that made you uncomfortable. You assure him that he had done nothing wrong but that doesn’t stop him. He inspects every square inch of your body to see if he left a scar too deep or if there was a bruise too dark, he was your doctor after all and your well being is his top priority. While it was very comforting knowing that he inspected your body to make sure he caused you no physics harm it still hurt.

    “Hey Jin. What….what am I to you? And don’t say ‘My patient of course!’ or ‘The best lover in the world’. It’s really been bothering me for a while and I just would feel better if you could tell me...please.” You hadn’t expected to ask him like this but, while the sex was full of the rush of danger you also needed some kind of closer.

     “Oh….well um. I-I honestly can give you a straight answer right now…” was all he could say. While you appreciated his honesty it wasn’t the answer you wanted. You needed a definite answer whether it be that you were just a plaything or something more.

    You remain silent as you nod your head and digest his answer. He apologizes to you and tries to explain himself but you can’t hear it. You can’t hear anything to be exact. The thoughts in your head have eerily gone silent. “I hope your not mad at me...I just need some time to give you a proper answer,” is all you hear as you snap back to reality. You try to reply as casually as possible and say your goodbyes to Jin and leave the office with a prescription slip you never planned to fill for your “sudden fever”. You feel bad for wanting more but deep down you knew that relationships like yours were never meant to last. He was your physician and you his patient, and it should never be anything more. A patient is supposed to go to a 6-month exam and only see their doctor for unexplained or sudden illness not because they simply want to fuck. And it’s that same patient’s responsibility to not feel like there’s something more there than two people that happen to have a sex….After you drive away, you leave behind the feeling of completeness and open the door to a seemingly never ending hallway filled with want and loneliness.

      ~        ~        ~

    It was time for your next exam and you weren’t sure what to expect. “What would Jin say?” was the main question running through your mind. You didn’t how he would react without having seen you for six straight months. Would he be touch starved like you? Or would he pretend like what happened between the two of you was nothing? Maybe he would jump into your arms and proclaim to never let you go. Or he could just end everything right there…….You park your car and slowly walk up to the receptionist. She notes on how she hasn’t seen you in a long time and comments on how surprisingly your health has increased but, you didn’t care. The only thing that was on your mind was Jin and how he would react after seeing you for the first time in what seemed like an eternity to you. You jump a little in your seat when you hear Jin call your name to an exam room. Neither of you say anything until you reach the room and Jin mentions how surprised he is that you haven’t contracted any illnesses in the past few months.

    “You know that I’m not here for small talk...you either tell me what we are or…” you trail of your sentence afraid to say that the two of you will act as though nothing had happened between the two of you.

    “Listen.” he begins, “what you need to know is that this won’t work between us. What we were doing its...it wasn’t supposed to happen. A doctor isn’t supposed to break his oath and secretly have sex with his patient, especially not at his facility.” You look away and try to avoid eye contact yet Jin grabs your chin ever so slightly to get your focus back onto him. “You didn’t let me finish. As I was saying, I should have never had sex with you but I did. And I never regretted any of it, mostly because of how amazing your body is but that’s a different story.” He winks his eye at you and you lightly chuckle at his attempt to brighten your spirit. He gently intertwines your hand with his as he delivers the rest of his well thought out proclamation. “But, it was never just the two of us getting together when we need a quick fix. That’s why I was so reluctant in the beginning. I didn’t know if you were going to fuck me and act like nothing ever happened or if you were doing it because you wanted money but you never wanted that. And while we did get out of hand more than a couple times, you would always make sure I was satisfied and learned about what I liked and disliked. And while it was not done in the typical way, you still showed you cared and that was enough for me. But when you asked me what you were to me, I felt so horrible. I barely knew anything about your personal life and yet I felt so close to you and, it was so confusing. I came here everyday hoping you would show up so we could fix it and go back to our normal routine but you didn’t. And in that time I came up with all of this. Now, it sounds like a jumbled mess of excuses and sugar coating but I promise you it’s not. This is my answer to what you mean to me and…..I pray to God that it’s what you’re looking for.”

    You sat in disbelief and shock. Jin had just told you everything you wanted to hear and more. Nothing could be better than this, he was pouring his heart out to you just like you had always wanted. You couldn’t believe that this was happening, it all seemed like you were still stuck in that touch starved haze and imaging this like before. The only difference now is that when you felt a tear fall down your cheek, there was someone there to catch it and when you reached out and held onto them like you’ve wanted to for the past eternity, this time they didn’t disappear. This time, he stayed right there and held you tight as you sobbed into his chest. This time, his hands gently patted your head and ran through your hair. And this time, the locked doors, hushed voices, and passionate movements all had a newfound meaning to the both of you.

*A/N: I really didn’t feel like doing anything so I decided to spend most of my night writing this and procrastinating. Hope y’all like what I wrote for my bias wrecker....maybe I’ll write something for my bias next >:)

#bts smut #bts angst #bts jin smut #bts jin angst #bts #bts scenarios #kpop #kpop smut #kpop angst #I hope you guys like this #I was just sitting and thinking about jin and was like #WHAT IF HE WAS A REAL DOCTOR #and then this happened lol #admin lex

[wantingtobekorra]

The Music I Can Give You - Part 14

Summary: Generally, you’re a fairly open person with the team. You tell them about your past and in turn they seem to open up to you as well. The only thing is, is that no one on the team knew of your intense love of music. It was something incredibly personal to you and you kept it close to your heart, not willing to open yourself up to other people’s judgement. That is, until Bucky Barnes came to the Tower. You never spoke to Bucky but the more you watched and observed him, the faster you found yourself falling for the kind, strong man. It’s only after seeing Bucky being tormented by one of his nightmares do you realize that maybe there is something that you can do to help him, and quietly show your love for him at the same time. 

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you all for the feedback and reads! Every comments and like is welcomed! All the images shown are not mine but are what I imagined when I wrote this fanfic. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

           After coming back from the concert, you felt like you could breathe a little easier, have some solid footing to stand on for when you saw Bucky again. You could look at him and see someone you could work with, maybe even be friends with, if he didn’t already think you were too weird.

Stripping out of your dress and taking off your jewelry, your thoughts turned back to the concert you had just come from. Everything about it had been powerful, wholesome, and left you speechless at the beauty of the music and the emotion it gave the story. Showering off the hairspray and makeup, you quietly hummed the music the symphony had played; something you didn’t get to do in front of the team; and with the music fresh in your mind, it was hard to stop yourself. You got ready for bed, pulling on the long sleeping shirt you had stolen from Steve months ago. Bundling yourself up in your blankets you continued to hum, calming yourself slowly as you fell asleep, Bucky’s face flashing briefly in your mind before your eyes closed.

           Pausing before you walked into the kitchen, you pushed your shoulders back and took a deep breath. Your mind was clear and you were ready to face Bucky. Well, at least to try and be friends and not avoid him. You were still in love with him and even though you were sure he didn’t return your feelings or even want to be your friend, the odd coincidences of his being in the same place as you and trying to start conversation with you over the last several weeks had certain thoughts nagging at the back of your mind. Thoughts that you weren’t sure you wanted to actually acknowledge just yet. Shaking your head you walked into the kitchen without another thought and went through the motions of your morning routine. You smiled at Nat and Wanda, who were making breakfast smoothies together in the corner, quietly greeted Vision as he watched the pair, slapped Sam on the back when he was taking a drink of his orange juice so he would be sure to spill, and gave a one-armed hug to Steve as he sat beside Bucky at the kitchen island. Glancing up from a smiling Steve, you saw Bucky’s eyes were fixed on your, something flashing beneath the blue. Silently humming the notes to the concert in your head to calm yourself, you offered a tentative smile back to him.

“Morning Bucky”, you almost whispered, unable to make your voice get any louder. Briefly glancing between you and Steve, you watched as Bucky’s eyes widened, revealing more of the beautiful blue. It would have been almost comical if you weren’t so terrified, as his lips parted, giving you the impression of a fish. Watching his lips,the sound of Bucky’s teeth quickly snapping together startled you. Blinking a couple times, you realized Bucky hadn’t returned your greeting and was now looking at Steve, a silent conversation seemingly going on between the two soldiers. Withdrawing your arms from around Steve’s shoulder, you just barely saw the muscle in Bucky’s cheek twitch, a tell you had come to realize meant he was trying to keep a calm front. Withdrawing completely from the two men, you turned back your breakfast that sat on the counter, desperately humming the music notes in your head to stop yourself from overthinking Bucky’s reaction. Eventually it started to work and you found your muscles relaxing, something that didn’t usually happened in Bucky’s presence. It made you have hope.

           Over the next several weeks, you pushed yourself when it came to your interactions with Bucky. You tried to smile more around him and even offered him some questions in return when he attempted to start a conversation with you; but his reactions sometimes had you faltering. Sometimes he seemed relaxed and at ease around you, but that was only when another team member was close; other times – when it was only the two of you together – his body was so tense it seemed it would shatter at any moment. It confused and scared you at the same time; confused as to why he would be acting so differently and scared you because the dark part of your mind kept telling you it was because you were harassing him, pushing your attempt at friendship on him when it wasn’t wanted.

Even in your conflicting moods, Bucky still seemed to bring light to your life. For one, he was happier than you had ever seen him and you silently hoped it was because of your gift. Secondly, just seeing Bucky happier made your uncertainty seem less daunting. His once rare smiles were now making more and more common appearances around the group and as cheesy at it sounded – even to your ears – Bucky’s smile made you smile, though you tried to play it off as a simple coincidence. You still kept your music a secret from everyone but you didn’t plan on trying to change that anytime soon. It had been a secret before Bucky came to the Tower, and it would remain a secret while he was here. It was yours, and it brought you peace – something you realized – you would be needing soon.

Yes, things with Bucky seemed to be getting better and you were coming to terms with your unrequited feelings towards him, but constantly fighting with your own doubts and daily life in general were exhausting you. Knowing that only one thing could really help take the edge off, you turned to what had become your free therapy. Opening up your laptop after dinner, you scanned the concerts that were coming up in the next week and nearly squealed out loud when you saw what was playing in only a few days. Stardust was, in your opinion, one of the most underrated movies ever made and had a musical score to match. Selecting and buying your ticket, you felt your anticipation spike. You couldn’t wait for the concert in a couple of days but you had to start covering your ass for when you left the Tower, but that was easy, you had been doing it for months.

Over the next several days, you went about your routine: mentioning how boring your ‘informant’ was to Wanda, asking Sam what the best place to take a target was, and of course, getting Nat’s opinion on what dress you should wear. Except when you spoke with Nat, she acted strange, asking more questions about who you were meeting and the nature of your conversations.

“Why the sudden interest in my informant?” you half-joked, trying to brush your question off as simple teasing.

“No reason,” she said with a shrug, “I just realized that I never really asked about him before”. Nodding your head you rolled your eyes playfully though on the inside you were desperately trying to keep your cool. Nat was like a dog when she had someone in her sights, if she saw you faltering, and smelled your fear, you wouldn’t be able to hide and she would find you, or whatever you were hiding. Nat was one of your best friends though and you knew her almost better than anyone else. Schooling your features, you feigned nonchalance,

“Aw that’s sweet Nat!” you joked. “She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not”, you sang while laughing, hoping your silliness would be enough to draw her out of her Widow mind-frame. Nat was only able to hold her mask in place for a few seconds before it broke out into smile, lighting up her entire face. Laughing along with her, you silently breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that her line of questioning had ceased.

Over the entire week leading up to the night of the concert, your encounter with Nat was the closest thing anyone had come to suspicion and for that you were thankful, you had enough to think and worry about without the team finding out that you had been lying to them about a part of yourself for the entire time you had known them. You were still pushing yourself to try and interact more with Bucky, often using Steve or another member of the team as a buffer and while that seemed to be going at least somewhat well, Bucky’s strange or even lack of reactions to your attempts at building some sort of friendship was stressing you out.

Carefully putting on your simple earrings and the finishing touches on your make-up, you gave yourself a final once-over. The chiffon of the dress was almost ice-blue, a colour that you had come to love – for no reason whatsoever – you kept telling yourself. It was simple and elegant and had just a perfect amount detailed stitching that you could almost pretend you were a princess, someone who’s life and career didn’t revolve around secrecy and violence. Curling the last tendrils of hair that fell around your face with your finger, you grabbed your coat and purse, making sure to tuck your small handgun into the garter on your thigh. Adjusting your dress to hide the small bump the gun created, you grabbed your shoes and walked out into the common area.

Without meaning to, your eyes landed on Bucky who was talking with Clint on the couches. His hair seemed damp as if he had just showered and was wearing a white t-shirt with what looked to be the comfiest pair of sweatpants ever. The picture of casual and comfy and yet he still managed to look like a Calvin Klein model – ridiculously unfair. Gently clearing your throat you walked over to stand behind Nat and Wanda who were bent over the movie case, trying to decide which one the team was to watch that night. At the noise, both of your friends turned around and smiled,

“You look absolutely beautiful Y/N”, Wanda said quietly, her soft accent adding genuine sweetness to her statement. Biting your lip, you turned to Nat and saw that she was nodding her head in agreement, her eyes looking you up and down.

“Yes. A beautiful colour too”, Nat added, a meaningful glint behind her eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree, Rogers?” she asked, addressing the man who had silently walked up behind you. Turning around, you could see Steve smile gently as he reached up and lightly fingered the heels that were still hanging from your fingers.

“Beautiful, Doll” he commented, his eyes finally meeting yours. You breathed a sigh of relief, for some reason feeling like a weight had been lifted from your chest at Steve’s approval.

“Here,” you offered him your shoes, “can you hold these for a second?” Using Steve as an anchor you quickly slipped on your shoes and took a few practice steps. Even though you had similar training as Nat, you could never feel 100% comfortable in high heels. Righting yourself, Steve took your jacket from you and helped guide your arms into the sleeves, ever the gentleman.

“You’re a knockout Y/N,” he whispered, as he patted down your jacket one last time. “Your guy isn’t going to be able withhold anything from you”. Smiling your thanks you reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, making sure to leave a slight smear of lipstick to embarrass him. Turning back towards Nat and Wanda, you gave each of the women a hug before calling out to the others,

“Okay, I’m leaving guys! Wish me luck!” the only reactions you got being Sam and Clint lifting up a hand to wave goodbye as they were in the middle of what appeared to be a heated argument over who had the coolest weapons. Bucky though, just sat on the couch in his simple clothes, staring at you, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Offering him a small smile, you looked down at your shoes before glancing up once again, just missing the meaningful look he and Steve shared over your head.

Nodding again in Bucky’s direction, you threw one last wave towards your team before turning around and walking out the door and into the elevators.

“Which floor Miss Y/N?” FRIDAY asked. Even if she was only AI, you smiled when you responded.

“Ground floor please FRIDAY, I’ll be walking again”. The only acknowledgement to your request was the doors closing and the gentle movement of the elevator moving. Walking through the Tower’s entry doors and out into the cool night air, you were blissfully unaware of the flurry of activity you had left behind in the wake of your exit.

Next Chapter

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TAG LIST: (OPEN)

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[daebakinc]

Mercy - Pt 2

Please have mercy on me. Take it easy on my heart. Even though you don’t mean to hurt me, you keep tearing me apart.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC Genre: College AU, angst, romance, Summary: After a homework mix-up, you agree to tutor Jungkook in math in exchange for him tutoring you in dance. In more ways than one, you get much more than you bargained for. Parts:  1, 2 A/N: Some swearing. Also, I’m really sorry this has been delayed! I had some writer’s block&even after I finished, I couldn’t get to internet to post it. It’s one of the downsides to living more than 30 min from civilization. TT-TT

That night is indeed the start of a chain of events. The primary one of those events is that you and Jungkook spend almost every night of the next three months together. The only exception is game nights when he devotes himself to video games. However, even on the weekends, you somehow wind up spending several hours with him in that small studio.

Normally, your non-existent social life confines your comfort zone to your single room. That’s not to say you’re a crotchety hermit. You do have a few friends you love dearly, but most of the time you prefer your own company. But for whatever reason, Jungkook renders that rule null and void.

When you could spend time by yourself, you find you’d rather spend that time with him. Jungkook practices almost all hours of the day when he doesn’t have class, but he doesn’t mind you perching in the corner on the mats to work on your own things while he does so. He often forgets you’re even there. His eyes are fixed on his body in the mirror, following its movements, fine tuning them to be a perfect physical manifestation of the music.

It’s one of the most mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. You learn for every ounce of talent he has, Jungkook puts in just as much hard work to honing it into true art. His dedication, his drive for constant improvement is just one of the many aspects of his you grow to genuinely admire. So too is his ability to give.

Mutual tutoring still happens, just not every day. You quickly discover alternating how you devote your time works better. One night for dance, the next for math. Trying to fit both in equally in one involves too much clock watching for either of you. Still, Jungkook makes sure that for every minute you help him in Pre-Calculus, he oversees your dancing, especially during midterms, which you both do passably well on.

Although your arrangement is casual, he still takes his teaching seriously. He goes as far as to devise floor exercises specially for you to practice a specific element. As he said the first night, he focuses on “baby steps.” Engrain the basics in your muscles so they become the building blocks of second nature. Sometimes you see Jungkook get frustrated, but he never verbalizes it. He just gives his head a jerky shake to roll it off and moves on. He’ll either demonstrate the correct movement himself, slowly, or guide your pliant limbs through it. The smile he gives you when you succeed on your own is worth every pull of sore leg muscles and drop of sweat.

After your respective sessions, you usually stay there to do other work as well. The long trek to your dorm is off-putting in the face of the studio’s coziness.

You’ll sprawl out side by side on mats you dragged onto the floor. Snacks litter the space between you, within easy reach and shared indiscriminately. After all, everyone needs breaks to focus on something else.

When you are working on math, you share a book. It makes helping Jungkook through trouble problems easier. At first, you keep a certain distance, never allowing your head to brush his as you both huddle over his paper. Within the second month of your friendship, that habit flips on its head.

Jungkook crosses the invisible wall he unconsciously presented first. You’re doing some reading for English while he’s reading for his history. You don’t pay attention when you see him wriggling around. Then a weight settles on your back. Small but worthy of notice. You stop mid-sentence in your notes and look back.

Jungkook’s head is settled in the at the bottom of your arched spine. His lips move as he reads, the fringe of his bangs half-covering his eyes, completely unself-conscious. A heat like the first sip of hot chocolate, burning hot then gratifyingly warm, bursts into bloom in your heart and overflows to settle in the pit of your stomach. You hurriedly look back at your notes before you can think about it too much.

What you thought was a fluke turns into new routine. One of you is always leaning, lying, or touching the other while studying. The relaxing power of simple human touch is one you always underestimated, but no longer. Resting your head in Jungkook’s lap or propping your back against his makes you feel homely, or in simple language, just plain good.

That should have been your smack in the back of the head. You should have seen it coming, but the most troubling development of your new friendship nonetheless catches you off guard: you fall in love with Jungkook.

It isn’t the kind of realization where the heavens open up with a blinding ray of sunlight to enhalo your enlightenment. It’s more like a jigsaw puzzle, minute pieces of his character coming together to overtake your heart.

Jungkook’s passion for everything he loves, from dancing to video games. His cute bunny smile that crinkles his eyes and is at odds with the rest of him. His humility despite his accomplishments so that a compliment from you still makes him blush and cast his eyes down. His little acts to take care of you when he thinks you won’t notice. Bit by bit, you unknowingly give your heart away.

           You are very good at keeping this secret from yourself. Denial is key. You tell yourself he is only a friend. You tell yourself the little shiver you now feel wherever Jungkook’s hands cover your skin or his chest presses against your back to demonstrate a movement is imagined. You tell yourself you catch yourself looking at him too long because any warm-blooded female would.

           But then, Jungkook does something that has your heart pounding too loud for you to ignore.

           During one of the rare times you aren’t in the studio with Jungkook, he slips in a puddle of sweat and falls. Luckily, he only twists his ankle. But it’s bad enough that the doctor wraps it and gives him crutches to use for a few days. He grumbles about it, but for fear of the wrath of his dance professor, he uses them.

           Crutches mean dancing is off the table. Despite how close you’ve become, you still partially expect this to also mean you won’t see Jungkook as much. Instead, the same day, he shows up at your work during the last few hours of your shift.

You look up to greet the customer when the bell dings. The words stick in your throat at the sight of him. He waves at you and parks himself at a small table tucked in the corner by the coffee machines with his books. You hurry to chalk your suddenly irregular heartbeat to too much caffeine and return your attention to the line in front of you. No time for that.

           When the stream of customers lulls, you slip out from behind the counter with cleaning rag and coffee in hand. Jungkook jumps when you set the coffee in front of him. “Columbian, iced, no milk, with a dash of sugar. Am I right?”

           He nods and sets his phone down. He looks nice and snug in a black and red striped sweater that half hangs off his shoulder. Smiling he says, “I can’t believe you remembered that. Thanks.”

           You laugh and tap your head. “It’s literally my job.”

           “And you’ve got an elephant brain.” Jungkook takes a sip, giving an appreciative sigh. He glances at you with a frown. “Is it alright for you to do this?”

           “It was time to brew a new pot.” You shrug. “It would’ve gone down the drain anyway. Besides, it’s not like you were going to buy anything.”

           “I could’ve.”

           “But you weren’t going to.”

           He drops his indignant expression under your skeptical gaze and laughs. “You’re right. You’re right. I just needed to get out of the room and no one else is in theirs.”

           “In other words, I was your last option. Thanks.” You huff in pretend hurt and turn away, secretly grinning when he grabs your arm.

           “You know that’s not true,” Jungkook whines playfully. You can tell without looking he’s pouting in that nearly irresistible way. He doesn’t intend to be charming. It’s just a fortunate, or maybe unfortunate, effect.

           Chuckling, you shake him off and stick your tongue out at him. “Yeah, yeah. See if you get any more coffees on the house out of me now, kid.”

           Jungkook waits until you’re behind the counter again before calling your name. When you look up, he wiggles finger hearts at you with both hands. It’s a herculean effort not to giggle helplessly. Clearly taking your smile as forgiveness, he flips to thumbs up and returns his attention to his phone.

           As both of you knew, your threat proves empty. Every new brewing means a refill if he needs it. You keep your eye on the math homework spread before him as well. Jungkook does do half of it, but once he gets frustrated with a problem, his phone is in hand two seconds later. The way his eyes dart around the screen clues you in that he’s playing a game. When he catches you catching him, he gives you a sheepish smile and goes back to the homework like a scolded schoolboy.

           After the fifth time you find him playing a game, you glance at the clock and tell him, “It’s only ten minutes until we close. If you want, just leave the rest and we’ll do them in my room.”

           “Oh, thank god,” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t even know if I did the ones I did right.”

           “Pack up your stuff. I’ll carry it for you when we leave.” On second thought, you look around to find your coworker. Maybe she’ll let you leave early if you promise to do the same for her another night. Instead, you see someone you’d rather not heading for the door.

           Many of your regulars come in solely for the coffee, wifi, and peaceful atmosphere. All they want to recharge their batteries in peace. They’re generally polite and don’t give you any trouble.

Nick is one of those regulars who’s the exception to the rule. He’s a graduate student, something he never fails to mention at least once a visit. Regardless of who serves him, he always has a sly comment that he obviously thinks is charmingly flirty. The predatory gleam in his eye makes them anything but. However, he carefully toes the line of harassment so a complaint won’t be taken seriously by management or the school administration. You wouldn’t exactly call him rude or even ugly, but the word ‘slimy’ comes up often when you and the other female baristas complain to each other about his latest advance.

           Another frantic look around confirms your coworker must be in the back. Swallowing your discomfort, you plaster on the ‘I must be nice because you pay my bills’ smile anyone who’s held a job in customer service knows.

           “Good evening, Nick. You’re cutting it close,” you say. You hide your hands out of sight, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to relieve the anxious discomfort in your chest.

           “Working on that masters’ thesis,” he replies smoothly. He leans an elbow on the counter and smiles at you. “But I hit a block and decided I need caffeine and a beautiful face to get myself around it.”

           You subtly shift away and ignore his comment. Keeping your eyes on the register to avoid Nick’s, you ask, “The usual?”

           “You know it, babe.”

           When you tell him the total, Nick already has a large bill ready. It’s a fight to keep from shuddering at how his fingers drag along your palm as he hands you the money. He does it again when you give him his change. You really want to scrub your hands clean after.

           Since you’re still by yourself, making his coffee provides a reason to turn your back on him. You still feel his gaze boring into your back. Jungkook catches your eye when you go back to the machines. There’s a small frown on his face that lets you know he heard the conversation. He knows you aren’t comfortable someone using pet names with you unless you’re extremely close. After so many nights observing your body, he can read the tension bunched in your shoulders as well.

           You look away and focus on making the coffee.

           Nick’s voice grates your nerves when he unexpectedly says, “Hey, love. I’ve got a question for you.”

           You add some extra flourishes of your hands so he’ll think you can’t look away from your work. “Yes, sir?”

           “Please, ‘sir’ is my father. There’s only one situation I like being called that. Here, I’m just Nick.” His chuckle invites you to laugh at his wit. When you give him a half-hearted laugh, he continues, “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion we should go on a date, so I’m going to need your number.”

           Your hand jerks. Milk drips down the side of the cup and onto the counter. His demand surprises you, but at the same time, it doesn’t. You just really wish he hadn’t said anything. Conflict, or even the possibility of it, sets your stomach churning and your body trembling every time.

           Taking your time, you wipe off his cup and securely place the lid on it. Your best work smile is back in place when you turn around and hand his drink to him. “I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

           Nick frowns, recovering quickly. He doesn’t even look at his drink. “Why?”

           “It wouldn’t be professional behavior. I’m sorry, but no, thank you.” You turn your back on him again to start cleaning the splattered milk and coffee.

           Nick follows you, leaning against the small glass partition. “Come on, just write it on my cup or something discreet like that.” His tone grows annoyed as he says, “If you didn’t want me to ask you out, why’re you always flirting with me? Men don’t like it when women string them along like a stupid tease.”

           “It’s called doing her job.” Jungkook suddenly slides himself in front of the other man, forcing him backwards and away from you. Even leaning on one crutch, he cuts an intimidating figure.

           “Are you her boyfriend?” Nick asks cautiously, eyeing the lines of muscle Jungkook’s T-shirt expose.

           “No.”

           The haughtiness returns to Nick’s voice. He puffs his chest and says, “Then this is none of your business. Butt out.”

           You glance around, glad it’s almost closing so the shop is empty. Heart beating and clamminess taking over your skin, you whisper, “Jungkook, you really don’t have to. It’s okay.”

           “If he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t have to put up with it.” Shifting his attention back to your suitor, Jungkook gives him a cold look. You’ve never seen such a look on your friend’s face. “She’s in the customer service industry. She has to smile and be nice to everyone or she’ll get reprimanded. Don’t you think it’s hard enough for her to act happy all the time to creeps like you who make her uncomfortable by coming onto her? Whether or not she has a boyfriend shouldn’t matter either. If you only respect her right to say ‘no’ because you think she’s another man’s property, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Go educate yourself and get a fucking life.”

           Your and Nick’s jaws drop. You manage to snap yours back into place, but Nick’s stays open like a suffocating fish’s. He stares at Jungkook a second longer before grabbing his order and slinking away with slumped shoulders.

           Jungkook keeps his eyes on Nick’s back until the door closes behind him. He then turns to you, concern filling his gaze as he studies you. “Are you okay?”

           You nod, hoping the wonder you’re feeling isn’t showing too badly. “Yes. Thanks. Really, you didn’t have to though.”

           “Yes, I did,” Jungkook says firmly. “No one should get away with behavior like that.”

           Intellectually, you know that. But standing up for yourself is a habit you’re still working on, and someone else defending you is unprecedented. His actions make you feel special and loved, another sensation you’re unused to. It’s indescribable. Before you cry from gratitude and emotion, you nod again and rush to lock the door so you can clean up, close up, and spend more time with Jungkook.

           You’re both quiet on the slow, chilly walk back to the dorm. It reminds you of your first walk together. This time though, Jungkook takes the initiative and speaks first. His light-hearted recounting of a botched routine he and his friend Jimin made is clearly an attempt to make you feel better. You’re thankful for it and play along until you are calm and happy again.

           A few hours and hot chocolates later, when your heads are hitting the paper more often than your pencils, it’s finally time to part company. You follow Jungkook to the door after he packs his things into his bookbag, stopping short when he turns around. Jungkook props one crutch against the doorframe and pulls you into his chest.

           “Tell me if that guy ever bothers you again, understand? I’ll take care of it,” he says softly into your hair. He squeezes you tighter. “You deserve better than that.”

           Although you’re unsure if you can keep that promise, you reply, “I will. Thank you.” You let yourself nestle closer into his soft hoodie and the safety of his arms.

           “I mean it.”

           “I know.”

           After you wave goodbye and close the door, you slump against it. Your heartbeat ripples through your body from head to toe. It disturbs the long-asleep butterflies in your stomach and sends them into flight. Your mind buzzes with what you’re finally admitting to yourself. Jeon Jungkook is most definitely nestled in your heart with no intentions of leaving. And you have no idea what to do about it.

           ‘Torturous’ is the only word that can describe the consequent debate you have with yourself. To tell Jungkook or not to tell Jungkook, that is the question. You’ve witnessed firsthand how flustered he gets when a pretty girl so much as walks past him. His mouth seals up like a safe. Suddenly, he studies the floor like it has all the answers in the world. For Jungkook to close himself off from you in this manner all because you strung three innocent words of a confession together would break you.

           But to open the door for your relationship to become something more…. To be able to hold his hand when you walk together, to kiss his nose just because you feel like it, to curl up in his lap during late night movies. Your dreams may be small, but they are more tempting than all the treasure of Ali Baba’s forty thieves. Maybe you are greedy or weak, but those small things are all you can think of. Their constant invasion of your conscious makes you distracted, enough so Jungkook comments on it during your tutoring. You brush it off as being tired or thinking of an assignment, breathing a sigh relief when he lets it go each time.

By the end of the week, you can’t take it. You are going to tell Jungkook. You have hope if it doesn’t go well, he won’t abandon you. It’s in your prayers every night.

           You’re still building up the courage to follow your decision when, one night, Jungkook bursts through the studio door. He looks bewildered and a little shell-shocked.

           “Are you okay?” You rise from your seat on the mats immediately.

           He nods his head but says, “No.” Jungkook drops his bag right at the door, strides over to you, and collapses. He closes his eyes as he leans against the mirrors. “You’re never going to believe what happened.”

           “What?”

           Jungkook sits up to look at you. “A girl just asked me out to the winter dance. Me!”

           “Oh.” Your heart stops. You suddenly feel queasy.

           “I know, right?” His words come faster as he babbles, “She’s an upperclassman and super hot too. Really, really good ballet dancer. We don’t even have a class together. I see her sometimes when I go talk to Professor Duncan, but I hadn’t even talked to her before now. It’s crazy.”

           Already dreading the answer, you ask, “Did you say ‘yes’?” You hold your breath waiting for his answer.

           He shrugs. “Well, yeah. How could I say no?”

           “Yeah.” You shrink into yourself, a fist pulverizing your heart with each breath. Still, you smile through the pain and give him a forced, “Congrats.”

           “Thanks, I think.” Half of Jungkook’s mouth turns upwards. He leans down to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, cocking his head to study you. “You really think it was a good idea to say ‘yes’? What if I screw this up?”

           “You won’t. It’s only a dance.” But in your mind, it’s much more. It’s your chance to reveal your feelings to Jungkook slipping away like quicksand.

           His smile becomes whole and turns into a grin. “You’re right. It’s only a dance. Not like I agreed to marry her,” he giggles. “Wait til I tell everyone else an upperclassman asked me out!”

           The thought makes you want to vomit but you laugh along. You don’t even know this girl but you envision her being everything you are not and everything Jungkook could want. All your plans and hopes are being dashed. Yet because Jungkook seems happy, you have no choice but to stand there and watch them turn to dust underfoot.

#jungkook scenarios #kpopwritingnet #bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #jungkook #bts #jeon jungkook

[anavoliselenu]

This man chapter 2

‘Are they all this big?’ I ask, flexing my fingers until he releases my hand. Does he behave like this with all females? It’s really off putting.

‘Yes.’

I walk into the centre of the room, looking around. It’s a good size. I notice another door. ‘En-suite?’ I ask as I wander over and enter.

‘Yes.’

The rooms are huge, especially by hotel standards. A lot could be done with them. I would be excited, if I wasn’t so concerned with what’s expected of me. This is no Lusso. I exit the bathroom, finding Ward leaning against the wall, his hands in his trouser pockets, his eyes all hooded and dark as he watches me. My God, the man is sex on legs. I’m almost disappointed that traditional doesn’t feature in my design history. It’s of no interest to me at all.

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for this job.’ I sound regretful. That’s okay, because I am. I’m regretful that I can’t pull myself together. He looks at me, those sludgy eyes stabbing at my defenses, making me shift on my heels.

‘I think you have what I want.’ he says quietly.

WHOA! ‘I’ve always dealt in modern luxury,’ I look around the room again, slowly dropping my eyes back to him. ‘I’m sure you would be happier working with Patrick or Tom. They deal with our period projects.’

He considers me for a second, does that head shake thing and pushes himself away from the wall by his shoulder blades. ‘But I want you.’

‘Why?’

‘You look like you’ll be very good.’

An involuntary rush of breath escapes my lips at his words. I’m not sure what to make of that statement. Does he mean for my design skills or something else? The way he’s looking at me, tells me it’s the latter. He’s a bit bloody confident.

‘What’s your brief?’ I ask, because all other words fail me. My colour is rising again.

A smile tickles the corners of his mouth. ‘Sensual, intimate, luxurious, stimulating, invigorating…’ He pauses to gage my reaction.

I frown. It’s not the usual brief. Relaxing, functional or practical were not mentioned at all. ‘Okay, anything in particular I should allow for?’ I ask. Why am I bothering with these questions?

‘A big bed and lots of wall hangings.’ he states on a husk.

‘What sort of wall hangings?’

‘Big, wooden ones. Oh, and the lighting needs to suit.’

‘Suit what?’ I can’t help the confusion in my tone.

He smiles, and I dissolve on the spot in a hot pool of hormones. ‘Well, the brief, of course.’

Oh God, he must think I’m something else. ‘Yes, of course,’ I look up, seeing chunky beams spanning the ceiling. The building is new, but they are no faux beams. ‘Do all of the rooms have them?’ I return my eyes to his.

‘Yes, they’re essential.’ His voice is low and seductive. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

I grab my client briefing pad to start making notes. ‘Are there any particular colours I should work to or against?’

‘No, knock yourself out.’

I flick my head up to look at him. ‘Excuse me?’

He smiles. ‘Go for it.’

Oh, well, I won’t be knocking myself out on anything because he won’t be seeing me here again. But I should get as much information as possible so I can pass it to Patrick or Tom, with at least a bit of willingness.

‘You mentioned a big bed. Any particular type?’ I ask, trying to remain professional.

‘No, just very big,’

I falter mid-note, slowly looking up to find him watching me. It’s making me stupidly nervous. ‘What about soft furnishings?’

‘Yes, lots.’ He starts walking towards me. ‘I like your dress.’ he whispers.

Holy shit, I’m out of here! ‘Thanks,’ I squeak, making for the door. ‘I have everything I need.’ I don’t, but I can’t stay here any longer. This man is like a sensory drain on me. ‘I’ll get some designs together.’ I exit into the corridor, heading straight for the gallery landing.

Bloody hell, when I woke up this morning, this was the last thing I expected. Posh country mansion – with a painfully handsome owner to round the package off – is not part of my regular daily routine.

I find my way to the top of the stairs, bolting down at a stupid rate, considering the tan stilettos I have on. I hit the parquet floor, wondering how the hell I got here. I’m a mess.

‘I look forward to hearing from you, Selena.’ His husky voice rolls over my flesh as he joins me at the bottom of the stairs, putting his hand out. I take it in mine for fear that if I don’t, he may well clench me and place his lips on me again.

‘You have a lovely hotel.’ I say genuinely. I’m beginning to wish that my handbag contents consisted of spare knickers, a blind fold, ear plugs and some armor. I might have been more prepared.

His eyebrows shoot up as he keeps hold of my hand and slowly shakes it. The buzz travelling through our joined hands makes me tense all over. ‘I have a lovely hotel.’ he repeats thoughtfully. The buzz transforms to a full on jolt of electricity, and I retract my hand under reflex. He looks at me questioningly. ‘It really was nice to meet you, Selena.’ He emphasises the really.

‘You too,’ I practically whisper.

I watch as his eyes dart briefly and he starts chewing his bottom lip. His shifting body eventually moves over to the centre table of the entrance hall. He pulls out a single calla lily from the huge spray that’s dominating the piece of furniture. He studies it for a few moments before he holds it out to me. ‘Understated elegance.’ he says softly.

I don’t know why, maybe because my brain is mush, but I take it. ‘Thank you.’

He puts his abandoned hand in his pocket, watching me closely. ‘You’re more than welcome.’ His gaze travels from my eyes to my lips. I take a few steps back.

‘There you are!’ A woman walks out of the bar and towards Ward. She’s attractive – all blonde, mid-length, layered hair and red, pouty lips. She kisses his cheek. ‘Are you ready?’

Okay, I’m assuming this must be the wife. But there was no ring, so maybe it’s the girlfriend? Either or, I’m completely stunned when he doesn’t take his eyes off of me, making no attempt to answer her question. She turns to see what’s stealing his attention and eyes me suspiciously. I don’t like her instantly, and it has nothing to do with the man she’s draped all over.

‘And you are?’ she purrs.

I shift uncomfortably, feeling like I’ve been captured doing something naughty. Well, I have. I’ve been having extreme unwelcome reactions to her boyfriend. An unreasonable pang of jealousy stabs at me. How ridiculous!

I smile sweetly. ‘Just leaving. Goodbye.’ I turn, practically running to the door and scuttling down the steps. I jump into my car, letting out an almighty breath, and when my lungs have thanked me for the welcome air, I flop back in my seat and commence breathing regulating exercises.

I’m going to have to pass this to Tom. But then I laugh at my stupid idea. Tom’s gay. He’ll be just as affected by Ward as I am. Even knowing he’s taken, I still couldn’t work with him. I shake my head in disbelief and start my car.

As I drive down the gravel driveway, I look in my rear view mirror at the imposing Manor getting smaller and smaller behind me. And there, stood at the top of the steps watching me leave, is Justin Ward.

***

‘There you are. I was just going to call you,’ Kate exclaims, without looking up from placing a figurine on the wedding cake she’s decorating. Her tongue’s hanging out, resting on her bottom lip. It makes me smile. ‘Do you fancy going out?’ She still doesn’t look up.

This is good. I’m sure my face will give away any attempt to feign coolness. I’m still slightly flustered after my lunchtime meeting with a certain Lord of the Manor. I don’t have the energy to get ready and go out.

‘Shall we save ourselves for tomorrow?’ I try. I know this will mean a bottle of wine on the sofa, but at least I can put my PJ’s on and chill out. After the day I’ve had, winding down my racing mind is paramount. I’ve got a headache and lacked the ability to concentrate all day.

‘Absolutely. Let me finish this cake, then I’m all yours.’ She swivels the fruit cake on the stand, dabbing edible glue onto the icing. ‘How was your day in the countryside?’

Ha! What do I say? I expected a pompous country bumpkin, but I got a devastatingly handsome, suited God. He requested me by name, his touch turned me to molten lava, I can’t look in his eyes for fear of passing out and he liked my dress. Instead, I say, ‘Interesting,’

She looks up. ‘Do tell.’ she prompts, her eyes sparkling as she bends back down, her tongue popping out again.

‘It wasn’t what I expected.’ I flick a piece of imaginary lint off of my navy dress in an attempt to appear casual.

‘Leave out what you expected and tell me what you got.’ She’s stopped trying to fix husband and wife to the top of the cake. Instead, her eyes are narrowed on me. She has icing on the end of her nose, but I ignore it.

‘The owner,’ I shrug, fiddling with my tan belt.

‘The owner?’ she asks, her lips twitching.

‘Yes. Justin Ward, the owner.’ I flick more imaginary lint from my dress.

‘Justin Ward, the owner.’ she mimics me, pointing to one of the flowery tub chairs in her workshop. ‘Sit, now! Why are you trying to sound cool? You’re failing miserably, by the way. Your cheeks are the colour of that icing.’ She points to a fire engine cake on the metal shelf stand. ‘Why was the owner, Justin Ward, not what you expected?’

Because he was steaming hot! I flop into the chair with my bag on my lap, while Kate stands tapping her palm with the handle of her spatula. She finally walks over, sitting in the chair opposite me.

‘Tell me.’ she presses, knowing there’s something to tell.

I shrug. ‘The man’s attractive and he knows it.’ I see her eyes light up as the spatulas taps become faster on her hand. She wants more drama. She loves it. When Matt and I split up, she was the first on the scene to soak up the spectacle as a supporting friend. She needn’t have bothered. It was mutual, very amicable and really rather boring. No plates were flying and no neighbours called the police.

‘How old?’ she asks keenly.

Now, that one’s got me. I’m still mortified that I blurted such an inappropriate question during a business meeting. My embarrassment wasn’t even worthwhile as he was obviously playing with me.

I shrug. ‘He said twenty one, but he’s at least ten years past that.’

‘You asked him?’ Kate’s jaw hits her lap.

‘Yes, in a moment of pure brain to mouth filter malfunction, the question did slip. I’m not proud.’ I mutter. ‘I made such a fool of myself, Kate. A man’s never done that to me before. But this one, well, you would have been ashamed of me.’

A sharp shot of laughter flies from her mouth. ‘Selena, I need to teach you some social skills!’ She falls back in her chair, starting to lick the icing from her spatula.

‘Please do,’ I grumble, putting my hand out to her. She passes me the spatula, and I start licking at the edges. I’ve lived with Kate for a month and existed on wine, icing sugar and cake mixture. A loss of appetite after a break up, I don’t have. ‘He was very self-assured.’ I say between licks.

‘As in?’

‘Oh, this man knew he was sparking a reaction in me. I must have been painful to watch. I was pathetic.’

‘That good?’

I shake my head in dismay. ‘Ridiculously,’

‘He’s probably shit in bed,’ Kate muses. ‘All the hot ones are. What’s your brief?’

‘Ten new bedrooms in the extension. I thought I was going to a country mansion, but it’s a mega plush hotel come spa. The Manor, have you heard of it?’

Kate’s face screws up into a clueless expression. ‘Nope,’ she replies, getting up to turn the oven off. ‘Can I come next time?’

‘No, I’m not going back. I can’t work with that. Besides, he has a girlfriend. And I could never look him in the eye again, not after my performance.’ I push myself up from the chair, throwing the spatula into the empty mixing bowl. ‘I’ve passed it over to Patrick. Wine?’

‘In the fridge,’

We make our way up to the flat and change into our PJ’s. I dump my bag on my bed and it flops open, the calla lily Ward gave me making an appearance. Understated elegance. I pick it up and twirl it in my fingers for a few moments, then dump it in my wastepaper basket. Forgotten...

Once changed into my slob out clothes, I load the DVD player with the latest offering from the local rental shop, jump on the couch with Kate and try to concentrate on the movie.

It’s impossible. My mind’s eye is trampled with a tall, lean, dark blonde, green eyed male of a certain age, with a dribble worthy gait and bag loads of sex appeal. I doze off with the words “But I want you” pin-balling around my head. Not so forgotten…

Chapter 3

After two progress meetings with clients and stopping by at Mr Muller’s new townhouse in Holland Park to drop off some samples, I’m back in the office listening to Patrick moan about Irene. It’s a normal Monday morning affair after he’s endured a whole weekend away from the office with his wife. I really have no idea how the poor man pokes up with her.

Tom breezes in with the widest grin on his face, and I know immediately he must have pulled over the weekend.

‘Darling, I’ve missed you!’ He air kisses me and turns to Patrick, who holds his hands up in a don’t-even-think-about-it gesture. Tom rolls his eyes, completely un-offended, and waltzes to his desk.

‘Morning, Tom.’ I greet brightly.

‘I’ve had the most stressful morning. Mr and Mrs Baines have changed their bloody minds for the thousandth time. I’ve had to cancel all the orders and re-arrange a dozen workmen,’ He waves his arms in the air in frustration. ‘I got a sodding parking ticket for not displaying a permit in a resident’s zone and, to top it off, I snagged my new jumper on them hideous railings outside Starbucks.’ He starts picking the stray wool from the hem of his hot pink, V neck jumper. ‘God damn it, look! It’s a good job I got laid last night or I’d be in the depths of despair.’ He grins at me.

I knew it.

Patrick walks away, shaking his head. His attempts to tone Tom’s gayness down to more tolerable levels have proven ineffective. He’s now given up.

‘Good night?’ I ask.

‘Wonderful, I met the most divine man. He’s taking me to the Natural History Museum at the weekend. He’s a scientist. We’re soul mates, for sure.’

‘What happened to the personal trainer?’ I ask. That was last week’s soul mate.

‘Don’t, it was a disaster. He turned up at my apartment on Friday night with the Dirty Dancing DVD and an Indian takeout for two. Can you believe that?’

‘I’m shocked.’ I tease.

‘I bloody was. Needless to say, I won’t be seeing him again. What’s happening with you, darling? How’s that gorgeous ex-boyfriend of yours?’ He winks. Tom doesn’t hide his attraction to Matt, which makes me laugh but makes Matt extremely uncomfortable.

‘He’s okay. He’s still the ex and still straight.’

‘Damn shame. Let me know when he comes to his senses.’ Tom saunters off, tweaking his perfectly positioned blonde quiff.

‘Sally, I’m emailing you a design consultation fee for Mr Ward. Can you make sure you send it today?’

‘I will, Selena. Seven day payment terms?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ I turn back to my desk and resume colour matching, reaching over to grab my phone when it starts dancing around my desk. Glancing at my screen, I nearly fall off my chair when I see the name Justin flashing up. After a few seconds of staring, my brain finally gets the shock message and my heart commences sprint in my chest. What the hell?

I never stored his number – Patrick never got round to passing it to me and after handing the project over to him on Friday, I no longer needed it. I wouldn’t be going back, and I meant it. And even so, I wouldn’t have saved his number under his first name. I hold my phone in my hand, scanning the office to see if the continuous ringing has drawn any attention from my colleagues. It hasn’t. I let it ring off. What does he want?

I make for Patrick’s office to ask if he’s notified Mr Ward of the change in arrangements, but then it rings again, halting me in my tracks. I take a steady breath and connect the call.

If Patrick hasn’t advised him yet, then I will. And if it doesn’t suit, it’s bad luck. I make a rubbish job of convincing myself that I’ve passed the contract over because Patrick’s more suitable for the project. I know damn well that’s only half the reason.

‘Hello.’ I say, stamping my foot a little for sounding apprehensive in my greeting. I was aiming for sure and confident.

‘Selena?’ His husky voice has the same impact on my weak senses as it did on Friday. But at least over the phone he can’t see me physically trembling.

‘Who’s speaking?’ There. That sounded better – professional, business-like and steady.

He laughs lightly, and it throws me completely off guard. ‘Now, I know you already know the answer to that question because my name came up on your phone,’ I cringe on the spot. ‘Trying to play it cool?’

Oh, the arrogant arse! How does he know that? But then realisation dawns on me. ‘You added yourself to my contacts list?’ I gasp. When did he do that? I mentally sprint through our meeting, settling on my visit to the toilet when I left my portfolio and phone on the table. I can’t believe he went through my phone!

‘I need to be able to get hold of you.’

Oh, no. Patrick, obviously, hasn’t told him. Nevertheless, you don’t go around snooping through strangers phones. He really is very self-assured. And storing it under Justin? That’s a bit familiar.

‘Patrick should have contacted you,’ I coolly inform him. ‘I’m afraid I’m unable to assist you, but Patrick will be more than happy to help.’

‘Patrick has been in contact,’ he replies. I sag in relief but then frown. Why is he calling me then? ‘I’m sure he will be happy to help, but I’m less than happy to accept it.’

My mouth gapes. Who does he think he is? He’s called to tell me he’s not happy? Oh, this man is way past arrogant. I close my gaping mouth.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ I sound less than sorry; I sound irritated.

‘Are you?’

And I’m thrown again. No, I’m not sorry. But I’m not about to tell him that. ‘Yes, I am.’ I lie. I want to add that I could never work with an arrogant, good looking swine like him, but I refrain. That wouldn’t be very professional.

I hear him sigh. ‘I don’t think you are, Selena.’ My name sounds like velvet rolling from his lips, causing a familiar shudder to course through me. How does he know I’m not sorry? ‘I think you’re avoiding me.’ he adds.

I’m going to dislocate my jaw at this rate. He’s right. He sparks some very unwelcome feelings in me, and the fact I know he’s involved with someone else has not helped one iota.

‘Why would I do that?’ I ask cockily. That should shut him up.

‘Well, because you’re attracted to me.’

‘Excuse me?’ I splutter. His self-assuredness knows no bounds. Has he no shame? The fact that he’s bang on the money is way beside the point. You would have to be blind, deaf and numb not to be attracted to this man. He’s the epitome of male perfection and, quite clearly, he knows it.

He sighs. ‘I said…’

‘Yes, I heard you,’ I interrupt him. ‘I just can’t believe you said it.’ I slump in my chair.

I’ve never known anything quite like it. I’m completely stunned. The man has a significant other, and he’s flirting on the end of the phone with me? What a player! I need to turn this conversation back around to business and get off of the phone quickly.

‘I apologise for not being available to assist with your work.’ I blurt and hang up, staring down at my phone.

That was really quite rude and extremely unprofessional, but I’m completely staggered by his forwardness. Passing the contract over to Patrick is looking more and more sensible by the minute. A text arrives.

I notice you didn’t deny it. You should know the feeling’s mutual. Jx

Shitting f**king hell! I slap my hand over my lips to stop my mental explicit language from falling out of my mouth. No, I didn’t deny it. And he’s attracted to me? I’m a bit young for him, or is he too old for me? A kiss? What a cocky arse! I don’t reply – I have no idea what to say to that.

Instead, I throw my phone in my bag and go to meet Kate for lunch.

‘Holy Moses!’ Kate exclaims, staring down at my phone. Her red hair is swinging from side to side in its ponytail as she shakes her head. ‘Did you reply?’ She looks up at me expectantly.

‘Christ, no.’ I laugh. What would she recommend I say to that? It’s got me completely stumped.

‘And he’s got a girlfriend?’

‘Yes.’ I nod, raising my eyebrows.

She places my phone back on the table. ‘That’s a shame.’

Is it? It actually makes things a lot easier. It totally trumps the looks and reactions he spikes in me. Kate’s far more daring than me. She would have replied with something shocking and suggestive, and probably made his jaw drop. That girl would give any bona-fide man-eater a run for their money. Not slow in coming forward, she mostly scared men off on the first date – only the strongest survive. Kate’s long, red hair is as vibrant as her personality. She’s confident, strong minded and determined.

‘Not really,’ I muse, picking up my cheeky lunchtime wine and taking a sip. ‘Anyway, it’s only been four weeks since Matt and I split up. I don’t want any men in my life, not in any capacity.’ I like the fact that I sound resolute. ‘I’m enjoying being single and carefree for the first time ever.’ I add. And it really does feel like the first time ever. I was with Matt for four years and previous to that, I was in a three year relationship with Adam.

‘Have you seen the prick?’ Kate face distorts into one of disgust at the mention of my ex’s name.

She can’t stand Matt and was delighted when I split up with him. Kate catching him at it with a work colleague in a taxi only confirmed what I already knew. I don’t know why I ignored it for so long. When I confronted him calmly, he fell apart with apologies and nearly fell over when I told him I wasn’t bothered. I really wasn’t, much to my own surprise. The relationship had run its course, and Matt was of the same opinion. It’s all been very amicable, much to Kate’s disgust. She wants flying plates and police intervention.

‘No.’ I confirm.

‘We are having fun, aren’t we?’ She grins as the waitress approaches with our lunch.

‘I’m just going to the loo.’ I get up, leaving Kate dowsing her chips in mayonnaise.

After using the toilet, I stand in the mirror re-applying my lip gloss and fluffing my hair. It’s behaving today, so it’s down and tumbling all over my shoulders. I brush down my black capri pants and pick a few hairs off my cream blouse. My phone rings as I make my way back to the bar. I drag it from my bag, rolling my eyes when I see it’s him again. He’s probably wondering where my reply to his inappropriate text message is. I’m not playing games with him.

‘Reject.’ I huff at my phone, stabbing at the red button and stuffing it in my bag as I continue down the corridor. ‘Oh God, I’m Sorry!’ I splutter, slamming straight into a chest.

This chest is a very firm chest, and the intoxicating fresh water scent that’s washing over me is way too familiar. My legs refuse to move, and I know what I’m going to see if I look up. His arm is already wrapped around my waist to steady me, my eyes level with the top of his chest. I can see his heart beating through his shirt.

‘Reject?’ he says softly. ‘I’m wounded.’

I push myself away from his grasp, attempting to regain my composure. He looks stunning, wearing a charcoal suit and crisp white shirt. I laugh at myself and my inability to get my eyes past his upper body for fear of being hypnotised by the potency of this man’s sludgy gaze.

‘Is something funny?’ he asks. I suspect he’s frowning at my random outburst, but because I refuse to look at him, I can’t confirm that.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ I side step him, but he grabs my elbow, halting my escape.

‘Just tell me one thing before you leave, Selena.’ His voice prickles at my senses, and I find my eyes travelling up the leanness of his body until our stares meet. His face is serious, but still stunning. ‘How loud do you think you’ll scream when I f**k you?’

WHAT? ‘Excuse me?’ I manage to splutter around the lead that is my tongue.

He half smiles at my shock, placing his index finger under my chin and pushing my gaping mouth shut. ‘I’ll leave that one with you.’ He releases my elbow.

I flash him a displeased scowl before I walk back to the table as steadily as my boneless legs will allow. Did I really just hear him right? I slide myself onto the chair, immediately glugging down my wine to try and moisten my parched mouth.

When I look up at Kate, she’s openmouthed, exposing half chewed chips and bread. It’s not attractive. ‘Who the f**k is that?’ she mumbles around her food.

‘Who?’ I look around, simulating unawareness.

‘Him,’ Kate points with her fork. ‘Look!’

‘I saw, and I don’t know.’ I grate. Drop it!

‘He’s coming over. You sure you don’t know him? Fuck, he’s hot!’ She looks at me. I shrug.

Please, go away. Go away, go away! I pick up a stray piece of lettuce from my BLT and start nibbling at the edges. I’m tense all over, and I know he’s getting closer because Kate’s gaze is lifting upwards to accommodate his height. I wish she would shut her bloody gaping mouth!

‘Ladies,’ His low, throaty voice prickles at my skin, doing nothing to relax me.

‘Hi,’ Kate spits, chewing rapidly to rid her mouth of the obstruction to speech.

‘Selena?’ he prompts. I wave my piece of lettuce at him to acknowledge his presence but without having to look at him. He laughs lightly.

Out the corner of my eye, I see his body slowly lowering until he’s squatting at the table next to me, but I still refuse to look at him. He rests one arm on the table, and I hear Kate cough and splutter on the remnants of her food.

‘That’s better,’ he says. I can feel his breath on my cheek.

Reluctantly, I look up through my lashes and find Kate gawking at me – all wide eyed and yes-he’s-still-there-talk-you-idiot! I can think of nothing to say. Once again, this man has rendered me useless.

I hear him sigh. ‘I’m Justin Ward, pleased to meet you.’ I see his hand reach across the table.

Kate takes it eagerly. ‘Justin?’ she splutters. ‘Oh! Justin,’ I can feel her glaring at me accusingly. ‘I’m Kate. Selena mentioned you have a posh hotel.’

I scowl across the table.

‘Oh, she mentioned me?’ he asks softly. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s displaying a smug, satisfied face at this news. ‘I wonder what else she’s mentioned.’

‘Oh, this and that,’ Kate flips casually, but it’s too late to back track on her previous statement. I throw her my filthiest look.

‘This and that.’ he counters softly.

‘Yes, this and that.’ Kate affirms.

Fed up of the pointless little exchange that they both seem to be enjoying, I take the situation into my own hands, turning my eyes onto him. ‘It was nice to see you, goodbye.’

Our eyes latch immediately, and I’m ruined by his sludgy green eyes, all hooded, dark and demanding. I can feel his breath waver and it draws my eyes away from his, but only to his mouth. His lips are moist, slightly parted, and his tongue slowly creeps out of his mouth, running a leisurely path across his bottom lip. I can’t take my eyes off him. Without any encouragement at all, my own tongue responds with a happy little adventure across my bottom lip. It betrays my effort to appear emotionless…unaffected. I’m so affected.

This is crazy. This…whatever this is…it’s just crazy. He’s over confident and arrogant, but probably has the right to be. I desperately do not want to be affected by this man.

‘Nice?’ He leans forward, grasping my thigh, causing hot liquid lava to flood my groin. I shift my legs, squeezing my thighs together to restrict the pulsation that threatens to break out into a full, hard throb. ‘I could think of lots of words, Selena. Nice is not one of them. I’ll leave you to consider my question.’

Oh, good Lord! I gulp as he leans into me at half height, pressing his damp lips against my cheek, holding his kiss forever. I clench my teeth in an effort not to turn into him.

‘Soon.’ he whispers. It’s a promise. He releases my tense thigh and rises. ‘It was nice to meet you, Kate.’

‘Hmmm, you too.’ she responds thoughtfully.

He strides off towards the back of the bar. Good God, he walks with purpose and it’s sexy as hell. I close my eyes to mentally gather my wits, which are currently dispersed all over the bar floor. It’s completely hopeless. I turn back to Kate, finding accusing bright blues gawking at me like I’ve just sprouted fangs.

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. ‘Fuck me, that was intense!’ she spits across the table.

‘Was it?’ I start pushing my sandwich around my plate.

‘You better stop with the blah-fucking-zay shit now, or I’ll shove this fork so far up your arse, you’ll be chewing metal. What question are you considering?’ Her tone is fierce.

‘I don’t know,’ I brush her off. ‘He’s attractive, arrogant and has a girlfriend.’ I try for vague.

Kate lets out a long, over amplified whistle. ‘I’ve never experienced that before. I’ve heard of it but never witnessed it.’

‘What are you on about?’ I snap.

She leans across the table, all serious. ‘Selena, the sexual tension batting between you and that man was so f**king super charged, even I was horny!’ She laughs. ‘He wants you bad. He couldn’t have made it any clearer if he’d have spread you on that pool table.’ She points, and I actually look.

‘You’re imagining things.’ I snort. I know she’s not, but what can I say?

‘I’ve seen the text, and now I’ve seen the man in the flesh. He’s hot…for an older guy.’ She shrugs.

‘I’m not interested.’

‘Ha! You keep telling yourself that.’

I scowl across the table at my best friend. ‘I will.’

‘Let me know how that works out for you.’ she shoots back, rather flippantly.

***

I return to the office and spend the rest of the day achieving absolutely nothing. I twiddle my pen, visit the toilet a dozen times and pretend to listen to Tom harp on about Gay Pride and all things camp. My phone has rung four times – all Justin Ward – and I’ve rejected each and every call. I’m staggered by this man’s persistence and confidence.

How loud?

I’m stunned!

I’m happy and enjoying my new found freedom, and I have no intention of derailing my plans to be single and carefree. I’m not getting caught up with a handsome stranger, no matter how handsome he is. And oh, is he mind meltingly delicious. Anyway, he’s way too old for me. And more importantly, he’s obviously taken. And that only reinforces the fact that he’s an ultimate player. This is not the sort of man I need to be attracted to, damn me, especially after Matt and his infidelities. I need a man, eventually, who’ll be faithful, protective and look after me – preferably a bit nearer my age too. How old is he?

My phone declares a text, making me jump and snapping me from my wandering thoughts. I already know who it is before I look.

Being rejected isn’t very nice. Why won’t you answer my calls? Jx

I laugh to myself, drawing the attention of Victoria, who’s rummaging through the filing cabinet near my desk. Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. I don’t suppose he is use to rejection. ‘Kate.’ I offer, by way of an explanation. It seems to work, as she returns to sifting through the cabinet.

It should be obvious why I’m not answering my bloody phone. I don’t want to talk to him. He unnerves me, triggering too many reactions. And, quite frankly, I don’t trust my body around him. It seems to respond to his presence with no prompt from me or my brain, and that could be very dangerous indeed.

My phone rings again and I quickly reject it. Christ, give me a chance to reply! Am I even going to reply? I’m never going to get rid of him. I need to be brutal.

If you need to discuss your requirements, you should be calling Patrick, not me.

There. No sign off and definitely no kiss. I’ve not said in so many words, but he should get the message. I put my phone down, all set on getting something done, but it chimes again. I pick it straight back up, grabbing my coffee with my spare hand as I do.

My requirement is to make you scream. I don’t think Patrick can help me there. I’m gagging just thinking about it. That’s a thought...will I need to gag you? Jx

I spray coffee all over my desk as I cough. The cheeky sod! How brazen and unashamed can a man be? Does he think I’m easy or something? I switch my phone to silent, chucking it down on my desk in disgust. I’m not even dignifying that with a response. Replying will only encourage him. There’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and Justin Ward triple jumps that. I feel sorry for old pouty lips. Is she aware of her man pursuing young women?

I watch as my screen lights up again. I snatch it up, silencing it before it draws attention. I open my top drawer, drop it in and slam it shut on a huff. He’ll get the message.

I make a meager attempt to carry on with some work, but I’m far too distracted. Strange words – all having no place in work related correspondence – are appearing in my emails as I absentmindedly tap away at my keyboard. The office phone rings.

Glancing up, I see Sally away from her desk, so I answer. ‘Good afternoon, Rococo Union.’

‘Don’t hang up!’ he blurts down the phone. I sit up straight in my chair. Even his urgent voice prickles my skin. Get the message, he will not. He’s really quite thick skinned. ‘Selena, I’m really very sorry.’

‘You are?’ I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. Justin Ward doesn’t look like the kind of man to offer apologies willy-nilly.

‘Yes, really, I am. I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I’ve overstepped the mark by a long shot.’ He sounds sincere enough. ‘I’ve distressed you. Please accept my apology.’

I wouldn’t say I was distressed by his bold behavior and comments. Shocked would be more apt. Some people might even admire his confidence, I suppose. ‘Oh, okay,’ I say hesitantly. ‘So, you don’t want to make me scream or gag me?’

‘Selena, you sound disappointed.’

‘Not at all,’ I blurt.