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sanjoongie · 11 months

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Dragon Oracle

🐉Submission for @thelargefrye Starseed Jam event! 🐉Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader (f) x Jeong Yunho 🐉Genre: enemies to lovers au, poly!ot8, fantasy au 🐉Word Count: 15,916 (yeah this bitch is wordy but it's an entire saga in one sitting, so sit back and enjoy the show) 🐉Warnings: fighting with swords, blood, death, penetrative sex with no barrier, overstim, mentions of mxm, dom!reader x sub!jongho, scratching/marking, dom!yunho x sub!reader, big cock! yunho, hair pulling, finger sucking, clit stimulation, degradation kink, choking, future fucks with San and seonghwa {separately dear God why did I write it like that no} and mingi (cunninlingus) , mentions of mate bond-testing sex with yeosang? 🐉Rated: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst, romance

🐉Summary: Dragon from the window au~ What if yn was born as a dragon oracle instead? (please read smalls headcanons and fics before you read mine, you will not regret it! especially mean hongjoong a la ugly dragon!)

🐉Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland, my lovely beta’s. And to smalls: this is my love letter to the wonderful world you have created. Know that I will always be a fan of your work, your writing and this world 🥰

🐉🐉🐉

"Fraud."

"You're not even a true dragon!"

"Filthy oracle."

Your kind had fallen out of favor centuries ago. When the clans fought the witches, using their dark magic and assassins, they practically wiped the oracle's out. For you, the oracle's were now used for the desperate, for the weak, but never truly taken seriously by any of the high ranking dragons, including the prince. Especially considering that any oracle could not turn into a dragon. It was said that it was a curse on the oracles for failing the dragon clans all those eons ago…

You were from a long line of dragon oracles who could trace themselves back to the wars. The problem with that lie in that everyone was living a lie. Most of the way that the current oracles conjured their ‘visions’ was with a lot of smoke and mirrors, cheap tricks that fascinated the hatchlings and elderly but the sharp-eyed dragons of the clan never fell for it. You knew you were about to be hauled off to the council to vote if you were to remain in the clan if you attempted to fool one of the dragons who could see right through the cheap tricks. Finding one of them at your door was hardly a good omen.

Lucky for you, you kept out of their way, no matter how handsome some of the higher ranking dragons were. The prince certainly was haughty, noble and beautiful but some of his mates were also akin to sparkly jewels. That was until the day you learned that one of them was your mate as well.

You were residing in a hammock, swinging around in the incense-filled room that you shared with your hatchling brood, your ‘sacred sisters’, when your eyes clouded over. You began to scream in fear and fell from your hammock. One of your sister’s ran for the eldest oracle, guessing that she would be the best to help you in your current state.

While you were left in the arms of one of your other sisters, you saw something that didn’t quite make sense to you at first. You saw a man who was dressed like a dragon hunter and he brandished a weapon that made you feel like you just had received a punch to the gut. There was no doubt that that sword was made from your mother’s great silver talon.

You received a quick flash of your mother’s final moments, tragic and harsh, being lashed down to the earth by strong nets and to never fly again. Your mother had mated with your father, from that long line of oracles, much to the chagrin of her family. She had a true form which you always envied. That’s why it hurt you even more when you had lost her to dragon hunters. She always seemed to be the one true dragon who accepted you.

But that was not all you were privy to. You watched as the dragon hunter approached one of the prince’s mates. You saw the brown hair and knew it was Jongho. He struggled in his human form, a delicate but strong family of chains wrapping around him, prominently around his shoulders.

“Release me!” Jongho demanded with a bellow, never ceasing to fight his confines.

The dragon hunter chuckled. “Why would I do that when I have the clear advantage here? I’ll simply drag you back to our camp and we will harvest your dragon parts when we force you back into your more appealing form.”

Your heart dropped. Was this a vision of the future or was this happening in real time? You decided you didn’t care once the vision adjusted one more time.

You were shown a domestic scene full of love and adoration. You were holding Jongho and he was allowing you to card your hands through his hair. “You’re mine,” Jongho growled below you.

“Of course,” You murmured, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“But I have to share you,” Jongho said in a voice that had a slight whine to it.

“If I’m mate to one, I'm going to be mate to the rest of them, Jongho,” You told him in a calm voice.

“I just wanted something that was solely mine, for once…” Jongho admitted.

“You share the other’s fine,” You couldn't help but laugh under your breath.

“Yes, but I thought…” Jongho allowed himself a moment to pout. He was softer with you. You couldn't put your finger on it, but something had allowed him to open up and be vulnerable with you. “...I thought perhaps you would be my mate, and only mine. I didn’t think I would have to share.”

You rubbed your cheek into the crown of his hair. “Well for now, at least, it’s just you and me. It will take some convincing for the others.”

Your eyes slowly became unclouded and you were able to see the wrinkled face of the eldest dragon oracle within the clan. Awe was clearly written all over her face. “A true oracle. Finally!” she shouted.

Your sisters had all gathered around you and gasped as the elder spoke. “Surely you kid.”

The granny cupped your face with her withered hands and smiled happily, tears brimming in her eyes. “My grandmother was a true oracle. They killed her in fear that she would ruin the rest of our lives. But I saw her eyes turn cloudy only an hour before she predicted her death. They say that our eyes go cloudy because we gave up our dragon form for the ability to see. The clouds are our spirit selves flying the skies of the future.”

Your sisters murmured amongst themselves but you gently pushed yourself up from the ground, remembering your vision. “I must find Jongho!”

One of your sister’s screwed up her nose. “Why? That warrior will only spit on you if you talk to him.”

“He’s in danger!” You shouted, feeling sick to your stomach with fear.

The elder oracle pointed to the door. “If anyone would know of his whereabouts, it would be his other mates. You cannot approach Hongjoong or Seonghwa easily, but the other warriors will know where he patrols. Go, child, follow your vision!”

Based on your vision, you knew you would be fighting if you were going to help Jongho, so you quickly grabbed your sword that sat uselessly in its sheath by your bed. If you were good for anything, it was your sword fighting abilities. Your father trained you, first to protect your mother and later to protect yourself. You didn't have a dragon form to rely on, so you had to hone your human one.

You ran to the training grounds where most of the warriors honed their skills. There you found Yeosang with chain sickle. He was currently wrapping the chain around his arm and hand gripping the sickle part hard enough to make his muscles bulge. "Is Jongho out on patrol?" You demanded.

Yeosang stared you, looking you up and down, clearly unimpressed you were talking to him. "Aren't you from the oracle family? Why would you need to know where Jongho is?"

"Yeosang, please. I am a part of this clan. Set aside our differences and tell me where Jongho is. I might not have enough time to get to him!"

Yeosang gives you a look full of judgment. "He's gone to the forest east of here, patrolling all the way to the mountains. He could be anywhere."

You placed a hand on Yeosang's arm. "Thank you."

And that's when you saw clouds again, obscuring your vision and showing you a glimpse into the future.

"Do you…do you think you could forgive me?" Yeosang's eyes filled with sorrow as he looked at your bandaged arm.

"You just saw a human, you weren't thinking. Being in that much pain must have made your instincts as a dragon flare. I'm sure if--" your breath caught in your throat. There it was again. That guilt branded into your skull: you would never understand truly being a dragon.

"I'll take you out," Yeosang rushed out his words. "When you're better. I'll take you for a flight. Everyone from our clan should know how the wind feels on their face when they fly."

You couldn't help but feel emotional. "You don't have to do that," You declined softly.

Yeosang pushed your chin up so that you would meet his eyes. "You're my mate. I want to share that with you."

Your eyes unclouded and Yeosang looked at you with round eyes. "What was that?"

You smiled awkwardly. "Oracle stuff."

"Wha-?" Before Yeosang could make you explain yourself, you were gone.

You ran to the stables. The horses were there for farming and tilling the fields that helped feed the livestock that the clan ate. But this wouldn't have been the first time you hopped onto the back of one of the docile geldings. You were desperate to feel something of your dragon origins, so horses had been your bridge to that.

So you galloped through the eastern forest, weaving amongst the animal trails, eyes peeled for Jongho’s dragon form. You cursed under your breath, sure that you were going to arrive too little too late.

You bursted into a clearing and saw two small bodies in the distance. Could that be them? You urged your horse forward, whispering to him of the sweet sugar you would feed him later if he rode like the wind to get you to Jongho’s side. The horse tore through the tall grass and you confirmed it was Jongho struggling in his bonds before the dragon hunter who had killed your mother when you were young.

You let out a yell full of rage and fury and halted the horse, jumping to the ground. Your sword came free of its sheath and soon it was clanging against the hunters.

"Oh, dragon, is this human a friend of yours?" The hunter said through gritted teeth.

You bared yours at him in retaliation. "I'm your worst nightmare. A dragon who fights like a human."

You could tell the hunter had truly only used his strength against his opponents; he had no finesse. He barely was able to block any of your strikes and half of his were easy to dodge. He wasn't a fighter, he was a hunter. Bullying was in his nature, winning a sword fight was not.

With one final guttural yell, you pulled back your sword and plunged it into the gap of his neck and shoulder of his boiled leather armor. The man died with a quiet, bloody gurgle and then it was done.

You wiped the blade on his corpse and turned to check on Jongho. But first, you went to a knee. That last thing you wanted was to insult Jongho. "How can I help you?"

"Did you…did you just save my life? How?" Jongho said in disbelief.

"I saw you being captured in a premonition."

Jongho blinked at you. "And so you came to save me?"

"I…" You eyed the ground. "I had to. That hunter killed my mother. He was going to kill you."

"But I've never even acknowledged your existence. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've called your family a pale shadow of a dragon."

You grimaced in mental pain. "You are a part of my clan. You are the prince's mate. You are--" my mate.

"Quickly, help me get out of these chains. They're binding me to human form!" Jongho urged you.

You moved to stand behind him and found the clasp and it fell to the ground. Jongho rolled his neck and shoulders in relief. "Can you…should you transform?" You wondered, unsure if he would take insult.

Jongho turned and shook his head. "I don't think I should." He changed the subject immediately, "You fight like a feral creature!"

"The hunter was a--oh the sword!" You remembered how you identified the hunter in the first place.

You pulled the sword from underneath the dragon hunter and brandished it. The silver hue of an immortal creature turned rainbow tinged in the light. You could feel the connection to the sword; you could say with everything that made you you, that this sword had been carved from your mother’s talon.

"You should name it Rosa's Bane," Jongho suggested.

"You knew of my mother?" You frowned heavily.

"Of course I do. They tell us all her story so that we know what happens to bad little dragons." Jongho’s gaze dropped in shame.

"It's okay," You say softly, "I'm aware of what they say."

"But!" Jongho’s booted feet touched yours as he halted in front of you, teeth snapping shut. "You're a real oracle! And you saved my life."

"All I ask in return is for you to be kinder to the oracle family," You asked in a hushed tone. "I'll leave you be then."

Before you could turn and head back to the gelding, Jongho's hand went to your bicep. "Wait. I owe you an apology. You clearly aren't only about yourself and your tricks. There's more to you than meets the eye."

You let a small smile of hope pull the corner of your lips. "Apology accepted."

After saving Jongho, the elders of the clan held a council. You recounted your experience honestly. Hongjoong sat at his place--on a throne made from melted stone that could only be heated by dragon's fire--looking bored, head in hand. Your elder collaborated with your state, your urgency to save Jongho. Even Yeosang came before the council, his deep voice echoing against the old lava tunnels of the mountain. He confirmed your clouded vision state. And when Jongho took the center of the natural auditorium, passionately speaking of how you saved him and avenged your mother, and therefore were a hero of the clan, well, no one could deny that things were about to change.

Suddenly, you had your own rooms. They were filled with silk pillows and luscious smelling incense. You were given lost treasures of the clan that were put away in an old horde cave, for dragon's never disregarded their treasures, simply rotated through their favorites. An old copper bowl filled with embers for scrying. A large book and stand to record your visions. Even old toe bones of the first oracle dragon, said to speak the truth of your soul.

You were declared oracle of the dragon clan and had an official standing. You were on equal terms as Seonghwa, the right hand of Hongjoong himself. Hongjoong would have nothing to do with you, or so it seemed as if you never saw the prince. But Seonghwa, on the other hand, you saw a lot of.

Part of your official duties, especially as oracle, was to be privy to the decision making of the clan. Where the next patrol should be, when they should celebrate a new brood of hatchlings being brought into this world, the list went on. Seonghwa begrudgingly worked with you. You could tell he was unsure of you. He didn’t trust you, but clearly you had saved Jongho, so you got points for that.

“Seonghwa?” You dared to grab his attention as he was working on the details of the next feast.

“Yes?” He said in his clipped but coldly polite tone that he always took on when addressing you.

“What’s this map over here?” The edges of your vision were getting blurry and you were starting to learn that you were closer to a clue of a true seeing.

Seonghwa’s eyes flitted to what you were pointing to on the table. “That? Just Hongjoong planning on visiting a settlement. It’s nothing to worry about. The plans are all set.”

Your hand trembled as you moved to reach for it. Seonghwa was back to focusing on his writing, quill feather moving diligently. “Something about this map feels weird.”

Seonghwa scoffed. “Are you going to pretend you know something about it, Oracle?”

“Seonghwa, I’m serious!” You raised your voice at him.

Seonghwa’s eyes snapped up to watch you as you finally snatched up the map but no vision occurred. He let out a mocking laugh. “Looks like you can only see visions when it’s convenient for you, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and that’s when he gave up his writing and stood up. “You may be a bit of a warrior in your own right, but you forget your place. I am a dragon. I will put you down if need be.”

You threw up your hands in frustration. “Because God forbid I actually help someone. Do you know how close Jongho was to--”

Seonghwa’s long legs took him close to you but you side stepped him before he could touch you. You didn’t want what happened with Yeosang to happen right now. Even if it would prove to Seonghwa that you were a true oracle first hand, you didn’t want the knowledge that Seonghwa was also your mate. Not right now, at least. Seonghwa regarded you with suspicion but did not attempt again to grab you. “You're dismissed, Oracle. Sleep well.”

“Gladly,” You replied to him curtly and left the room posthaste.

You sped walk to your quarters and slammed the door for good measure. You also took your meal within your room as well. You were tired of having to fight for your spot. All you wanted to do was help the clan, but you couldn’t if both Seonghwa and Hongjoong were against you. You felt like your seeing abilities were a curse at this point.

Sometime in the evening, when the sun had been laid to rest and the moon watched over the world, there was a knock on your door. “Go away, Seonghwa!” You shouted, throwing a shoe at your door, “I don’t want to hear about how useless I am.”

“Oracle?” A different voice came through the wood of the door. “It’s Jongho.”

You rushed to your door, feeling chagrined. “Jongho, I’m so sorry!’

Jongho was sporting a slight frown. “Is Seonghwa causing you trouble? I could talk to him for you.”

You shook your head. “No. That’s my battle to fight. Don’t worry about it.” Your eyes took in the mysterious robe that Jongho had on. “How are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you since I rescued you.”

Jongho’s turned his head left then right, eyes searching the hallway before saying “Do you think I could come in?”

“Sure, sure,” You opened your door and let Jongho come into your room.

He took a few steps, head swinging to take in the different objects you had. “Have you had any visions…since that day?”

You shook your head and closed the door. “Either there is nothing important enough to see or it was a fluke,” You laughed bitterly.

Jongho spun around. “Don’t say that!”

You cocked your head in curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

Jongho grasped his robe near his collarbones with two hands. “You can’t say that your visions have been a fluke.”

You took a step closer to Jongho. “Because?”

“Because…” Jongho took a deep breath and looked you in the eyes honestly. “Because you saw we were mates, didn’t you?”

You gasped. “How did you…?”

“Oracle, I feel things for you that I have only felt for my other mates,” Jongho said in a hushed tone, his eyes dilating. “I burn for you.”

“I--Jongho--” You started to step backwards. You knew in theory Jongho was yours but nothing could have prepared you for this.

For every step you took backwards, Jongho took a step forwards. “I took the device that attempted to seal me to human form from that fateful day. I took it and made it into something as a memento; the day I met my mate.”

You shook your head, unable to find the words to tell him to stop. “You shouldn’t--does anyone else--?”

“Do you want to see it?” Jongho looked at you through his eyelashes flirtatiously.

You swallowed but couldn't find any moisture in your mouth. “Do I want to see it?”

Without another word, Jongho dropped his robe. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing underneath it, but he did have something adorning his body. The same chains that bound him to human form were now made to frame his chest, falling along his shoulders and encircling his neck. You felt like your heartbeat was caught in your throat, like you had swallowed a hummingbird and it was looking to escape.

“Oh, Jongho…” You said in awe of the picture he cut in the warmth of your candlelight.

“I have been trying to find the right moment to tell the others but I cannot hold back any longer. You saved my body and now I want to pay you back with that body. I must mate with you. I need to be inside of you,” Jongho begged, his eyes looking desperate.

“They will only hate me more!” You protested, “Don’t put me in that position, Jongho.”

Jongho shook his head. “I will not let them.” He placed a hand on the door that stood at your back, trapping you against it. “You protected me once, let me protect you now.”

Your last shred of protesting was cast aside then. So used to the cold attitude the majority of dragonkind treated you with, you caved under the need to be loved. You pressed your body and your lips to Jongho and he moaned into your mouth. "I'll take this offering of your body," You said in between eating up those plush lips of his.

"Please take me," Jongho whined again.

It was your turn to push while Jongho receded. Soon, the back of his legs hit the lounge you had in case your visions came on while looking into the embers or tossed the toe bones. He sat down heavily and you pulled up your diaphanous skirts to straddle Jongho’s leg.

Your forefinger traced Jongho’s collarbones and then both your hands raked your nails down his chest, pulling at his tight and sensitive nipples. Jongho let out a guttural grunt and you licked your lips in anticipation.

"What's this, Jongho?" You reached in between your body and his and found his cock standing to attention. It twitched in your hands and Jongho whimpered.

"It's yours, it's all yours," Jongho babbled.

"Mine?" You asked, interest coating your voice, "Don't you share this with others? Perhaps they might protest, hmmm?"

Jongho shook his head, his cheeks jiggling at his alacrity. "Yours, yours, yours, for tonight, my body is yours."

You started to pump his cock in your hand. Jongho’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and the back of his head hit the back of the lounge. "Please, your touch is so good. Feels so good." Jongho takes a moment to swallow and breathe out and he sounded like he was drowning in lust. "D-don't make me come in your hand. Mercy, please."

You languidly pumped his cock. "Are you truly asking for mercy?"

"No," Jongho admitted quickly and squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. "I want you to ruin me for everyone else."

You leaned down to whisper into Jongho’s ear. "I could have you bent over on my bed, tongue in your ass and hand wrapped around your dick, making you fall apart for me but that is not mating, is it, my pet?"

When you pulled back, Jongho looked up at you with shiny, bright brown eyes. "No."

"Then," You brought his cock to your entrance and rubbed it against your leaking hole, "Let's join and become one, hmmm?"

Your own skin was feverishly hot, feeling the need for Jongho as much as he had for you. It wasn't until you pushed down on him that you felt some sort of relief.

Jongho’s hands flew to your hips, holding you there. "Wait, wait, I've wanted this for too long, let me--let me drink it in."

You lasted all of two seconds staying still before you clenched around him and he let out a strangled moan. "Please?"

"You forget your place," You said in a guttural tone as you began to weave your hips in a figure eight shape. "You said you were mine for the taking, remember?"

You turned Jongho’s face harshly and began to suck and lick up his neck. After each successful mark, you whispered "Mine" eliciting a shiver each time from Jongho.

When you finally get to his jawline you decided it was time to reward Jongho with a kiss to his lips. "Such a good pet, letting me take what I want from you, hmm?" You tugged at his bottom lip briefly with your teeth and he groaned for you again.

"I'm yours," Jongho whispered.

"Not until I take wholly what is mine," You growled.

You began a relentless pace, bouncing on Jongho’s cock. His whines were back, desperate and needy. "We will only be mated once you have come inside of me, Jongho. Need you to release your seed and then the deed is done."

You watched almost predatorily as the Adam's apple in Jongho’s throat bobbed up and down. "You--you first!" He said with a warbled shout.

You hooked a finger through Jongho's chained necklace and pulled him closer to you. "Was that an order?"

Jongho flinched at the sound of your dangerous purr. "No…"

“Then you will come. Now,” You commanded.

Jongho held you down on his cock and spurted inside of you, his noises of satisfaction and neediness filling the air. You slowed down your pace to simply winding your hips as Jongho came down from his high but you didn’t stop. His fingernails dug into your ass soon, however.

“Too much,” He said through gritted teeth.

“Too much?” You smiled, “Didn’t you say you needed to be inside of me? Didn’t you want me to come too?”

Jongho nodded but whimpered at the overstimulation of his cock. The urge to pull yourself off of him and kiss and lick his cock surged through you; to have another dragon in your thrall touched a side of you that you didn’t know had the potential to develop but you suppressed it. You needed to seal the deal. You knew it in your bones that this was a joint mission.

So you pushed Jongho’s hair out of his face and kissed his nose, his cheeks, even his eyelids until his whines of overstimulation became groans of a second climax. “You can do it for me, pet, you can endure it so that I can come for you, right? You’re doing so well for me, letting me take care of you like this, hmm? You trust me right?”

Jongho’s eyes were vulnerable and it was as if he was removing all of his layers to you and only you. “I trust you with my life.”

“Then let’s go again, shall we?” You nuzzled your nose against his and he nodded.

You began to build your pleasure back up, brick by brick, thrust by thrust, until you were tingling again. Jongho was practically dripping out of you, and with your own slick adding to his cum, your room was filled with wet, lewd noises.

Jongho was pussy-drunk again, however. His arms were lax at his side, his mouth open and drooling a bit, the only part of him truly moving was his pelvis muscles tensing for your bounce. “You’re so warm and wet,” He whimpered.

“You enjoy being inside of me that much, my pet?” You asked.

“I love your pussy,” Jongho moaned, his tongue coming out to lick at the drool from the side of his mouth.

“Then make this pussy come, Jongho,” You whispered sensually.

Jongho’s eyebrows furrowed cutely as he attempted to focus enough to aid you in coming. He pressed his lips together and fucked up into your pussy as you brought your hips downwards. When he started to hit that spongy part inside of you that was making you see stars, you knew you were getting close.

“Oh Jongho, just like that, hnnnnnn,” You started to whine as your climax got closer and closer and finally it bursted through you like a wave hitting a cliff. You dug your teeth into the meat of Jongho’s neck and dug your nails into his sides as you came hard.

Jongho was like a puddle below you, completely relaxed and satisfied in finally making you come. "My mate," he pouted.

You plopped down on the side of the lounge that was empty and Jongho laid with his arms wrapped around your waist and his head resting on your chest, the rest of his body in-between your legs. You carded you hands through his hair tenderly and Jongho's voice rumbled into your chest, "You're mine."

Tears came unbidden to your eyes. This was the scene, this was how you knew Jongho was your mate!

“Of course,” You murmured, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“But I have to share you,” Jongho said in a voice that had a slight whine to it.

“If I’m mate to one, I'm going to be mate to the rest of them, Jongho,” You told him in a calm voice.

“I just wanted something that was solely mine, for once…” Jongho admitted.

“You share with the other’s just fine,” You couldn't help but laugh under your breath.

“Yes, but I thought…” Jongho allowed himself a moment to pout. He was softer with you. You had to assume that saving him had allowed him to open up and be vulnerable with you. “...I thought perhaps you would be just my mate, and only mine. I didn’t think I would have to share.”

You rubbed your cheek into the crown of his hair. “Well, for now at least, it’s just you and me. It will take some convincing for the others.”

"Do you know for sure about the others?" Jongho wondered.

"I'll be honest, only Yeosang. I had a vision with him before I saved you."

Jongho rubbed his face further against your cheek and it brought out a low moan from you. Jongho smiled mischievously. "If I sucked your breasts through this dress would you be mad at me?"

"We need to sleep, greedy guts," You admonished him.

"Can I…can I sleep here? With you?" Jongho asked.

"Do you really want to be caught sneaking out of my rooms at dawn?" You chuckled.

"I want to sleep with my mate," Jongho admitted.

"Alright, you can sleep here, but you cannot hide behind my skirts if someone catches you."

"Can I sneak under your skirts and show them how to take care of you before they get to have you themselves?"

"Jongho!"

After the successful mating with Jongho, things seemed to get somewhat easier. With the possibility of you being a mate to the prince, the hushed conversations about you stopped, at least in public. Jongho must have spoken to the others on your behalf because Seonghwa was begrudgingly a little less cold to you. Yeosang began to take walks with you through the training yards to the stables. You thought perhaps he would be the next to succumb to the mating pull but it was someone else you did not expect.

You were frustrated with your abilities. The bad position you were in now with Seonghwa on top of things only pushed you to try the tools of the old oracles.

San accompanied you while you went on an outing to retrieve morning glories, the flower that your elder had said your predecessor had used. San carried the wicker basket as you two meandered the trails. You were pretty sure Jongho strong-armed San, perhaps literally, into joining you.

"So Jongho sounds like he's hopelessly in love with you," San said in a voice that sounded both mocking and mean.

So you threw the same attitude back at him. "Sounds to me like you're a tad bit jealous."

That stopped San in his tracks and he lagged behind for a bit and then caught up with you. "I'm not jealous. I'm just saying, you've fooled him well," San insisted.

"If you think I've fooled Jongho, then I'm not sure you know your own mate, San," You scoffed.

San was silent for a time, seemingly chewing on your words. You found a group of morning glories and began to cut them from the vines they were growing on. Then he deigned to speak. "I'm only here as a witness, so when you speak of how you didn't get the right flower and that's why you didn't have your vision, I can confirm to the rest of my mates that you are indeed a fake."

You swept up your basket without another word and made the long trek back to the castle. San accompanied you every bit of the way, albeit more silent and focused on your reaction. It wasn't until you arrived back in front of your rooms that he spewed his final toxic words.

"I hope for Jongho’s sake that your talents are true. Or do you need for me to fuck you too to prove it?" San threw a verbal dagger your way.

So you drew a real one. You let the flat of the blade play along the side of his neck. "You may have found me complacent and quiet when I had no standing in this clan but I am second only to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You may be their mate but I am the left hand of the prince. You would do well to remember that." You pushed San towards the opposing wall and rushed into your rooms.

You carefully prepared the embers in the bronze bowl and consumed the morning glories by quickly folding them on top of your tongue. The green bitterness danced across your taste buds so you quickly looked down into the embers.

The body behind you was surely larger than your own. You could feel how both of his hands encompassed your waist. His thrusts inside of you brought a choked cry to your mouth. "Yu--"

One of those hands left your waist and wound itself in your hair. The hand tugged and guided you to arch your back. "Don't say my name, whore."

"But--" You still cannot manage to get a word out because how wonderful it felt to have a dick continue to hit the end of you.

"FUCK!" He roared and yanked your hair so hard that the back of your head was resting against his shoulder and chest. "Can't you just let me enjoy this? He hissed into your ear.

You attempted to press your lips together but still moans fell from them. You simply could not contain yourself. "Please," You whimpered and then groaned loudly.

"I frankly don't give a damn if you come," he snapped from behind you. "But I cannot be known as the only one who cannot pleasure you."

Long fingers were unceremoniously shoved into your mouth and still your tongue lathed at them. You moaned around them, knowing full well they'd be leaving your mouth soon. His fingers, wet with your saliva, found your clit and began to rub it harshly, well wedded with the snap of his hips against your ass.

You felt your climax build within you, the double sensations driving you mad with desire. "Yunho, Yunho please," You begged for the final time.

Yunho used his other hand and gently squeezed your throat. "Let's see if I can't make you have a vision, hmmm?"

You moved over to the book and stand you were gifted to document your visions. You read over your words and quickly begin to rip out the pages. But what else were you to believe? You could feel the pain and love you had been feeling in that moment. You knew, without a doubt, that Yunho was one of your mates. And that was not good.

San may be distrustful but at least he'd look at you and speak to you. Yunho… you had barely exchanged a word with. Hongjoong had no choice but to take on your council but you had yet to speak to him one on one. But Yunho would not spare you a glance. You thought he was simply ignoring you completely until you came across him and Seonghwa speaking to each other before your morning meeting with the prince the next day.

"They simply adapted," Yunho insisted to Seonghwa. "They've learned better tricks and deceived us like they always have."

"I don't know, Yunho," Seonghwa said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "The air felt like it was full of energy. Even though she didn't have a vision, I had Yeosang take another fly around the area of the settlement and they found hunters. Whatever she's doing… it's saving lives. I don't think she's the sniveling worm you call her to be!"

"I know what she did with Jongho," Yunho said with a disparaging tone, "He was bespelled by her cunt. I doubt it's that good."

"Perhaps we can speak of this in a place that doesn't have ears on the walls?" Seonghwa suggested, tight-lipped and hesitant.

Yunho nodded curtly and then put his hand against the wall, trapping Seonghwa between his body and the wall. "Don't let the thoughts of what we shared last night drive you too insane during your meeting," Yunho smirked and tilted his head.

Seonghwa smiled back, accepting a chaste kiss against the lips as an apology. "Nor you while doing your patrols."

They parted and you realized you better start moving or Yunho was about to witness you eavesdropping on him and Seonghwa. When Yunho passed you around the corner, his face was a mask of disacknowledgement; you might as well have been a ghost to him.

"Ah, Oracle, good morning," Seonghwa greeted you, a nervous shake to his eyes apparent.

You walked past him and entered the room in which Hongjoong heard your opinions and news about his kingdom. Seonghwa coughed at the awkwardness of you ignoring his greeting. “I was wondering if you might look over this list of names of hatchlings, perhaps?”

“And why would a sniveling worm do that?” You bite with your words.

Seonghwa’s shoulders fell forward in defeat. “So you did overhear us. You have to excuse Yunho, he’s simply--”

“--an ass,” you finished Seonghwa’s sentence, “He’s being an ass, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa recovered his haughty expression. “That’s my mate that you’re calling an ass.”

You made eye contact with Seonghwa, who was full of all his dragon pride right now. “Yes, mine too.”

Seonghwa blinked profusely for a moment until your words sunk in. “Did the flowers work? Did you have a vision?”

“Would you even believe me if I said yes?” You couldn't help but let a bitter tone coat your tongue.

“That’s three of us now,” Seonghwa sounded contemplative. “Please, Oracle, look over this list. If you could tell us if we need to help any of these hatchlings before one of them gets sick…”

The hatchlings had done nothing wrong, they were innocent in simply being born of this world. They might grow up to become full adults and dragons, and look down upon you, but for now, they were innocent. You couldn't condemn them for their future, certainly. “I’ll look, Seonghwa. But not because you asked.”

A small smile twitched across Seonghwa’s face but then it was smoothed out and he was all business and pomp. “Here,” He offered the piece of scroll to you.

You took the paper and nothing set you off immediately. Your fingertip followed the line of names, the theme of flora being apparent with this brood. It wasn’t until your finger landed on the final name. Eunjoo. You felt a jolt of electricity run up your arm upon touching her name.

“Seonghwa,” You called over to him softly.

Seonghwa came to your side, accidentally bumping your hip in the process and pushed you into a full vision. Your eyes went cloudy and then you collapsed against Seonghwa unexpectedly.

Seonghwa’s hand was over your mouth. His eyes were wide with fear of being caught. But that didn’t stop his dick from moving in and out of you. Your leg curled around his waist, urging him forward, meanwhile…“Where did those two go?” Hongjoong cursed out loud in the meeting room.

The two of you were in a random room adjacent from the meeting room, unable to keep your hands off each other now that the bond thrummed between you two. Seonghwa’s hips worked desperately between your legs, the horror of Hongjoong catching you two turning him on. You made worried noises against his palm but he shook his head at you, strands of hair falling into his face.

It was like you two were teenagers, hormone-driven and unable to stop yourselves. Your hands dug into the nape of his neck, needing something to tug as your climax threatened to spill over.

“I will rake them over hot coals when I find them,” Hongjoong promised and then his heeled boots announced that he was gone.

“Seonghwa!” You whispered in urgency when he removed his hand from your mouth.

Seonghwa began to babble back. “Come, just come, love, please, I don’t think I can hold off any--”

You let out a sweet cry and clenched down on Seonghwa and then he was gone too, coming deep inside of you. The both of you were panting, exchanging air and kissing as you both came down from your highs.

“We can’t do that again,” You said with a sneaky smile.

“We’re definitely doing that again,” Seonghwa confirmed, a conspiratory smirk on his face as well.

Hongjoong was peering down at you when you woke up. Seonghwa had laid you on the floor while you passed out from the vision.

“Does she always faint?” Hongjoong cocked his head at you, a cold curiosity more than anything, like you were a bug he didn’t understand.

“I believe it was because she induced a vision last night. This one came from touching me. Hongjoong,” Seonghwa looked unsure, “I saw her eyes cloud over. It’s just like the scrolls--”

“Get her up,” Hongjoong snapped his fingers, interrupting Seonghwa’s thoughts. “We have work to do.”

Seonghwa knelt beside you but you held up your hands. “Please, one vision of you was enough.”

“I--” He looked pained at not being able to help you up.

You sighed heavily. “You know, don’t you.”

Seonghwa wouldn’t meet your gaze now. “I can…feel the bond…amongst other things…”

You groaned. “Great. Just do me a favor. Don’t tell Hongjoong. I don’t need to give him another reason to be against me.”

The meeting was…interesting. Seonghwa kept sending you sneaky little looks and Hongjoong was picking up that something was going on but he clearly didn’t know what, nor would his pride allow him to ask.

Your feelings about Eunjoo had been correct. She had been somewhat of a runt of the group, and had hidden in the hatchling room under a mountain of blankets. She had consumed something she should not have and Mingi was beyond worried for the small dragon. You came to visit the little one, curious as to if your ‘feelings’ had been any help.

Mingi cradled the toddler dragon in his arms, feeding her a solution of herbs to aid her in her recovery. Your heart clenched at the paleness of the small child’s face but Mingi beamed up at you when you came to visit.

“Thank you,” He said softly, “Because you caught onto her malady early, the healers say she will make a full recovery.”

Tears built up at the corner of your eyes. “I’m glad,” You said with a strained tone.

“I will whisper to her of the oracle that helped save her life,” Mingi promised, “She will know who to thank when she’s older.”

Then the tears began to pour. To have a new generation of dragons not look down upon you or your family meant more to you than you than perhaps Mingi understood. Or perhaps he understood perfectly well because his eyes were kind as he said it.

“Mingi…”

“Do you want to hold her? Skin against skin is the best for her right now, so she knows that someone is here supporting her while she is fighting the sickness.” Mingi’s eyes were solidly on yours, hanging off your next decision.

You nodded wordlessly and Mingi deposited the infant in your arms. You cradled her and she frowned in her sleep. Mingi continued to dip his finger in the solution and let the baby suck it from his finger. The domestic scene was doing something to you, waking up a side of you that you had put to bed a long time ago. You had convinced yourself that you weren’t going to bring another child into this world that had to endure the cruelty of being dirt amongst the clan, but perhaps, if the tide was changing…

“You’re good with her,” Mingi interrupted your thoughts, smiling at you again, his eyes disappearing into crescent moons. “It bodes well for--”

“What are you doing?”

Yunho’s quiet but angry voice cut through the air, making both you and Mingi jump. “Yunho, she saved Eunjoo!” Mingi protested.

“She probably poisoned her in order for it to seem like she saved her,” Yunho accused you.

You wordlessly gave Eunjoo back to Mingi and stood up. “I may be a lot of things, Yunho, but to accuse me of harming the hatchlings is going too far.” Your heart was both hurting and beating erratically.

Yunho used every inch of his height difference against you. “I am going to expose you for the fraud you truly are,” Yunho vowed, dark eyes looking down his nose at you.

You couldn't help but grin maniacally back up at him. “And when you’re wrong? What will you do then?”

Yunho’s eyes burned with a pure hatred for you. Clearly coming across you with Mingi and the hatchlings had triggered something inside of him. “That day will never come,” Yunho spat.

“Oh, what’s this, are you an oracle too?” You smirked.

Yunho narrowed his eyes, spun on his heel and was out just as quickly as he was in.

You had been regularly sleeping with Jongho, relieving the tension you both felt through your bond. The two of you were worried about the others. Mingi, Yeosang and Seonghwa were won over but San, Hongjoong and Yunho were still staunch in their separation that they would not be included. From what Jongho told you, it was affecting their bonds with each other as well. So when San showed up at your door, almost a deja vu of when he helped you get flowers, you were both surprised and not. It had Jongho written all over it again.

San was leaning against the door frame when you opened your door, looking up at you, head lowered and an inquiring eyebrow lifted up. "Good morning, Oracle."

"And to what do I owe this favor, oh esteemed mate of my mate?" You said dryly.

"Jongho still doesn't shut up about you saving him in human form. He also said that you only go to the training grounds when the other warriors aren't practicing. He thought that perhaps if you went along with me that the clan might accept you training among them," San said, cheek perched to the side in unsureness.

Your throat was tight with emotion. Jongho was going above and beyond as a mate, or so you felt, and it was really making your heart burst with love for the dragon. "Jongho is very kind," You opted with.

"Well, I have better things to do, but apparently, if I don't do this, I'm not getting any from him so here we are," San threw his hands up in the air and began to walk down the hall.

The other dragon warriors were wary when you entered the training grounds with San. They eyed him cautiously but spat on the ground as you passed. The muttering and grumbling that trash was now on the grounds were low but still audible. Some warriors put their weapons away and actually left. You tried really hard to not let it hurt your newly healed heart. San, with his ever watchful eye always looking for your reactions, remained silent, as was his way.

It became easier as the days passed. Soon, the other warriors either avoided coming to the grounds when you were there or grew used to your presence. San was the only one who truly became more and more sour as time passed. He attacked with a fervor that most would leave for an actual enemy and you were really starting to think that he might think you are one.

Still, you benefitted from practicing with San. Your father was well into his silver years, so he couldn't practice with you and so you had been limited to the dummies on the grounds. Being able to pit muscle against muscle, technique with experience really stretched your abilities to the max. And even though San's attitude was worse with each day, your spirits rose. Perhaps if San would acknowledge your skills, the other warriors might change their mind, maybe even Yunho--

San interrupted your thoughts by giving you quite a nasty cut on your arm as you were distracted. You saw his mouth move, probably giving some kind of mocking excuse for his bad manners. It was the training grounds, not a battlefield where there was no holding back. Your vision became red.

With a wild yell, you charged at San with your sword raised. San's eyes widened in surprise but still muscle memory kicked in and he blocked, but his muscles strained a bit to do so. You tried a large undercut sweep but San managed to jump backwards, curving his body to avoid the sword.

"Oracle," San chuckled nervously, "I'd almost swear you--" He yelped as he raised his broader blade to halt another swing of your sword.

When the overhanded strike was stopped with San's high block, sweat started to bead his hairline. You tried for more technique, faking a strike and instead thrusting forward. San had to avoid your blade, barely redirecting your blade with his. "Seriously, you're going to--" He grunted with effort to parry another thrust, the shing of the sword as the tip pinged echoing in both your ears.

That's when you decided you needed to disarm San. You prepared another swing in which both of your blades had to dance in a circle together, and then with a sharp twist of your wrist, San's blade was sliding across the straw-strewn stones.

San held his hands up in defeat. "I almost might be impressed with th--" He made a loud oof as you kicked him square in the chest.

You were on top of San as soon as he hit the ground, your body straddling his body as you brought your personal dagger to his throat. This time you didn't use the flat of the blade but the edge that you always kept razor-sharp. It pricked his skin and a small line of blood trailed down his glowing skin.

"Do you yield?" You growled.

"Does any dragon ever yield? Yielding is death!" San denied, sounding quite strained.

You brought the tip of the dagger under San's chin. "I've had enough of your shit attitude, San. Either you yield to me or I stop coming to these practices and Jongho starts withholding himself from you again."

San looked bewildered. "You would do that?" he said in a higher pitched voice.

You laughed mirthlessly. "That's the least I would do, warrior."

San hooked both of his legs around yours and threw his weight so that he could flip the situation. Now he was on top of you, your dagger knocked out of your hands. He may have the upper hand in the fight but he had revealed something that he should have kept hidden.

You smiled slowly in cockiness. "Did you get turned on by my prowess?"

"That's nothing," San denied immediately. You noticed a small pout that had never graced his lips before when he spoke to you. He was all sharp looks and this held such a curve to his mouth it almost looked kissable. "Adrenaline can make a man hard, that's all."

"Hard for a woman that you hate?" You said lowly, "That must hurt your warrior pride."

"I'm not--"

You took the moment to flip again, legs clamped on either of San's slim waist.

With an indignant shout, San flipped you again just as fast. "If you don't stop interrupting me, I am going to wrap my hands around that pretty neck of yours and test your ability to hold your breath."

You cocked your head in question. "No, I don't think that's how that would work."

"Don't think--" San began to get flustered and stumble over his words, "What's that supposed to mean?!"

You pushed San's shoulder gently and he allowed you to lead him to his back. "There's no one here, San, didn’t you notice?"

San didn't look around but instead kept his eyes solidly on you. "I noticed."

"You know, instead of me keeping Jongho away from you, you could have him, but I could have you too."

San scoffed, but his eyes kept leaving and meeting yours. "Ludacris. Why would I do that?"

You sat fully back on San's pelvis, allowing your plush ass to really sit down on San's still rock hard cock. San whimpered, biting down hard on his lip but let the flesh go slowly. When you took a moment to grind, winding your hips. San's hands find your hips, swallowing down his low moans at the stimulation.

"Perhaps that's why, San," You provoked him.

"Why are you so hot when you're this angry? I know you don't have a dragon form but your rage is red-hot like one," San said in pure confusion.

"I could take you on the training grounds right now and you wouldn't say no, would you?" You hummed, finger following a path along his breastplate.

San's adam's apple was moving up and down as he clearly attempted to find moisture in his mouth. "You…you would do that?"

"Only if…” You considered for a moment, if it was worth having a vision while San, who hated you, was watching over you. It had convinced all the others. And if you were being honest with yourself, it didn’t feel right to sleep with San without confirming first that he was indeed your mate.

“Only if…?” San prompted you for you to continue your sentence.

“Do you know what happens if I touch you?” You asked softly.

“You fuck me?” San answered, head empty except for thoughts of sex, clearly.

You snorted. “There’s no going back with my visions, San.”

San’s face grew hard and sharp, similar to the San that was desperate for you to be a fake oracle. “I don’t believe in your stupid visions.”

You let out a sigh. “Here goes nothing then.”

You cupped his face and then your eyes went cloudy and you collapsed against San’s chest.

"Are you sure you really want to be there?" You said in a condescending tone.

San whined between your legs, tongue out flat, and head worrying back and forth in response.

"You sure, little flame? I'm not feeling the enthusiasm from you." You squeezed his head with your thighs.

With a growl, San gripped both of your thighs tightly, went on his knees, and drove your back into the headrest of your bed. His arms strained as he held you aloft, tongue deep into your cunt. You could feel your walls parting for his eager tongue.

"Gonna make me come? Gonna show me how a good little flame makes his Mistress come?" You crooned.

San tongue-fucked you to completion, making your toes curl and screamed his name. When he was done, your back scraped against the headboard as he let you go but remained kneeling in front of you.

"I hate you so much," he cursed, using the back of his hand to wipe your wetness from his face.

You chuckled lowly. "Hate me so much you'd eat me up like I'm your last dinner, huh?"

San's eyes were dark but he rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration. He grabbed your face with both hands and made out with you. "I love you so fucking much, I can hate you a little bit," San whined.

You felt the love through your bond, so you knew San was being playful. "Well then, I hate you so much, I'm going to give you the suck of your life."

San's eyes became hooded. "I hate your mouth on me."

"I hate you too, little flame."

"Oracle?"

When you came to, San's hand was on your head, supporting it against his chest. "Did you…" he almost choked on his words.

"I'm--" You swallowed down a moan, your sex feeling swollen from your vision. "San."

"Fuck me?" San said in a whiney voice.

You lifted your head. "Are you admitting that you believe in my visions?"

San grinned, part bashful, part cocky. "Will that get my cock inside of you?"

You rolled your eyes and sat back up. "I'm gonna fuck the brat out of you."

"I get that a lot."

One night, when you dared to have a secret rendezvous with Seonghwa after a meeting gone late and Hongjoong dismissed you both, you woke up with a feeling of dread in your stomach. You left Seonghwa lying like a starfish on the table and moved to the nearest balcony. You thought perhaps you needed fresh air. Even still, you could not shake the heavy feeling that something was wrong. And then the vision hit you.

“Ah!” A man with red hair who you had never seen before yelled as a whip with a cruel metal cap tore a strip from his back.

“Just give it up already! We know you’re a dragon. Transform!”

“I don’t…know what…you’re talking about!” Insisted the redhead through clenched teeth.

Another man, one without the whip, slapped the redhead being tortured. “We’ve been watching you for days! Where is your clan?”

The dragon being tortured spat on the floor. “On their way to turn you into bones they’ll have to pick out their teeth.”

The whip hit once, twice, three times and the dragon’s back tightened in pain. “I like it! Hit me more!”

The man with the whip hesitated. “Is he crazy?”

The other man slapped the accused dragon several times more, until blood fell from the dragon’s mouth. “No, he’s just trying to throw us off. Leave him here to mull in his thoughts.”

The two torturer's left the basement and you saw a sign that said “the red belly of the beast”.

You came back too, hanging a little too precariously from the balcony. Lucky for you, because you threw up any food you had in your stomach. Fighting you could endure, but that level of torture was inhumane! It had to be hunters again but you didn’t recognize the dragon who was being tortured. Then why would you be shown this image? Unless…

“Father, this is Wooyoung.” You tugged forward Wooyoung to finally meet your father. He was actually the first dragon you were introducing to your family. You were growing to love and adore Jongho and Yeosang and Seonghwa, but Wooyoung was different. He didn’t have any relation to the clan so you knew it would be less scarring to introduce him to your father first.

“Wooyoung, huh?” Your father peered up at Wooyoung, rocking in his chair by the fire.

Wooyoung looked a bit embarrassed but smiled nonetheless. “Your daughter, she saved me.”

Your father grinned fiercely, pride clearly written across his face. “I taught her all I knew. She fights for her mother’s honor.”

“Father, I fight for our family,” You insisted, feeling emotional.

“You fight for your life,” Your father said gruffly, breaking eye contact with you and bringing a finger to his eyes to wipe away the happy tears.

Wooyoung, in his typical fashion, began to animatedly retell the story of when you saved him. Your father hung on every word, laughing and gasping in all the right places. And when Wooyoung finished his story, your father grabbed Wooyoung’s hand and then yours and brought them together.

“Your mother… she would have loved him like a son, Spitfire.”

You began to cry and hug your father while Wooyoung started to joke about the nickname Spitfire, doing his best to make you feel better. Wooyoung was your comfort when you needed it the most. He loved you unconditionally and he was yours, solely.

“Oh my god,” You attempted to collect yourself. You didn’t have time to cry or worry. Wooyoung was your mate and you needed to go save him.

You ran to your rooms for Rosa’s Bane, then to the stables, whispered an apology to the sleepy horses and you were racing out of the compound. When you had saved Jongho, you had only gotten there in the nick of time. You weren’t sure how much time you had with Wooyoung but you had a bad feeling that it was too late to stop those scars on his back.

The moon was high and left your path clear. You had no idea where this tavern was but you had spent enough time with your mates to know how to follow your bond. You and Yeosang often played a game together, where you took turns fleeing and hiding and finding each other through the bond--involved some quiet masturbation and passionate sex upon finding each other--however, it had taught you how to find your mates no matter what.

It was difficult on the back of a horse, however, and more so with someone you had not truly bonded with. It was becoming hard to separate your pull from Jongho, Yeosang, Seonghwa and San from Wooyoung. You doubled back several times and grew frustrated at your progress. The only thing that drove you was that the longer you took to find Wooyoung, the more scars he would have on his back.

Just when you thought that perhaps this was impossible and maybe you should have grabbed one of your dragon mates, your bond pulled hard and it made you gasp with how much fear and pain was coursing through you. You knew without a doubt where Wooyoung was so you raced in the direction that was filled with hopelessness.

The swing of the sign of the tavern almost mocked you as you approached it. The noises spilling from the door were merry and bright and it only made your rage burn brighter that these hunters were taking delight in their evening when your mate was suffering below in the basement.

You carefully pulled back the cellar door and crept down the stairs, silent but angry. Upon a quick glance, they had left Wooyoung to further stew in his wounds. A fire cast light on Wooyoung’s back and it took all of your self control not to gasp in pure horror. His back was practically shredded. His head was cast downwards and when you tipped his head back to look Wooyoung in the eyes, his face was beaten to almost beyond recognition.

"Wha did you com'er fur?" Wooyoung slurred his words because of his fat lip and more than likely the blood lose, "Come t'see how ter properly beat a dragon?" And through all his pain, Wooyoung smiled with such fierceness that you knew without a doubt: his body may be broken but his spirit was not.

"I've come to save you, brave boy," You cooed.

Wooyoung perked up immediately upon hearing your words. "Save me?"

The dumb hunters, comfortable in their surroundings, left the keys to Wooyoung’s manacles on a table where their torture tools were. You resisted the urge to destroy those tools; your sole mission was to save Wooyoung. Wooyoung collapsed upon you when you released him, and even then, each step for him was beyond painful.

And still Wooyoung asked, "What's a beautiful girl doing in a dump like this?"

You laughed in pain, out of breath to even get him to the stairs. "I see the future. You're my mate. I came to save you."

"That sounds pretty plausible. I knew my face was too pretty to be wasted on death." Wooyoung groaned when he lifted his foot for the first stair.

"Save your breath and help me get your pretty face up the damn stairs," You grunted.

The cuts on his back made it near impossible for him to walk. It took everything in you to get up those stairs with Wooyoung. And still the hunters continued to make merry in the tavern. You swore on your sword that you would come back with Jongho and he would burn the place to the ground with his dragonflame.

Wooyoung was in no state to go back to the clan with you. You pushed him up on your horse, his belly along the back of the gelding and you walked away from that tavern, putting one step in front of the other.

With all the time you spent with Seonghwa and Hongjoong in the meeting room, you had learned quite a few clan secret locations that any dragon could retreat to if the situation arose. There was a cottage built in a mountain. The legends told of how the mountain used to be filled with moving rock, hotter than even dragonflame. The mountain had long lain dormant and the cottage was a refuge for any dragons who required it.

The only healing you knew of was the bare minimum a warrior learns to stay alive until a healer can be summoned. Lucky for you, Wooyoung was a bit of a healer himself. So under his instructions, you fashion a poultice to sit on his wounds. Wooyoung faded in and out of consciousness and you could not afford to abandon him.

Luckily, you didn't have to leave, your clan found you.

A broad shouldered dragon entered the cottage where you had been humming to Wooyoung, who was in a blessed healing sleep. "San!" You shouted in elation and threw yourself at him.

You started to cry, pulling him as close to you as you could. "Please help me. I can't bring Wooyoung back myself, he'll tear open his wounds. Please help him!"

San pulled back, looking beyond confused. "Who is he?"

During the few painful hours when Wooyoung was conscious, in order for him to focus away from the pain, he told you who he was. Wooyoung, a clanless dragon, brought up amongst witches. It was how he had his knowledge of healing but also of who he was. Wooyoung may be clanless but he was not lesser.

"You saved someone you didn't even know?" San looked stunned, "You saved another dragon?"

That stunned look never left San's face. He transformed and transported Wooyoung back to the clan. You followed below on the trusty gelding and before you knew it, you were back home with your new mate. But there was much more to answer for.

"Where did you find her?" Hongjoong demanded soullessly. His cheek was smooshed against his palm as if he had better things to do than to listen to why you left.

"No doubt tricking another poor dragon into giving up his cock to her," Yunho said with all offense, lips pursed and refusing to look at you.

"Yunho!" Yeosang scolded his mate.

"Well?" Hongjoong demanded a second time, this time unfolding his legs and stamping his foot impatiently.

"She saved a clanless dragon," San declared. His chin was raised, almost challenging anyone to argue his facts. His fists were clenched at his side.

Jongho came up beside you and his palm slid against yours to hold your hand. "Don't you ever do that again."

"I'm sorry, Jongho," You said, looking at his side profile.

"I think you owe an apology to more than just Jongho," Hongjoong interrupted.

You cleared your throat. "I'm sorry, Your High--"

Hongjoong cut you off. "Not to me, you witless fool, to your other mates!"

Yeosang had his arms crossed over his chest, clearly fighting with trying to not look upset or worried. You met eyes with Seonghwa, who let you see exactly how betrayed he felt. San still stood to your other side, arms quivering with how hard he was shaking.

"I am sorry for leaving without telling anyone. All I could think about was saving Wooyoung. I won't ever do it again," You said with a rough voice laced with emotion.

"That's right, you won't ever do it again," Hongjoong declared, "Because you will spend every night with one of us, at least."

Mingi's mouth dropped. "But, we don't know--"

"What?" Yunho's quiet rage cut through everything. "Don't tell me you're starting to believe her lies?"

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed down at Yunho. "Do you not believe she is mated with Jongho? I witnessed him barely restrained by Mingi and Yeosang when you stated that she fled because she couldn't keep up with the lies anymore. He would have punched you for such an insult, Yunho. I myself held Seonghwa as he wept, worried that perhaps his inability to tell me of her was what finally drove her from our clan. San abandoned his duty to find her. We are all mates, Yunho. Do not tell me you didn't feel what I felt through their bonds."

Yunho's lips tightened further in anger. "I will not be a part of this."

Hongjoong laughed, a dangerous noise that made everyone in the throne room shudder. "No?"

"Yunho," Yeosang went to the only naysayer in the room. "Stop."

"When you say at least," You said nervously.

Hongjoong's dark eyes swung back to you. "Why, you have to take care of Wooyoung, do you not? He is your mate after all, didn't you say?"

The next few weeks were a bit of an adjustment. You had spent most of your life living amongst your hatchling sisters, never having a moment to yourself, but they were your family. You had grown spoiled to your singular rooms, your sanctuary away from anyone. Now, not a moment where you were left alone. It wasn't necessarily that you weren't trusted, but to make sure that if you did have another premonition and you did have to rush into action, there would always be a dragon mate with you.

The only one truly upset with this situation was Yunho.

The first night he found himself in your rooms, he dragged a chair into your room, put the back against the door, and stayed there the entire night. The second instance he watched with emotionless eyes as you tended to Wooyoung, who was healing progressively well.

"Some day I'm getting off my stomach and getting you on your back," Wooyoung said as you straddled his butt and applied more poultice to his back.

"Wooyoung," You scolded him, laughing at both his audacity and the nervousness of setting off Yunho.

"You've mated with everyone else you've had a premonition with, it's not fair," Wooyoung groaned.

You cleared your throat, well aware that was entirely untrue.

"No, she hasn't," Yunho's voice rumbled from his spot near the fire.

"I'll excuse your ignorance but she hasn't had a premonition with Mingi, even though it's clear he adores her regardless," Wooyoung replied flatly.

"I'm not talking about Mingi," Yunho corrected the clanless dragon.

Wooyoung turned his head to the side, the back of his hand lying against his cheek. "Sweetheart?"

"How do you know?" You demanded towards Yunho in a gruff voice.

Yunho laughed mirthlessly, tossing his head back like you had just told the funniest joke he had ever heard. "You don't think I feel the bond? Or is it you that cannot feel it because you aren't even a dragon?"

Wooyoung growled underneath you and you caressed the small of his back to calm him. "Wooyoung, don't."

"Even if you can't transform, that doesn't make you less of a dragon than him!" Wooyoung protested.

"I know, my brave boy, but it's not worth fighting Yunho on it. He can't be swayed."

"Maybe it is."

"Wooyoung, what are you saying?" You moved to get off your mate and off the bed.

"Hey Grumpy Scales, you ever think of fucking your anger out on the Oracle?" Wooyoung posed the question like he was asking Yunho if he ever considered eating blueberries for breakfast.

"I wouldn't touch her even if Seonghwa refused me his body. I am not San."

"No, you're certainly not. San has better shoulders and he isn't an idiot. Even he was convinced that being my sweetheart's mate isn't the worst fate. In fact, he's quite enjoying his nights now."

"Wooyoung," You attempted to hush your mate for a second time.

Yunho stood up, the fire giving him a red aura that was actually less intimidating than the actual face Yunho bore. "San is caught up in the trap. You all are."

" ‘Cept me, or weren't you listening? I believe in her and her powers. I love her. I haven't slipped my cock into her tight, wet heat yet, however. Nor has Mingi. So how do you continue to feed yourself on a lie that's unfounded, Grumpy Scales?"

"Tricked," Yunho shook his head but his face was already less tight than it was before Wooyoung spoke.

"Mmm, I do love a good trick," Wooyoung chuckled, "You know, if you sat on my hand in the right way, I might be able to--"

"You will not be doing anything in front of me," Yunho snarled.

"Wooyoung, I would like to not die tonight," You said in a hushed tone.

"Oh, but if you slept with the oracle, wouldn't you be showing everyone that you can fuck her without getting caught in her web? Won't that be interesting to find out that you're the strongest of them all, hmmm?" Wooyoung hummed. "All that wonderful wet pussy just for you, right Grumpy Scales? I bet she quivers for you."

"If you weren't injured, I'd be slapping you right now, Wooyoung, I beg of you, stop!"

"You will not be trapping me," Yunho announced. He was… suddenly very close to the bed.

You carefully turned around. You could not give Yunho your back. It went against your instincts. "Yunho, I trap no one."

"You've trapped Seonghwa," Yunho stared right into your soul with his dark eyes, "You don't think I've felt what Yeosang's felt when he's sliding his cock down your throat? You don't think Seonghwa's told me of being between your thighs, and sighing like he's talking about slipping into Mingi or being fucked by Hongjoong? You don't think I've heard you with Jongho, calling him your pet? How dare you lord over a dragon as if you were more than what you truly are? How dare San submit to you when he knew of your tricks."

Yunho was so close to you that you could feel the puffs of his breath hit the top of your head. "Is he right?"

"Wooyoung is wrong," You stated immediately.

"You're quivering for me right now." Yunho looked down his nose at you, his eyes hooded.

Your entire body was covered in goosebumps. You felt the pull in your bond, the lust spreading through your nerves. Your mate was calling for you to mate with him. Whether it was subconscious or not, Yunho now wanted to fuck you. Or was it Wooyoung? A quick glance showed that Wooyoung had fallen asleep with a smile on his lips.

"I do not want to mate with a dragon who thinks I am worthless," You hissed, holding back your need for Yunho by only a spider thread.

"Perhaps," Yunho licked his lips in what you could only describe as a predatory way, "There's something of you that isn't worthless."

The shame and lust that filled your veins was undeniable. You could slowly feel your resolve crumble beneath Yunho's stare. "That will bond us, Yunho. I know you don't want that."

Yunho chucked his fingers under your chin and you swallowed in response. "I am already bound to you through my mates. I cannot get rid of you, you've proven that with your little fleeing scene. So you will submit to me because you want it and it's the only thing I'll allow between us."

"Yu--"

Your words were cut off as Yunho moved his fingers to wrap around your throat. "I don't want to hear my name from your mouth one more time. You simply need to nod or shake your head. You are simply a hole for me, oracle."

This was it. This was your chance to decline, to scoff at him and tell him your worth, just like you had done with every single other dragon since you became oracle. The only one you should submit to was Hongjoong. But there was a look in Yunho's eyes that spoke of how much he wanted this. Wooyoung had been right. Yunho wanted to take his frustration out on you and he wanted to benefit from it. He wanted the high ground over you and you were about to concede to him.

You nodded and Yunho slowly smirked. "That's what I thought."

Yunho stripped you of your clothing until you were stark naked. His clothing remained on. He guided you to your lounge and made you go on your hands and knees there. His nimble fingers found your folds and he chuckled darkly at the discovery that you were drenched. "Surely that's not for me, whore?"

You pressed your lips together, trying to keep within the rules that Yunho laid out. You were certain that if you broke them, he would stop, or worse, leave. You urged your ass back onto Yunho's fingers as your only response.

"Ridiculous," his disbelief came as a rumble from behind you, "Wet for what? Because I put you in your place? Because you get a new cock inside of you? Or are you just an eager whore all the time?" You whined as his fingers brushed your clit. "Listen to the noises you make, you are an eager whore. I could have you coming over my fingers embarrassingly quickly, I imagine. How anyone else finds you alluring enough to fuck you will be beyond me. Are you wet enough to take me?"

You nodded and Yunho was busy undoing his pants. He rubbed his cockhead against your folds. You hissed as he sank into you. It was a stretch for you, you had to admit, but it was a damn good stretch. Yunho's fingers sank into the flesh of your ass until he bottomed out.

"Just a fucking hole," He growled and then started to nudge himself inside of you.

The loudest moan imaginable escaped your lips as he moved inside of you. The feeling of being stuffed, the feeling of that large cock moving against your walls, was truly like nothing you had felt. You weren't sure if you should be worried on how clouded your mind was, narrowed down to simply getting fucked by the man that utterly hated you.

Yunho's large body practically loomed behind you. You could feel how both of his hands encompassed your waist. His thrusts inside of you brought a choked cry to your mouth. "Yu--"

One of those hands left your waist and wound itself in your hair. The hand tugged and guided you to arch your back. "Don't say my name, whore."

"But--" You still cannot manage to get a word out because how wonderful it felt to have a dick continue to hit the end of you.

"FUCK!" He roared and yanked your hair so hard that the back of your head was resting against his shoulder and chest. "Can't you just let me enjoy this?" He hissed into your ear.

You attempted to press your lips together but still moans fell from them. You simply could not contain yourself. "Please," You whimpered and then groaned loudly.

"I frankly don't give a damn if you come," he snapped from behind you. "But I cannot be known as the only one who cannot pleasure you."

You felt your climax build within you, the double sensations driving you mad with desire. "Yunho, Yunho please," You begged for the final time.

Yunho used his other hand and gently squeezed your throat. "Let's see if I can't make you have a vision, hmmm?"

Your vision dimmed, fuzzy black waves clinging to the edges as Yunho denied you any air. You could feel your climax building and you knew you were about to come undone for Yunho and he had not even shown any signs of being ready to come. Was he going to use you more than once, was he--

"Yunho, I've brought you some food--"

Mingi's eyes grew wide and dropped the tray he had brought. The hatchling caretaker ran into the room and pulled Yunho back, before either of you could finish. Your air came rushing back and you gasped it in.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mingi accused Yunho. Mingi’s large hand came to your back to rub you through your shaking breaths.

A true vision overtook you, eyes growing cloudy and you slumped forward on the lounge.

Mingi's hands rubbed your overextended stomach. A smile of pure happiness was there before he bent over to kiss your stomach. "It's a male. I just know it."

You laughed quietly. "Mingi, even I don't know if it's a male or female, and I'm the oracle."

"The elders say when a female is craving spicy foods that it is a male," Mingi insisted sincerely.

"Well, they also say when you crave sweets, it's a girl and I…what exactly do you think you're doing?" You demanded.

Mingi had begun to kiss down your belly, moving beyond your line of sight. "Are other parts of you swollen?" His deep low voice rumbled through your skin.

"Ming-mingi!" You stuttered, "I'm--"

"You're big with the hatchling. You can barely get off this bed without help. I can simply take advantage of that, can't I?" Mingi had arrived at his destination, tongue swirling along his lips before he kissed your lower lips.

"Oh fuck, Mingi, that's---hnnnn, that's lovely," You couldn't help but moan.

"You deserve to be rewarded for carrying our hatchling so well, don't you think?"

Your back arched as Mingi's lips sucked down on your clit. "Want--want you Mingi," You admitted softly.

Mingi's head popped back up above your head, a satisfied smile tugging his lips. "The elders say fucking a pregnant female helps with the hatchling arriving later."

You groaned and laughed at the same time. "Was that your intention with your visit today?"

"My intention was to ensure that you are well," Mingi replied, suddenly more solemn. "I want what's best for the mother of our children."

"Oracle?" Mingi sucked in his bottom lip in worry, cradling you in his arms as you presumably collapsed on your lounge.

"I'm here, Mingi," You assured him.

Your eyes sought Yunho's immediately but his back was to you two, near the door. "You take over, Mingi, I'm leaving."

Mingi's serious eyes followed Yunho until he left without a word. Then Mingi's disposition changed. "Did you have a vision of us? I am your mate? What did you see? Is that rude to ask? Should I not know my own fate?"

Your heart clenched with each step that Yunho took away from your rooms but you couldn't help but laugh at Mingi's questions. "A hatchling, Mingi. You kept saying that I was the mother of 'our' children."

Mingi's mouth dropped. "A hatchling? But you cannot carry the eggs, you cannot become a dragon, how--?" Mingi wiped a hand over his face in disbelief, "Truly? A hatchling?"

"I don't know when that occurred, Mingi, that could be years from now--MINGI!"

Mingi lifted you high above him in celebration. You should have realized that the dragon that took care of the hatchlings would be beyond excited to hear that you would be the mother of his children--your mates children? Who…?

"First thing in the morning, I will demand an audience with the elders. They've been bugging Hongjoong about an heir for years, they'll be happy to hear that you will carry our children!"

Mingi put you on your feet but your head was still in the clouds. Hongjoong mating with you? How could you manage such a thing? "Mingi, wait!"

Mingi's large hands encompassed your head in a gentle squeeze. "I will help you. With your vision and my magic tongue, we'll make it happen."

You frowned, not understanding. "Your tongue?" Then it hit you. He wasn't talking about convincing the elders, he was talking about-- "Mingi!"

Mingi's tongue caught between his teeth, looking quite pleased with himself. "Do you doubt me?"

You thought back to your vision and found that you couldn't disagree.

Whether it was your vision, or Mingi's magic tongue, it was declared that a formal event would be held before the court. Hongjoong was going to acknowledge that you were his mate, and mated with the others, before the entire clan. The preparations were made and it was decided that you would perform a Seeing with all that was present. There was no doubt in your mind that Hongjoong was your final mate, so it wasn't the ceremony you were worried about…

"Hey," Jongho met your eyes as you stood across from him before the large doors that would open soon and what seemed like the third beginning of your life was about to start. "I love you," he told you.

You leaned upwards to peck at his pink lips. "I wouldn't have any of this without you, you know that, right?"

Jongho's gummy smile, one of your favorite things about him, stretched across his face. "I can't take credit for your visions. I like how that sounds, though."

"Jongho, please," You whined.

Jongho wrapped his arms around you and squeezed until you squealed. He then peppered your face with kisses, scolding you between breaths. "You didn't say you loved me back!"

"I love you, Jongho," You said quietly.

A horn was sounded and that signified the commencement of the event.

Jongho escorted you down the hard stone floor and helped you up the stairs but left you to join the rest of your mates. Hongjoong stood from his throne, beautiful and glorious in his power. He threw his arms open wide and began his speech.

"Today we celebrate our beloved oracle. Our clan has been gifted with one who can soar the skies of the future, having given up her second form in order to keep our clan safe. She has proven her abilities beyond reproach; she has saved my mates and her own from death. She has saved outlying clans, hatchlings, and she has even kept my body from danger. She has seen visions of each of her mates and our bonds have only grown stronger with her connection to us."

Hongjoong turned towards you and you locked eyes with him. "Today, we give the final proof for all to acknowledge. Today, our oracle will have a vision of my future, of my heir."

"Hongjoong," You whispered his name, finding your mouth void of any moisture.

A rare, special, and most importantly, genuine smile pulled at the corners of Hongjoong's mouth. "We've a bet, between us, Oracle. I hope you have a gentle vision of me because I wasn't planning on making the heir on this eve."

Were your mates betting on whether you had a vision full of sex with Hongjoong? It took everything in you to not send a glare over your shoulder. Men!

Hongjoong gentle grasped your hand and flipped it over to impart a kiss to your palm. Your eyes went cloudy and you fell into a vision. Hongjoong captured you in his arms, eyes on your face for when you woke up.

"Youngho, you are a prince, not a demon!" You shouted at the small boy who was cackling ahead of you.

"Come catch me, Mama!"

Your breath caught in your throat for the love of your son. His blue hair declared him his father's son, if his sassiness didn't prove it to you every day. You tried to love Youngho as fiercely and as strongly as your father had once gifted you with. You were certain that Youngho would not grow up to be the heart-scarred man that Hongjoong was. Your son would be happy upon his throne with his mates, you were determined to ensure he did not have a fate such as yours.

"Let him be devious," Hongjoong declared beside you, "He has a mind for being tricky and he loves scaring you."

You pursed your lips together. "I carried him for nine months within me, Hongjoong. I will decide on whether he is allowed to get away with everything or not."

Hongjoong smiled, the same one your son sent you after he had burst from a bush and scared your wits from you. "Well, I put him in you. Isn't that enough reason to have a say on his upbringing?" You scoffed and Hongjoong's smile only grew bigger. A low chuckle came deep from his throat. "Perhaps you need a second hatchling to prove to you that it was me?"

"Prince Youngho, if you don't get off that balcony right now, I will tell Dadda that you are not allowed to visit the hatchlings for a week!" You said in a firm voice, still looking towards Hongjoong. "You have your heir, Your Majesty. Besides, didn't we agree that it was Seonghwa's turn to father a child?"

Hongjoong's grin was at full brightness, mischievousness achieved. And then his face blanked to the cold, haughty leader face you had once only known from him. "We'll have nine months before they know it."

This time you laughed, something that lured Youngho back to your side. "Mama, what are you laughing at?"

"Youngho, did you know," You told him, pushing your hands through his hair lovingly, "Your father tells the funniest jokes? He thinks he can hide things from your other fathers."

Youngho frowned heavily, peering up at his father. "Father, Papa says he can smell when you lie. Don't be silly."

Hongjoong threw his head back and laughed, a belly laugh that seemed to be reserved for only his son. "Seonghwa does say that, doesn't he? I'm sorry for being silly, Spitfire."

Your emotions caught in your throat and you excused yourself, allowing Hongjoong a moment with his son.

"Oracle." Yunho approached you as you moved back to your rooms.

"Prince," You nodded curtly, your heart aching to reach out and touch your mate.

"It is my night with you," Yunho said primly.

"It is," You confirmed.

Yunho stepped closer to you, leaning in to speak to your ears only. "Don't get too wet for me, whore."

Your body was covered in goosebumps of shame and lust. Only one thing had changed in the years in which it took to conceive of Youngho, to nurture the young dragon to be capable of a loving prince, and that was that you had loved Yunho. But he still kept you at a heart's distance.

"Welcome back," Hongjoong greeted you as you rose from your vision.

You felt wetness on your cheeks and realized you had been crying. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I need a moment to collect myself."

Hongjoong's eyes traveled over every plane of your face. "What did you see?"

"A son," You choked out, "Youngho. He had your hair."

"A son," Hongjoong echoed back, looking both fierce and soft at the same time, somehow. His head snapped to your mates. "She says we will have a son!"

The crowd erupted into cheers. Hongjoong helped you up and raised your joined hands. "The oracle has declared there will be an heir and she will carry him!"

San and Wooyoung hugged in celebration. Yeosang slung an arm around Jongho's waist, both quiet in their happiness. Seonghwa and Mingi pressed their foreheads together, clearly excited for a hatchling. Yunho was not celebrating, however. His eyes were on yours, with a rage that only made lust curl within your stomach. You found that you could not meet his eyes any longer and broke contact.

"So," Hongjoong said under his breath, "Was it gentle like Yeosang's or rough like Seonghwa's?" He began to lead you back through the hall. It had been agreed on that the nine of you would celebrate privately after the event.

"Gentle, Your Majesty," You admitted.

Hongjoong smiled in triumph and it almost echoed the smile he had carried from your visions. "I knew it."

"And are you sharing your winnings with me, Your Majesty?" You said mirthlessly.

"Of course," Hongjoong bent his neck, acknowledging certain key members of the clan graciously.

"Of course?" You questioned his easy answer.

"My winnings is time with you and another of my choosing," Hongjoong revealed.

"You betted a damn--" The word threesome, it seemed, couldn't be spit out, "--the first time with me and another?"

"Seemed appropriate, at the time," Hongjoong shrugged.

"Who…" You cleared your throat, "Who did you pick?"

The large doors closed behind you and Hongjoong, a formality more than anything. The others would leave from the door behind the throne and join you in a room prepared for you all.

Hongjoong let go of your hand and walked with both of his hands held behind his back as he answered you. "Why, you are mine now, Oracle. And what's yours is mine as well now, it seems."

You made a noise of surprise. "You want Wooyoung? Why?"

"I want to be there, I want to be there to witness your first time with him. I want to be his first as well. I'm a greedy lover, you'll learn soon enough."

You felt like you had just been hit by a book. "Your--"

"--Hongjoong," The leader of your clan corrected you.

"Hongjoong!"

"There, much better." Hongjoong turned suddenly. "It's not going to be very fun if you continue to call me Your Majesty when I'll soon be filling you with my seed."

"Sweetheart!" Wooyoung screeched from the door where everyone was waiting. HIs grin said it all. "Hurry up! We have a bet to settle."

You swore you were going to pull every one of your mates ears in anger at having a damn bet about what kind of vision you were going to have with Hongjoong but the anger melted the minute you entered the room. You felt the overwhelming love and adoration through all your bonds and realized in this moment, you were the most loved you had ever been in your entire life. Perhaps it was worth a little silly moment of frustration.

Still, you couldn't help but scold them a bit. "If I see anyone betting about my visions in the future, I swear I'll make you all rue the day I became your mate!"

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #thekpopuniverse #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #choi jongho smut #poly ateez x reader #jeong yunho smut #topaz's work #ღatz #starseed jam #joongiefryeverse

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sublimecatgalaxy · 2 years

Note

SUGAR DADDY SUGAR BABY FEZCO SMUT SUGAR DADDY SUGAR BABY FEZCO SMUT SUGAR DADDY SUGAR BABY FEZCO SM-

Duh, no duh. This is pure daddy issues right here. NO SMUT THO MWAHAHAH.

"See anythin' you like, angel?" Fez asks, snaking a strong arm around my waist as I look at the different handbags and shoes, my lip tucked between my teeth as I give him a teasing shrug.

"I like everything." I whisper, walking straight up to a display case that has a sparkly, expensive gold necklace dangling from a stand. He laughs in my ear, pecking my cheek before waving over one of the store workers.

As they talk, I walk around to the other cases, hands latched behind my back as I sway back and forth, dragging my fingers over the different materials, wide eyed and excited. My eyes land on a baby-blue handbag, perfect for the pantsuit that Fez just bought me a few stores back, urging me that it would make me look like a business woman and would be perfect for when I come to work for him.

But I can't imagine the pantsuit would stay on long while 'working' for him.

"Hey Fezzy?" I call over my shoulder, eyes never leaving the beautiful leather bag as he steps up behind me. "I like this one." My finger points to the one high up on the shelf as I look back at him, gazing up at him through my lashes.

"Yeah?" He asks, his hands pulling me against him as he brushes his knuckles against my cheek, rings cold against my heated skin. "Matches that outfight I gotchu." He observes, looking past me and up at the bag before waving the worker over yet again. "Hey man," the worker nods politely, "we'll take this one." He pauses, looking between Fez and I with a hesitant glance.

"Sir, would you like to know the price-"

"No, we'll take it." He doesn't object anymore, he just works on getting the bag down from the shelf as I wrap my arms around Fez's neck with a squeal. "What do you say?" He whispers and I smirk, loving the feeling of his arms tightening around my waist.

"Thank you daddy."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy

@steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht @savageneversaw @admiringlove @witxhy-lexx @starlightandfairies

#fezco #euphoria #fezco x reader #euphoria series #fez #fez x reader #fezco fanfic #fezco imagine #fezco fic #fezco euphoria

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irrelevantwriter · 2 years

Text

Physical Touch

Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x Female Reader/You

Rating: SFW, Fluff

Warnings: Language, mentions of drug use, vague mentions of sex, soft sparkly-eyed Fezco 🥺

Word Count: 823

Summary: A blurb about cuddling with Fez

A/N: *stares at gifs of angus cloud all day*

Disclaimer: Characters are of age in my fics. Reader and Fezco are in their early twenties.

*Check out my Fezco series here.

*Masterlist in bio.

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

You listened intently as the documentary played, focusing on the depths of the world’s oceans. The screen had both you and your boyfriend enthralled as you laid in his bed, a burned down blunt sitting in the ashtray on the nightstand. The heavy herbal scent mixed with the musky aroma of incense from the living room. It was your favorite kind of smell. Next to Fez’s cologne.

He shifted against you, his head resting on your lower stomach as he nuzzled your hip. His arms were lazily wrapped around your waist while your fingers danced over his scalp. You’d briefly paused your movements, causing Fez to nudge you.

The man was a cuddler. He loved touching you in any capacity. Even doing the most mundane of things, like watching a documentary. He had to be pressed against you. That was his love language.

You’d mentioned that fact to him once. You’d never been big on physical touch. But you found with him you craved it. He’d shrugged his shoulders and simply replied, “I like being close to you.”

That was all the answer you’d needed. From then on you were both twisted around each other like vines. You soaked up each other’s warmth, letting it soothe you. Being in his arms felt like home. It’s how you felt now, snuggled into his bed as your attention went from the vivid images of sea life to Fez watching said images.

His long lashes practically glimmered as his heavily lidded eyes took in the narrator’s play by play of mother nature’s food chain. He watched with interest, intent on learning something. It was one of the things you loved most about him. Fez was an eager learner, fascinated by knowledge. He was drawn to intelligence. He had his own arsenal of knowledge, one that you found just as fascinating. And you told him such often, though you weren’t sure he believed you.

“Damn, you seein’ this?” he asked, gesturing to the tv screen.

You smiled down at him, grazing your nails over his cheek and ear. “Yeah, baby.”

As if he could hear the amusement in your voice, he turned to angle his head up at you. His blue eyes were bright and filled with boyish charm.

“You ain’t even watching it,” he accused, fingers squeezing your thigh.

You warmed at the action, feeling that tingle of electricity that always came with Fez’s touches.

“Was too,” you retorted teasingly, pulling on the end of his beard.

He adjusted his body to face you better, his gaze going from playful to something heavier as he took you in.

You squirmed as his fingers trailed up your thighs and beneath the hem of your shorts. But they disappeared just as quickly as they came, now exploring further up your sides and just under your breasts. Your nipples involuntarily hardened against the thin fabric of your tank top. Fez caught the shift in your body and smirked, aware of the effect he had over you.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, but straightened your back against the headboard when he leant in. You instinctively met him halfway, letting your lips meet his in an intimate kiss.

He tasted like the blunt he smoked and the M&Ms he devoured earlier. His tongue lazily caressed yours for the briefest of moments, teasing as he tasted you.

He pulled away slowly and settled his body weight fully on top of you. You widened your legs to let him rest there comfortably, cocooning him against you. His face nuzzled into your chest, not at all shy about doing so.

You giggled as he rested against your breast like a child, his hands reaching under you to grab at your ass.

“How you so fucking soft?” he wondered aloud, his tone giving away his awe. It was cute.

You held him to you, nails back to scratching his head as he squeezed you to him. It was heaven.

The question was rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Just for you,” you whispered, feeling his body relax and his weight press you into the mattress.

It was the first thing that popped into your mind. It was the truth.

“Imma lucky son of a bitch,” he mumbled against your breast, a hand coming to rest there.

The embrace was deeply intimate. It appeared sexual, but it was so much more than that. It was two people seeking solace in the other. Using their bodies to communicate rather than words. It felt right and good and like you never wanted to leave.

“So am I,” you agreed, tightening your thighs around him.

The television continued to drone on, but neither of you paid it any attention. You got lost in each other. Delicate touches now transforming into something more aggressive. Something with promise. It held you hostage as clothes were shed and nothing separated you anymore.

It was just you, him and physical touch.

#fezco #fezco x you #fezco x reader #fez #fez x you #fez x reader #fezco euphoria #fez euphoria #euphoria #fez fanfic #fez imagine #fezco fanfic #fezco imagine #fezco fanfiction #fez fanfiction

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yeonniesblog · 2 years

Text

“omi! Psst!” you whispered to the curly haired man walking beside you, he looked perfect as always, wrinkle free shirt with with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the outline of the veins on his arms visible for the other girls to drool over.

no you didn't like that, at all. as the one quote you always follow be ‘petty and don't forgive’, which you probably made up on the spot as your eyebrows furrowed focusing on kiyoomi’s arm.

only you are the one who can drool over omi's hot arms not some random female version of Miya. “it's cold isn't it” you mumbled to him, shooting other girls few glares here and there “omi do you want me to get you my jacket”

“y/n” he softly mumbled your name from behind his mask, as you continued to look back and fumble some coherent words to those hyenas who you know all too well wore those short skirt to impress someone. “it's a summer noon” he turned you around to face him as you both came to the empty space near the stairs.

finally somewhere not crowded. You opened your mouth to give a really non convincing excuse such as ‘how people are getting herpes due to not covering themselves up in summer’ but he interrupted. He should be glad he is too pretty that you let him interrupt you.

“and your jacket won't fit me”

“does that mean if it did fit you would have worn it” you asked him with sparkly eyes, and a smirk on your lips as you wiggled your brows. A little pinkish tone over both the teenagers cheeks as the taller one shook his head.

“stupid” he flicked your temple as a wince escaped your mouth, hands rubbing aggressively at the spot he hit immediately, as you told him ‘fuck you’ respectfully ofcourse and you may have meant the statement literally too. You rolled your eyes leaving him to stand there.

a small smile formed on the later's lips watching you walk away from him, frowning and growling to yourself as he saw your steps halter after going few steps down the stairs, stopping for him to catch up to you. Sakusa kiyoomi won't admit it ever but maybe he thinks you are adorable when you looked annoyed.

He stomped swiftly towards you, as the tall frame stood beside you immediately. perks of having long legs. “bruh what's this” you pointed at the sign which was placed before the second half pair of the staircase.

“I knew you were dumb but didn't realise you couldn't read” he slightly pulled down his mask looking at the sign then looking back at you. His lips formed into a small smirk. God he looks so hot doing that.

“I CAN READ” you shot him a glare as he smirked at you taking out your glasses from you left pocket. glasses made you kind of cute. another thing which he won't probably admit.

“slippery floor with paint ahead, step down cautiously” you repeated reading the red line in bold letters, moving your eyes on the stairs below you, only a little portion of it was dry other was soaking due to greased paint they used. You tighten your lips, that explains the long line infront of the elevator.

You looked back at kiyoomi he looked exasperated that his shoes might get dirty his lips formed in a frown as he grumbled. “let's just use the stairs I am not gonna gets squished between those sweaty highschoolers in the elevators” he side-eyed you, mumbling while he stepped on the edge of stairs, his back hitting against the railing. Looking through his long lashes back to you.

You huffed stepping forward, the space left between the grease painted stairs and rails was not even enough to keep your foot sideways. Balancing yourself, you started to slowly step down, half body kind of hanging off the edges. Hands hesistantely trying to grab the pale ones infront of you.

Even being the only friend of sakusa, except komori in his class, you knew your boundaries and his limits. And being the most messiest person he even acknowledged, you were pretty sure he wouldn't want to have much physical contact with you. but still in a not so difficult situation you ached to take the support of his hand as they moved little by little away from you.

but what made you look up at the itachiyama's ace with widened eyes, feeling the time being stopped as heat started to crawl up your neck and spread your cheeks was when the colder hands met against the warm palm of your, grabbing them tightly. “stupid” he commented as he supported you getting off the stairs, his face avoiding yours trying to suppress the feeling of heat burning his cheeks.

“that's like the eleventh time you called me stupid today” you muttered off, patting the dust off your ass. Hands taking out the gummy bears out of your skirt pocket, they look squished which made sakusa scrunch up his nose.

“Cause you act like one” He rolled his eyes starting to walk again towards the next floor, maybe hopping this part of the stair was also greasy so he can hold your hands again.

“I have a feeling you saved my contact as stupid” you followed him, hands behind your back, mouth chewing the squished candy while leaning to look at his face properly.

“no it's 'a piece of trash' ” he muttered grinning a little under his black mask, observing your startled expression with squinted eyes. though the name was ended with small '<3' he wasn't gonna reveal that.

placing a slap on his arms playfully, you scrunched up your face “wasn't it atsumu's name in your contact” you asked feeling offended, maybe you were petty and messy sometimes but definitely not a piece of trash.

“actually for him it's 'a piece of shit'” he wondered back to the piss blond's contact who once was successful to change his contact name as 'the most handsome guy I know', on sakusa’s phone. but when omi's mom saw the terrifying nickname and questioned omi if he was gay, his contact was changed from simply 'miya atsumu' to 'piece of shit' forever.

Your mouth formed in the shape of ‘o’ as you nodded to yourself remembering his name but still you aren't going to forgive sakusa for keeping your name as piece of trash. “why am I named as that though” you quirked your brow, tugging his shirt backwards a little bit but that didn't buldge him. at all. ugh freaking atheles.

“maybe if you didn't behave like one” the small hidden smile is still tugging on his lips, the poker faced athlete who usually at most has a disgusted and annoyed expression on his face, kind of always smiles around you even if it's secretly. He believes it's like a involuntary reaction but Sakusa is smarter than that to know what was this about.

“hey what's that supposed to mean” you faked a frowned, hands fiddling in your pocket.

“honestly you do behave like a piece of trash. All the time” he stopped you, a serious look doomed over his playful comment that it actually makes you think that maybe sakusa kiyoomi didn't like being your friend. which was kind of true, he didn't like being only friends with you.

“but” he stopped, taking your hands in his palms, his action startling you. your cheeks were getting a little warm. Damn when Sakusa kiyoomi was near you, you didn't need makeup to make you look red. You looked up at his face, his curls falling over his dark black eyes which always had a spark in them even if some people would comment it was dull.

“As i am someone who deeply cares about the environment” he pulled down his mask with his other hand, inching a little closer towards you as he leaned to lower himself to meet your gaze. He was blushing furiously too but not a ounce of nervousness on his face. Who was this sakusa?

“I am obliged to pick you up. Is 6 pm okay with you?”

what in the world just happened— your head was spinning at this point, no not because you could feel his minty breath on your skin or he can feel your strawberry flavored candy no. But did just sakusa kiyoomi ask you out??? With the smoothest and most bizarre pickup line to—

You mouthed a ‘YES’ cause good lord you couldn't speak. He arched his brow, standing straight, but his hands in yours still. They fitted perfectly together. “is that a no?" he teased with a smirk, knowing all too well you said yes. Someone seriously drugged your omi but boi oh boi you liked this smooth motherfucker too.

“no what the fuck i said yes” you yelled back immediately, okay maybe that made you look a little desperate but who cares he asked you on a date.

He responded with a chuckle, getting back to walking while pulling you with his soft well kept hands to the cafeteria. Two blushing teenagers who looked just like they came out of a shoju magna lovestruck.

“oh btw y/n I changed your contact” sakusa said looking at you through his lashes, swiftly texting something to his teammate.

“please tell me it's something cute” you chanted from across the table, hands stopped from picking up the burger from your plate.

“it's mosquito” he puts his phone aside, the same fond smile on his face coming back when he sees you scrunch up your face. It's actually ‘my mosquito <3’ but he let the ‘my’ and ‘heart’ be silent.

“why the fuck” you slammed your hand on the table, mouth opening and closing uselessly to say a good comeback but dear you saved him as ‘pretty boy’ but now you regret not saving him as the ‘grumpy dude from my class’.

“next time you drool over my veins you shouldn’t be that obvious, my love” embarrassed that's what you were, no one caughts you SIMPING not even your now new boyfriend. Guess its time to plan how to hide his body.

“I so do not”

“you act like you want to suck my blood through the veins, be for real”

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu drabbes #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #sakusa #a fluff after all the angst #no this isn't a part of exception series #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #msby x reader #haikyuu onshot

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cloud9in · 3 years

Text

Encounter (Mc x Veronica)

Summary: Veronica goes out for drinks one night and finds herself in a situation where she needs saving. Good thing Bea exists right?

This fic was highly inspired by my boo @fundamentalromantic. Thank you so much for the idea and I hope you enjoy it.

Word count: 2,300

Warnings: Violence, implied sex, but 80% banter

Tags: @samanthadalton @satrinadia @clowneryme @thedaft1 @alccaddsccup @penda-bear (tagged some people who I thought would like to read)

A day before moving into Belvoire, Veronica decided she should get a feel of the area. New York was far different from the usual quietness of her small hometown in California. But on the bright side, the vlogger would get a ton of content for her Youtube channel in the buzzing city where people never sleep. The first few days of exploring involved bar hopping and recruiting Chloe to help her film in Soho and Chinatown for beauty week. Poppy took part in Veronica’s tour as well, and on Thursday the girls decided to check out the newest night club that opened up.

Veronica stepped out of the car in a sparkly thigh-length dress with a slit, and black Louboutin heels. It definitely caught the attention of people standing outside the club, a few guys even attempting to approach her in their drunken state. Chloe basked in the attention, flirting with a blonde-haired guy who was clearly overdressed (in her eyes). Poppy dragged Chloe with her and the three girls walked swiftly past the long line of people and up to the bouncer. It didn’t take much effort to have him open the door for them, being as they were the three hottest people on the block, but Veronica also did have a killer reputation at just about any place she stepped foot in.

An hour into partying and Veronica held her phone up as her livestream watched them all do a round of colorful tequila shots. The vlogger definitely felt the warm buzz of booze swimming through her veins as her muscles started to relax. New York was the place to be right now and more eventful than all of the years she lived in Cali. Veronica was excited to continue her career and studies in a place like this, but her peaceful thoughts are quickly cut off when someone approaches her, the smell of cheap alcohol invading her senses.

“What’s a tigress like you doing in a raunchy place like this baby?” Veronica rolled her eyes at the hideous effort of flirting by a man who reeked of “just got divorced and into younger women”. His friends (who were probably part of the same club) seemed to laugh around him, encouraging the unwanted behavior. She shook her head and turned away from him in her chair. Don’t let some idiots ruin your night V, have some fun.

She immediately stiffened when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, the wet feeling of his alcohol soaked beard grazing against her cheek. Veronica jerked up abruptly, shoving the man away from her and placing her arms up in defense. “Get the fuck off of me.”

At this point people started to stare at them, Poppy and Chloe already standing by the Zeta’s side with anger. Veronica had left her phone on the table but the stream kept going, capturing the voices of patrons in the bar getting increasingly louder. The bearded man watched her with a predatory look on his face, well aware of the crowd that was forming around them. He grunted and turned away after realizing he probably couldn’t take on three women at once, atleast not in the way he imagined. Chloe scoffs loudly, crossing her arms, “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared of us. Pathetic piece of garbage.”

Yeah....bad idea Chlo.

When he whipped around to face them, Veronica finally noticed just how large his muscles were, and how they were straining against his shirt. Oh shit.

“What did you say to me bitch?”

Veronica shot a nasty glare at Chloe before facing the stranger once again, her arms slightly trembling. “Look, let's just forget all of this and move on with our night. Don't mind my friend...she’s just..” Veronica leans closer, mocking a whisper, “it’s that time of the month.” The guys laughed at her comment and she silently breathed a sigh of relief, hoping this would make them back off. The last thing Veronica needed was to get her ass handed to her on live, with thousands of people watching. Poppy stood there eyeing the men, her hand already on the tip of her phone, ready to speed dial her dad, or the cops...or her therapist if things went awry.

Chloe sneered at Veronica, her awful balance making her stumble as she stepped closer to the men. She clearly had too much to drink. “Oh please, I’m not sorry for anything that comes out of my mouth, even if it includes vomit!” She points a finger in their direction, “give me your best you motherfuc- mmh!”

Poppy clamps one hand straight onto the blonde’s mouth before she can spit out any more profanity. Her face a mixture of annoyance and fear as the men start to lose their smiles. Veronica can see the bearded man getting ready to lunge at her and her flight or fight instincts seemed to kick in at the last second. She dodged the hand that tried to grab her, but he caught her leg as he was spent sprawling down on the ground from something behind. She yelped and kicked free of his hold before catching the gaze of a woman who stood a few feet away from her. Their eye contact was immediately broken as the stranger glared down at the man, “hands off the lady.”

Two men from the group with buzzcuts tried to grab hold of the brunette’s arms but she spins easily and kicks one right in between the legs, making him fall in pain. The other guy tried to knock her down from behind but she locked his arm in an odd and excruciating position, “do you really want to do this?” His persistence led her to pull on his elbow, eliciting a scream from the man until he surrendered and scurried away, along with the rest of their crew.

The brunette swiftly kicks the bearded man in the abdomen after seeing him trying to get up, “stay down you asshole.”

She wipes a trickle of sweat from her forehead and huffs out, “I’ve wrestled pigs bigger than these guys, but damn that was a workout.” Unbeknownst to the woman, it was all caught on tape and would be everywhere, including Belvoire’s hottest gossip blog the T. But she doesn’t have to worry about that because she doesn’t go there, right?

Veronica gapes at the girl who single handedly became her hero, in tight leather pants. The curly-haired woman noticed the speechless expression on her face and smirked. “Well if I were you guys, I’d leave this place before the cops miraculously show up.”

“Somebody should call the police! These- these bimbos tried to kill us-”

Chloe earns another hand on her mouth as Poppy starts to push her towards the exit, “Oh yeah the only bimbo here is YOU, go and sit in the car before you end up in a jail cell.”

Veronica turns away from the chaotic scene and notices that the brunette has gotten closer to her. She can feel her throat starting to heat up, and it was enough to take her mind off what just happened. The Zeta girl tries to take a step and immediately feels her heel slip sideways, but the woman captures her hands and steadies her before she can fall. “Woah- careful there. Maybe we should walk outside? This club is starting to get crowded.”

They step around the man sprawled out on the floor. Yeah someone will probably come get him, no worries. Veronica lets her lead the way until they both step out to the curb. The brunette helps her sit down on the edge of the sidewalk before taking a seat next to her. “You know, I can’t keep living life without knowing the name of my savior.”

The mystery girl barks out a laugh as she siddles closer to her. She holds out her hand, hoping that Veronica would grab it, “Bea, Bea Hughes. And you?”

Veronica stares at her wide-eyed, a not so sarcastic gasp escaping her lips, “You-you don’t know who I am?”

“...Should I?”

Bea scrunches her eyebrows in confusion before snapping her fingers, “Oh wait! You’re a Kardashian..!” That earns her a hard smack to her leg but she can only laugh teasingly.

“I think that was the most disrespectful thing someone has ever said to me....You’re very lucky you’re cute. Oh and it's Veronica.”

Bea bites her lip shyly, “You’re too beautiful to be one of them...Veronica. And you definitely look all real to me.”

“Okay if you’re trying to seduce me, this is NOT the way to go Hughes.”

They both bust out laughing and Veronica wraps her arm around Bea’s, letting herself sink into her side. “Thank you by the way...I mean, not like I couldn’t handle it myself.” She shrugs and looks down at their entangled arms, squeezing tighter, “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing Veronica. I’m just grateful I was there as well. This ain’t the first time those goons have harassed women in the area.”

“Judging by that southern accent and fighting skills, I’m guessing you’re not from here?”

Bea smiles down at Veronica, studying her bright hazel eyes and luscious lashes. “No I am not, but….if you want to know more about me, how about over a drink? If you want to.”

The Zeta girl laughs softly, nudging her, “Oh so you do know how to flirt Hughes. Let's do it! But um..it might be a little difficult to do that because my heel is broken.”

Bea peers down at her stilettos which seemed to be way past 7 lives now and smiles to herself. In one swift motion she scoops Veronica up in her arms bridal style. The vlogger gasps in surprise before wrapping her arms around the brunette’s neck. “Our problem seems to have disappeared already. And you are incredibly light like a feather.” Bea teases the Zeta, lifting her in an up and down motion.

“That’s because I’m 40% alcohol right now, but do keep me in your arms, perfectly convenient for me.”

“You mean I get to carry a stunning woman in my arms free of charge? This must be heaven..”

“Okay Ms. Flirt, keep walking I’ll direct you where to go.”

Bea fought the urge to tease her about trying to be dominant but the voices of Poppy and Chloe caught their attention. She approached the car where Chloe sat…wailing hysterically..?

“I don’t want to go to prison! Don’t let them take me Poppy please!” The blonde grabs Poppy’s dress and doesn’t let go, desperately looking around. When Bea finally stops in front of them, Poppy looks over at the two women and rolls her eyes, clearly fed up.

“Poppy what the hell is happening with Chlo?!” Veronica breathes out, even though this is the last place she wants to be.

“Chloe thinks I called the cops on her and she said she doesn't want to sleep on a concrete bed with two other women in a prison cell.”

Bea raises an eyebrow as she watches the two Zeta girls stare at each other like they’re used to what was happening right now. Veronica gives Poppy a stern look, essentially telling her “leave me alone, I’m trying to get laid”, and the strawberry blonde catches on quickly. She turns away, sighing heavily, “Go, I’ll deal with this. But be at the house tomorrow, it's our first day back.”

The Zeta grins and blows her a kiss, signaling for Bea to carry on down the sidewalk as she lays in her arms barefoot. Poppy watches them walk away and roll her eyes.

“So, should I ask?”

“I think you would appreciate it if I didn’t tell you.”

The brunette laughs easily, crossing the now empty street. The more she walked the direction that Veronica guided her to, the more quieter it got. “Um… V. Where exactly are we going..?”

“You’ll see. It’s a secret spot. Kind of like a speakeasy, except it’ll just be the two of us and we can do whatever we want.” Veronica flips her hair seductively, catching Bea’s gaze as she bites her lips and winks. The brunette can feel her heart starting to beat faster, her breath hitching in her throat. She barely can move her gaze off of Veronica’s hazel orbs, her cheeks reddening at the girl’s shameless comment.

Lucky for Bea (or maybe not), their night was just getting started, and Veronica would have her blushing again, but this time on her knees.

***

Veronica saunters confidently into the gates of Belvoire on move-in day, watching as others run around campus with luggages and bags. She sips on the iced latte in her land, eyes glued to her phone on the other hand. She eventually finds Chloe yelling at some assistant girl and immediately turns around, not wanting to deal with it. A woman with a suitcase and a grey Henley shirt approaches the blonde, reprimanding her for her rude behavior. The video of the fight last night appears on the T just as Veronica looks at her phone again. Bea’s leather jacket appears on-screen and knocks the man down. Veronica smirks as she watches the woman take on 3 men effortlessly. People around start to point at the brunette while looking at their phones, and Veronica doesn’t look up until two voices that appear to be arguing, get louder. She nearly drops the cup of coffee in her hands when she sees the same face that was between her legs the previous night.

And as Poppy approaches Bea, the brunette catches a glimpse of familiar hazel eyes and ombre colored hair and her eyes go wide. “...Veronica..?” Oh shit.

#playchoices #queen b #veronica lombardi #mc x veronica #veronica contentttttt #I definitely want to write more for her #if you want to be tagged on any veronica fics let me know

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

Tetherball : Harringrove April Day One

Also on ao3

Steve put his seatbelt on that first day, when Billy stepped out of his chariot across school grounds, taking inventory of things as they were. Life as Steve knew it.

Nancy in the seat next to him.

First period chemistry, English, Geology, lunch. Steve took note of the periwinkle tones in the sky, the rumble of the cafeteria on pizza day, the smell of the library and the way the books turned on you if there were late fees to be settled.

Everything fell into bullet points across worn pavement.

Then versus now. Before and after.

Steve said goodbye to planet Earth that day, whether he knew it or not. Whether he found it favorable. The rumble of an engine beneath his feet changed Steve's perception, and the weight of two blue medallions grew and grew until Steve had learned the facts.

William Hargrove went by Billy. And he had tumbled in from California, presumably naked on a sea shell, where Billy’s stepsister doused hatred like a flame in the ocean under skies full of seagulls and cotton candy wisps.

He wore elevens in converse and a large Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt that popped seams across his biceps but went soft and wavy in the middle.

Not like it mattered, though.

William went by Billy and he called skins as soon as coach blew the whistle. His t-shirt never made another appearance after that.

That's all Steve needed to know, right? The basics. California and step sisters, William instead of Billy, and the sound of rubber on polished oak.

But that's the funny thing about revelations.

Facts are different when colored by opinions, and Steve felt them dropping like coins from the hole in his pocket. As he got to know Billy the bullet points that had taken over Steve's mind rippled and glimmered in the light of first period. Changing.

He observed.

Wondered.

Obsessed.

Developing thoughts about who Billy was and, eventually, the person he pretended to be. Steve wasn't interested in the line Billy drew around the two halves of a whole. Any of the masks he wore in the cafeteria around princesses and prom queens versus the man Steve saw in second period English, who was.

Soft spoken and thoughtful. Every pastel shade in the sky versus brash and heated sunsets over barley.

Flame and sea, like a burning ship at war.

Steve wasn't interested but he learned anyway. Took notes, eyes tracking the brush of Billy's thumb on his bottom lip, brows pinching in concentration as he deciphered the root of a poem in ten seconds flat. The curl of his lips when we took his paper from Mr. Terrine. How he always had an extra pencil for anyone who needed it.

Before long Steve aced his exam in AP Hargrove and failed where everyone else said it mattered.

Got himself a tutor.

Blue eyes to pin him in place, pink lips to seal the passage between worlds. Steve wasn't interested in spending his afternoons under a tetherball, smacking brightly colored plastic out of his face as Billy read to him from a textbook while his sister. Max (step sister, Billy's voice supplied), kicked some girls ass on on the skateboard during softball practice.

"Should we try it once more?" Billy's patient. Steve wasn't expecting that.

He smacks the ball away again. "I've learned a lot about you, but I wasn't expecting this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'know." From across the playground Max teaches her girl how to kick flip. Steve doesn't think that's right. He shrugs anyway. "Smarts. Like, AP biology, Valedictorian, Brain stew smart."

They've been studying together for weeks.

Four weeks. Seems like more with the slide of Billy's shoulder against Steve's arm, blonde ringlets dodging the tetherball as it swings overhead. Billy's fingers brush the open faced textbook, mouth serious but eyes soft. Sparkly, like a discarded bag of glitter.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to the prose."

"Maybe I can do both at the same time." Steve fiddles with the edge of the notebook, nodding as Billy grins. "Alright, goldilocks, tell your silly little story."

He does.

The green eyed boy in the powder blue shirt standing next to you in the supermarket recoils as if hit,

repeatedly,

by a lot of men, as if he has a history of it.

Steve leans back against the rusty iron pole, feeling the weight of the tetherball on one side of his head, and. The brush of golden curls on the other. He closes his eyes, feeling a voice more than hearing it.

That is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with.

The lamp by the bed is broken--

"Are you following?" Billy asks. He moves, knees drawn up so the book is balanced close to the curve of his chin. Close to the split in the universe. "We're getting into muddy waters here--"

"'S not that muddy."

"Sure it is." Billy's cheeks flush, pink paint across the bridge of his nose. He moves against Steve's arm, elbow knocking into ribs. "Tell me what you think is happening."

Steve thinks about it.

Knocks Billy's arm away gently, closing his eyes. "Read some more and then we'll talk."

Billy does.

The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he is no longer in touch with a nd everyone is speaking softly, as if not to wake one another.

The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once.

Things happen all the time.

Things happen at every minute that have nothing to do with us.

Billy stops reading and Steve peeks at him through an eye half-lidded, curious. "Is that the end of the story?"

"Poem."

"Huh." Steve straightens, moving his legs this way and that. "Felt like a story."

Billy mirrors him exactly, closing the textbook and grabbing his pencil. "That's interesting."

And the way he says it. While flipping through his pea-green fivestar spiral, makes it feel wrong. Stupid.

Steve smacks distantly at the sky. "No it's not."

"Sure it is. Siken's poems are very lyrical. They paint images, vivid images, and sometimes I can imagine myself doing what the lines convey."

Steve grins. "You can imagine yourself in bed with another man?"

Steve isn't interested in the answer but he's interested in the feeling, the glint of emotion behind a wall of powdery blue. It doesn't seep through the cracks, though, it's contained. If Steve wants to find the center, he'll have to dig.

Billy doesn't miss a beat. "If that's what you think the poem's talking about, sure."

"Of course that's what it's talking about."

"How so?"

Steve laughs at that, rubbing against Billy's side. "You sound like a scholar."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No." Steve says thoughtfully. "'S cute."

Billy doesn't crack. Not in the way Steve's used to. No fingers in his hair, spinning spools of gold as he peeks at Steve through thick lashes. Instead he makes a note of it, whatever it is they're saying. Scribbling Steve's interpretation on one side of the blank page, dividing the two halves with a thick black line.

Billy intends to find the truth. "The protagonist is in love with the man at the supermarket? Is that what you're saying."

"I guess."

Billy rolls his eyes. "Your intent has to be clear. Poetry is all about interpretation; if you don't attempt to bridge the divide--"

"All right, Einstein." Steve plays along. "Sure."

Billy's eyes flash victorious as he clicks the pen trigger. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he's obsessed with him."

"The way the narrator is obsessed?" Billy leans forward, intent. "With the man in the grocery store?"

"What makes you deny it?" Steve wonders, folding his legs beneath him so they're crisscross applesauce.

Billy leans back against the pole, casual and easy. "I'm not the one failing English."

"No, but you are the poet." Steve counters. "Dude, I know you have an interpretation. I know you have thoughts, so. Just tell me."

Billy turns to face the playground.

Max skates circles around her girl, smiling in the way Billy does when he's got Steve pinned on the court. Like a predator. Pushing and pulling back just enough to leave the girl chasing after her, enough to catch herself before Max has a chance to get her claws out.

It's incredible, Steve thinks, how much Billy is just like his sister.

"I think he's using him."

Steve cocks his head, curious.

"The man with the blue shirt." Billy opens the textbook and reads the part about the lamp again, peeking up at Steve through frizzy curls. "The narrator says we are feeling things the man is no longer in touch with."

Steve leans forward. "Like love?"

Billy thinks about it. "No."

"Connection, then."

"If they're sleeping together it's more than just sex." Billy counters, "More than just carnality."

Which.

Steve frowns. "People fuck all the time without connecting."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Steve thinks about rattling down his list. The girls, the guys, the one night stands and bullshit post-game hook ups.

Billy fiddles with the edges of his notebook almost. Shyly. "People have sex because they're in love."

Steve snorts. "There's a million reasons to fuck outside of love."

Billy's eyes flash hard with.

Something. He bares his teeth. "Yeah? Like what?"

"I dunno. Breakup sex, makeup sex, sorry for burning a hole in your prom dress sex--"

"Gross."

"Point is." Steve looks at Billy. Studies him, the freckles across his upper lip, the scruff along his jawline. "Sex and emotion don't have to exist within each other."

Billy stares back at him, eyes wide and distant. Closed off.

He writes something on Steve's half of the notebook. "I disagree."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy tosses his pen to the ground. "Our narrator says the man in the blue shirt has a history of being hit by other men."

"So?" Steve has trouble following at the best of times, and this.

The way Billy is worrying the skin on his fingers, nails catching and tearing in places they don't belong, feels important.

Billy shrugs. "Why would he sleep with a man without knowing his heart?"

"Maybe he just wants to feel something."

"Or maybe he wants to connect." Billy turns to look out across the playground once more, fingers tugging at the edge of his notebook. "Maybe he's existing in this bubble, like. This silent world with a tiny room where everyone is speaking softly out of respect. Maybe he chooses the wrong person because it's better than feeling half alive."

Steve knows they aren't talking about the poem anymore.

He tugs the notebook from Billy's hands, flipping through a million and one handwritten theories and observations. Billy lets him. Lets Steve look through his life and into his mind before handing the spiral back and asking, "Have you ever picked the wrong person?"

Billy doesn't say anything and then; "Yes."

"How come?"

"Everybody's wrong if you squint hard enough."

Steve nods, looping his arms around his knees. "And I'm assuming you didn't sleep with any of them."

He doesn't expect Billy to answer. It's not like they owe each other anything, honesty or otherwise. Billy leans back against the pole once more. From where their bodies are pressed together Billy feels feverish. Incendiary.

Billy clears his throat. "Or the opposite."

Which catches Steve off guard.

Billy watches him for a moment, eyes dark and serious. "I don't think the narrator sleeps with the man in the blue shirt. Maybe he intends to. Take the guy home, make a couple drinks, blaze trails into something previously unknown to him or maybe just. A feeling he hasn't felt in a while. But intimacy isn't always about sex."

Steve snorts. "I can't think of anything more intimate than being inside another person."

"But you are inside them, just. Not in the way you expected."

Steve glares out over the playground. The sun will be setting soon, blacktops and brown fields painted in shades of red and orange. The whole world will catch on fire but Steve feels the beginning, coals glowing bright red under the line of his ribcage when he turns to find blue eyes on him.

Dousing the fire, or maybe.

Raising the stakes. His eyes flit across Billy's forehead, brushing over his lips and coming to rest on his eyelashes. Feathery and soft, like the arms of a teddy bear. Steve licks his lips, going up in flame when Billy's eyes track the movement.

"I lied." Steve says.

Billy doesn't look away. "I'm not sure what you--"

"The first time a boy ever kissed me." Steve says. "When a boy kissed me because he wanted to, that was more intimate than anything I'd ever felt before."

Billy's gaze falls impossibly lower, tracing the swell of Steve's lips. "How did it feel?"

And he says it like.

He couldn't possibly know.

And Steve says, "Like my heart was taking root," like.

Let me show you.

Billy takes a deep breath. "I don't think I've ever felt like that."

"Never?"

"Not once."

From across the playground Max's answering laugh makes Billy's skin turn gold. Caramel, ice cream topped with sugar. Steve feels his body inching closer, mouth opening as if to taste love on the air.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #spring #idiots in love #first kiss #day one

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

kiss #38 pls? idea for it if u want: fanboy teenage kells kissing em like that fan that em kissed in the crowd 👀

38: awkward teenage crush kiss

Usually in the midst of a concert the crowd mostly becomes a sea of washed out faces. Every person and their neighbor blurring together in the brief glimpses Marshall gets while his eyes pan over the crowd.

Every now and again one will stand out though, a clearly defined face in the army of stans that he can't help but find his gaze drawn back to over and over. Usually it's a pretty girl, some natural beauty that he won't be able to get his mind off of until she's invited back to his dressing room after the show.

Tonight's been different. Instead of some sparkly eyed pretty girl like he's used to he's finding himself watching a guy. Some giant scrawny dude who's planted himself right at the front of the stage. At least 6 feet of height rising him well above every other screaming fan next to him.

At first the sight of him felt a little goofy, just seeing that giant jumping and screaming exactly like the tiny female fans next to him more than enough to draw out a laugh. But the more Marshall looked over during his set the easier it became to see that same sparkle dancing in the kids eyes that every other girl he was drawn to had.

The kid's pretty too. Sharp cheekbones and long lashes, what looks like decent tattoo work under his loose clothes he keeps flapping to wave off sweat. And his smile? It actually makes Marshall's face feel hot everytime their eyes meet and the guy flashes him one, all white teeth and parted lips.

Before he knows it though the show is coming to a close. The last few songs passing by with extra fervor that's going to really knock him back on his ass for the rest of the night. Some of the girls in the front have swapped out but that tall blonde has stayed as if glued to his spot. Never once leaving.

Maybe that's why Marshall heads over that way, his body buzzing and hand itching to reach out and feel that this unexpected beauty is real. Not some crazy drug induced hallucination.

This close the screams around him are ear piercing, but even with all these pretty girls now within touching distance and their blurry faces clear the rapper still can't take his eyes off of the blonde. It's like a magnetic pull has taken ahold and he's helpless to resist it.

When his fingers finally extend and his back curls down Marshall's again struck with a spark of humor and awe over just how tall this fan is. For any other person he'd nearly be toppling himself off the stage just to reach their grip, but this kid, he just grins even wider and steps himself up taller on his tippy toes. Easily meeting Marshall's hand before he's even halfway bent.

And then his arm, his hip, up along his bicep. Those shockingly big hands can touch him everywhere even up on stage like he's stood. It's such a thrilling surprise he doesn't even realize he's being softly pulled down until one slips around the back of his neck. Blondies ocean blue eyes only an inch away from his own, dusty lashes cutting them down into slots.

And he's being kissed. Kissed by a man, no a boy, this close the youthful looks and inexperience are undeniable. And Marshall knows it's wrong, on a legal level and a social one but in the moment he can't find an ounce of care.

His fingers curl their way around the brat's neck too and when he kisses back he makes sure to take a bite of pretty pink lip to make it a moment the kid will remember forever.

#emgk #kiss prompts #marshalls pov came to me easier #so its not exactly the awkwaed part #but hey #close enough

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cialbi · 3 years

Text

Boy With Hope: Lavender - Chapter One

Summary: As you closed your eyes for the last time, the smell of lavender wafted through your nose and a boy with purple wings appeared from above you. Genre: Angst, Romance, Fantasy

Pairings: Angel Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: Language, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Alcoholism

A/N: This is going to be part of a series called “Boy’s With Series.” Hoseok’s story is going to be the first part out of seven. I don’t know what order I’ll do the other boys in, but I already have their themes and such chosen out. So enjoy the prologue!

⤎Previous

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'Fuck that hurts.'

You buried your face into your pillow, the roaring headache that crashed through your skull roused your sleepy conscious. A faint gust of air blew through your room, tickling your skin and making you shift to find warmth deeper under the covers. From outside you could hear the rush and beeps of cars as they raced by on the city streets and the voices of pedestrians signaled that the world was coming back to life.

You groaned, rolling over on your side. The throbbing in your head was like a symphony of anguish that blared in your brain as you cracked a sleep-caked lid open.

Neon green numbers flashed through bleary eyes: 7:00am.

'What happened?'

A little disoriented, it took you a moment to come to.

You were drinking last night. Something had definitely triggered you... you came home... dropped your keys... tripped over some shit... drank some more... and then....

Oh no.

What did you do?

Then, all at once, like a movie reel in your head, you recalled the events in which lead up to now.

You'd lost your job.

Again.

You could practically see the angry face of your boss as he fired you, and you couldn’t help the churning ache of embarrassment that welled in your gut.

“Unacceptable, Y/N!” He had vociferated. “You’re tardy everyday, you look like a mess and you reek of booze! Collect your things immediately, I don’t want to see you in here ever again!”

Ugh. The shame.

It was something you should be used to by now, getting fired and all--but alas you didn’t do well with shame. You didn’t do well with any sort of negative emotion, so you had fixed it with the only solution you knew how.

Booze, booze and more booze.

You could smell the murk of the musty bar you had holed into, the horrified expressions of other bar-goers watching you as you downed your fifth drink of the night. You could remember how you stumbled home like a hot mess of sweat and the way your room reeked of garbage and alcohol.

You sniffed.

Funny.

It doesn't smell so bad now.

Kind of... floral?

Adjusting your position, you gave a grunt of discomfort. There was something poking at your side, so you reached under the covers and searched until your hands clasped around something smooth and cylindrical. You retracted your arm and pulled out the plastic orange pill container, staring at it blankly.

What was that doing there?

You rotated it in your hands, the morning sun casting an apricot shadow across your face. Klonopin. When did you....? Weird. You didn't remember picking up your prescription from the drug store. The drug store...

Oh wait.

And then you did.

It was all coming back now. The pills, the wine, the way your heart slowed and your body went limp. The glowing purple lights. What the fuck were those? And a boy, there was a boy floating through the ceiling. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Damn, what a high.

So you finally tried to do it, and it looks like you failed. An unfamiliar sensation crawled beneath your skin, causing you to shudder. So much guilt... and so much shame. You didn’t know whether you wanted to cry or scream as you gazed nonchalantly at the little pill bottle, swiping your fingers over the plastic.

Fuck.

You really fail at everything.

Even killing yourself.

It was a little sobering, in fact. And you used the word sobering, because you hadn’t expected to wake up the next day. Hadn’t expected to deal with the aftermath or the complicated emotions attached to it. You hadn’t been prepared for it.

Sighing deeply, you ran your fingers through your hair, feeling a bit of chunks and stickiness towards the ends. You eyed the area near your pillow, but it was clean. Again, weird. There was no vomit on your sheets. You sat up, eyes grazed over the white cotton fabric but finding no sign of regurgitated food.

Then you noticed your room. It was completely clean.

All the garbage, clothes and bottles were gone, and there was a certain sparkliness to your apartment that you hadn't seen in a long time. If it weren't for the little cat statue on your nightstand that your mom had given you for your birthday, you would have sworn you woke up in someone else's house.

Maybe someone broke in?

You gave a snort. Yeah, right, a burglar that breaks into apartments and cleans them.

Then, maybe you had cleaned up during your high. You'd done weirder things under the influence--many that didn’t involve clothes--so you couldn't completely write that off as a possibility, right?

A jolt to your muscles had you groan again. A kind of nauseating pain coursed through your body and the raging headache echoed in your ears. Nope. No way. There was no way your body could have even moved in the state that it was in.

So cross that off the list.

Ok so, a burglar broke into your apartment, stole all your garbage and stinking clothes, then cleaned up the place and left? That sounded even more ridiculous. You didn't have many valuables, and you couldn't imagine that anyone would touch your clothing by how bad they smelled. An ordinary robber would have taken one look at your place and slammed the door.

You rubbed your temples, your mind too foggy to think anymore coherent thoughts. Ugh. Whatever. I feel like shit, I can’t think like this.

The sudden need to be clean overtook you, so you swung your legs over the side of your bed and stood, deciding on a shower and maybe some food to help wash out the toxins that were swirling around in your stomach. If you even had any edible food left in your kitchen. Your stomach gurgled in anticipation.

Yeah, some food and a shower. After that, you could figure this shit out.

Shoulders slumped, you padded over to your bathroom and flicked on the lights, wincing at the immediate image of yourself reflected in the mirror above your sink.

You were unnaturally pale, almost green, and your long, tangled hair was sticking up in all directions. There were splotches of red stained into your baggy white t-shirt, which made it look like you had murdered someone with a knife. But what was most prominent were the swollen black bags sunken deeply beneath your eyelids.

Wow, suicide does wonders for the complexion. You joked darkly to yourself, pinching your cheeks a little too hard before opening your bathroom cabinet to find a towel.

When you couldn’t find one, you cursed quietly and slammed the lean, rectangular door shut. Your stomach growled again and the sickness followed. Fuck the shower, let’s go eat something. You were almost out of shampoo anyway.

Exiting the bathroom, you mused to yourself about the options of what you could eat. What you were really craving was something spicy, maybe some instant noodles with sriracha--though, you knew for today that would be nothing more than a culinary fantasy.

Spending most of your money on booze and take-out, you didn’t go to the grocery store often. Hell, you barely scraped enough dough to pay the bills, and now you didn’t have a job to support either expenses. You’d be lucky if there was even a piece of rotting fruit left in your fridge.

By now, your stomach was screaming at you for some type of sustenance, so with low expectations, you dragged your feet towards your kitchen. Rotten fruit it is.

You’ve had worse meals.

As you approached, you noticed the light was on in the kitchen. A yellow glow illuminated from beneath the doorframe, mixing with the sunshine that poured in from outside. Huh. That’s strange. You definitely remembered the pitch black of your room when you stumbled in last night.

Then you smelled it.

The faint scent of bacon wafted through your nose and your tummy gave an approving growl. The nausea, on the other hand, poked at your gut and graciously reminded you of the severe pain you were in. The contrasted feelings almost made you forget that there shouldn't be any smells coming from your kitchen seeing as you had been in bed, not in your kitchen, and most certainly not cooking.

The smell was followed by a clattering of pans, and a hushed “dammit!” could be heard from inside.

You froze.

Someone was still here.

And they were cooking in your kitchen.

Slowly, as to not make a sound, you inched towards your bedside table and picked up your desk lamp. How that could possibly defend you from an intruder, who knows, but it was all you had ready and available. Honestly, you had no idea in hell what you were doing--no one’s ever broken into your apartment before--but you were hoping for the best. So you raised the lamp like a baseball bat and tip-toed towards the door of your kitchen. It was open a smidge, and the sound of cheerful humming seeped out through the crack.

A burglar that cleans rooms, makes breakfast and has a love for Mariah Carey. Huh.

You peaked around the door, gripping your desk lamp until your knuckles whitened and took a deep breath, preparing yourself to confront a burly, black-clad thug. Maybe with some tattoos and a ski-mask. Or, worst case scenario, a gun. The thought heightened your pulse.

Hesitantly, you took a small step inside.

There was only so much that could have prepared you for what you actually saw in your kitchen.

A strikingly gorgeous, tall looking man with bright orange hair was dancing around the room, flipping some fried eggs in one of your blue, non-stick frying pans. Around his waist, your frilly pink apron was tied in a neat little bow, which contrasted humorously with his toned muscles and manly build. He looked lost in his own little world, lashes cast downward as his lips made music and, for a moment, you were completely enchanted.

He's a friggen intruder! Bash his head in while you have the chance! You internally screamed, though you couldn't find it in yourself to move.

Without looking at you, the orange-haired, completely white-clad burglar cracked a smile. "Good, you're awake!"

Startled, you stepped back and raised the lamp in defense, your pulse rising to an infinite level.

He put down the pan and turned off the stove gas, rummaging through your cupboard for a plate. He was acting as if he lived here, knowing where all your things were, and for a second you wondered if he was a family friend, maybe someone your parents sent to make sure you weren't dead. Though, no-one in your family had a key to your apartment and you would most certainly remember knowing someone with such a beautiful and distinct face.

The mysterious, humming man plated the eggs and forked some bacon on top, already cooked and perfectly greasy. He turned towards you, grinning a smile that made you blink. He’s got the sunniest smile you had ever seen. The combination of his smile, his sparkling eyes and the elegant lines of his face disoriented you.

He’s really gorgeous.

And really tall.

And moving right towards you.

Backing up, you swiped your eyes over his entirety. You wouldn't stand a chance in hell against this guy. He may not be burly or tattooed, but he was about two times your weight, and had at least a foot on you in height. Oh yeah and he wasn’t hung-over as fuck. All he would have to do was shove you with one hand and you would finally meet your maker.

Alarmed, you raised the lamp as high as you could and pointed it at him threateningly. You did your best to look big and scary, but you knew you probably looked like nothing more than a scared little animal cowering from its prey.

“Hey, it’s ok.” He cooed at you. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

"Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?" You hissed. Your arms were shaking and your voice squeaked a few octaves too high. This was going great.

He looked at you, then at the lamp clasped in your hands, then back at you. Then he smiled again, eyes squinting sweetly.

"My name's Hoseok. You must be hungry!” He wiggled the plate of food. “Here, I made breakfast." His voice was so cheerful that it took you aback. Obviously, he was not at all threatened by you or your weapon of choice. You lowered the lamp slightly and sniffed. It smelled fucking great.

You eyed the plate of food, your stomach betraying you by letting out a monsterous growl. Then the nausea followed and you groaned.

His face fell. "Hmm, I thought I took away most of the pain, but I guess it wasn't enough."

The mysterious intruder turned to place the plate of food on your kitchen table, then whirled back around and began a slow walk towards you, hands outstretched.

"Stay back!" You warned, raising the lamp again and shaking it in his face.

The orange-haired man lowered his hands in defense. "Just let me fix it." He said, continuing his approach.

You looked at the lamp and then back at him, giving him a once over and weighing your options. You could try and land a hit, hoping to create enough time to make a break for it, but also risking angering him, or you could cut your losses now and run.

The latter sounded good.

Squealing in fear, you dashed back into your bedroom, ready to burst out the front door of your apartment and run like a mad-woman until you found some help. But another shot of nausea mixed with fatigue had you hurdling belly first onto the floor. Your knee slammed hard against the wooden surface and sent the lamp skidding out of your hands.

“Fuck!” You cried, curling in on yourself. Your kneecap burned with a searing, fiery pain.

“Are you ok?” His voice came from above you, and when you looked up, you were met by his chocolate brown eyes staring down at you with worry. His beautifully sculpted legs were like skyscrapers, ascending from the ground right in front of your face, and you wondered how fast he could run if you tried to escape now.

"Fuck no! Fuck you! Fuck!” You yelped, forcing yourself up and scrambling gracelessly into the safety of your bed covers. Your knee screamed at you, throbbing angrily at the unwelcomed movement, and suddenly you found yourself undoubtedly screwed. Even if you tried now, you definitely couldn’t outrun this attractive, long-limbed man.

"Don't come any closer!" You cried, the rush of adrenaline making you dizzy. Call the police! Gotta call the police! Or someone, someone that might care that I’m in trouble.

You found it a little funny. Just hours ago, all you had wanted to do was die, swallowed a whole flipping pill bottle to do it. But now that the perfect execution of death had appeared right before you, all you had been trying to do since was find some way to live through it. Irony is a bitch.

He inched towards you carefully with his hands raised. "Look, I know this must seem..." He paused, fishing for the right word, "...peculiar. But I promise I mean you no harm."

"Tell that to the police!" You screeched, combing your bed for your phone but came up empty.

Oh.

Yeah.

Your eyes widened. Shit. It was in your pants pocket, which you had flung somewhere across your room last night. Looking around frantically, you remembered your clothes had mysteriously disappeared. "Where are my clothes? What did you do with them?"

He lowered his hands, biceps flexing deliciously. "Ah! No, don't worry, they're right over there!" He pointed to the corner of your room where your pink, plastic laundry basket was filled to the brim with neatly folded clothes. "I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but seeing as you were sleeping for the past two days, I took the liberty of washing them. They were quite smelly. You really should--”

“Shut up!” You exclaimed, cutting him off completely. I’m sorry, what did he say?? The clothing aside, your eyes almost popped out of your head. "Two days!? Wait. You've been in my room for two days?” You felt sick. Your head began to spin and your stomach clenched as ripples of pain ripped through your muscles. You fell into yourself, clutching your scalp so hard it could have bled, and let out a long, guttural “fuuuuucckkkkkk.”

"Hey, let me help you! I can take the pain away!" He stepped forward, his hands stretched out again towards you, his fingers almost close enough to brush against the skin of your wrist.

You recoiled away from him. "And how could you possibly do that?"

He sighed, looking exhausted. "Just trust me."

Biting back a laugh, you snapped at him. "Trust you? A strange man who broke into my apartment, touched my stuff without permission and claims he can just magically take away my pain? No way, you’re a total psycho!"

A totally hot psycho.

Another wave of nausea swept through you and you grabbed your stomach, trying to keep your insides from exploding out onto the mattress. Then, faster than your mind could comprehend, he was suddenly right beside you, knelt with one knee at your bedside, his eyes pleading.

"I can tell it really hurts. Please, let me help you." From this distance you can see how deep chocolate his eyes are, like perfectly round cocoa beans swimming with genuine concern. Time seemed to slow, and you found yourself enchanted by him again.

It should be a crime for anyone to look this good.

Are you kidding me!? It’s a crime for him to be here in the first place!

All the signs were pointing to 'crazy guy,' but on top of your immense trepidation, your body was rejecting you and your will to fight back began to flutter away. You curled yourself up so tight that not even a crowbar could ply you apart.

Fine, he could kill you. You were ready for it.

You shut your eyes tight as he reached for your fetal form. This was it, this was how you were going to die; by the hands of a majestic intruder who makes eggs and bacon and says he has magic powers. What a way to go, eh? You tried to imagine your family's faces. Would they even miss that you were gone? Would they cry for you? Would anyone care that you were dead? You waited. And waited.

But nothing happened.

You peaked an eye open, but he was just sitting there, a single hand in front of your face, so close that you could see the lines that ran across the skin of his palm. He looked at you with that oddly cheerful expression, the ends of his orange bangs kissing the tips of his long, voluminous lashes. "I'm going to touch you now."

He didn’t give you a chance to respond as he abruptly placed his hand around your forehead. An extraordinary tingling sensation raced through you, a kind of warm feeling like those first few minutes of soaking in a scalding hot bath. You felt the pain lift from your aching bones, like his hand was soaking up the anguish and leaving you with nothing but bliss and relaxation.

Then he removed his soft grip, a satisfied smile gracing his pretty pink lips.

"How's that?" He asked, sitting back.

You blinked, trying to register what just happened. The pain was gone, and all you could feel was a sense of clarity and a warmth that pooled comfortably in your once flippant stomach.

As it all began to sink in, you freaked. Like totally, completely, flipping freaked out. "What the fuck? Oh my god, what was that? WHAT WAS THAT?" You screeched, slapping his hand away and scooching back into the corner of your bed.

He looked a little hurt. "It's a gift I have." He explained matter-of-factly. "I'm an angel."

You blinked at him.

Excuse me, what?

Hello crazytown. Toot toot, the psycho train just arrived at the station, number of passengers: one incredibly hot, orange-haired mad-man.

You laughed besides yourself. "An angel? You gotta be shitting me! You expect me to believe that? Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Hoseok, I told you." He answered.

You brought your knees closer, looking him square in the eyes. "Ok, Hoseok the angel. What psychward did you escape from?" Oh let me guess. "Heaven?"

Hoseok chuckled at that. "Not exactly."

The deep-cut white V-neck he was wearing dipped dangerously low around his neck, exposing a well defined collar-bone and a hint at a sculpted chest. His body was littered with silver jewelry that jingled with every slight movement he made; a detailed silver cross that dangled from around his neck, and another, simpler, one from his left ear. Man this guy is full of it.

"What are you doing here?" You repeat.

Hoseok gave a faint sigh. "Isn't it obvious already?" He touched the cross around his neck and thumbed it with belletic fingers. "I'm here to help you."

"Yeah, you said that already. Help me with what?" You snapped.

All you had wanted to do was die peacefully.

And now you're stuck with this shit.

Where the fuck is this guys social worker?

You were suddenly feeling pretty grumpy, but somehow no longer threatened.

Leaning forward, Hoseok touched your hand softly, the little chained bracelets around his wrist glinting against the light. "You've lost all hope in your life, and I'm here to help you find that hope again." Well that the hell do you say to that?

What felt like hours passed as you kept your eyes locked to his, searching for any sign of insanity or deception, but found none. The smoothness of his ivory skin and his complacent expression revealed no ill intentions and for the first time you felt yourself give in to him a little. He was so earnest, you actually trusted he wasn’t here to hurt you, and the warmth of his skin on yours elated a sort of calm you hadn’t felt in a... well god knows when.

Even so, you retracted your hand from his hold.

"I don't need help." You mutter, almost to yourself. "I'm doing just fine, thank you."

Hoseok frowned. His elegant features looked wrong with such an expression. "It certainly didn't look like it Y/N."

You gasped, your stranger-danger reflexes kicking into high gear. It was like you had completely forgot you were talking to a total nut-case. "How do you know my name?"

"Are we going to do this all day?" He mumbled, a slight pout replacing his previous grimace. "I told you, I'm an angel. Your angel to be exact."

"And what? Does being an angel give you super psychic powers?" You spat back.

He considered this for a moment, but shook his head, unfazed by your tone of voice. "No. I was instructed to find and aid a Y/N L/N. That's you."

What the hell does that even mean? 'Instructed to find you?' And what? Break into your home, spew some crazy nonsense and scare the living daylights out of you? You sneered, pivoting in your seat to create some distance. "And who instructed you to do that? God?"

Hoseok looked thoughtful, wrinkling his nose and gazing up at the ceiling. "No... not exactly."

Seriously, who the fuck is this guy?

You took a moment, clenching your eyes shut and rubbing your head which had begun to ache again. "Ok, so, let's say---for a second--that I believe you, which I don't, but for your sake let's say I do. Why in the hell would anyone send an angel to help me?"

Hoseok launched forward, his face inches from your own and his good looks nearly blinding you. The silver cross around his neck beat against his chest as he exhaled, examining your face closely. His features were scrunched in a look of curiosity and rejection. "So you don't believe me?"

You pulled away from him, using your tiny hands to shove his face a safe distance from your own. "No! Of course not! Do you understand how crazy you sound?"

With a thrust of his wrist, he shot himself into a standing position, towering over you like a giant. "Ok. Hold on."

“Hold on for what?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

You didn't know what to expect, maybe some arm flapping, or some more weird dancing--you might not have complained if he took off his shirt. What you didn't expect were for two huge, lavender wings to sprout from his back, unfolding to occupy nearly half of your tiny apartment bedroom. They glimmered iridescently, almost see-through. Little orbs of shining light poured from his chest as he turned in a circle so you could get a good look at him.

"Holy shit." Were the only words you could manage as you stared, transfixed.

The strange dream you had suddenly crashed into your brain as you remembered the glowing purple lights that poured into your room, and the floating boy that had descended from your ceiling.

‘Don’t give up yet!’ He had called out to you.

There’s a cool sensation against your skin as you recall the vast, open body of water that you had stood in. The one where lavender grew from beneath and the smell had overwhelmed your senses.

That was a dream, wasn’t it?

‘There’s so much to live for.’

That voice did sound like Hoseok.

‘I’m here now.’

Then, the wings vanished, folding back into his body with an enormous flap. Little pearls of glitter dispersed throughout the air and a couple translucent, purple feathers came to rest on the floor below. Hoseok beamed at you as if he just won a game of monopoly.

"Do you believe me now?"

"Oh my god." You blinked.

"Again. Not exactly."

"I get it now." Your voice was quiet, but Hoseok heard you.

His eyes sparkled in excitement, grinning ear to ear. "You do?"

You nod slowly. "I do."

Throwing his hands up in elation, Hoseok's eyes grew so squinty with happiness that they were merely little slivers of black eyelashes. "That's great! So now you'll let me help you?"

You ignored his question. "I did it. I really did it."

He frowned, lips dipping in confusion. "Wait. Did what?"

You sighed, raking a hand through your vomity, unwashed hair. "I'm dead. I'm actually dead."

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Next⤏

A/N

Completely unedited. I'm sorry! I'll go back through the chapters as I go and edit them. I know it needs... more. But I hope you enjoyed it!

Cial

22 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 22

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007

She stands at the kitchen sink, watching through the window as they sit side by side at the patio table. Millie already in her pajamas, hair still damp from a bath, Tyler in a pair of weathered old sweatpants and tattered t-shirt. Their resemblance striking; same color and texture of hair, same ears and profile, even the same shaped lips and those brilliant blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes. She’s her father’s child; even more so than the boys; sharing not only physical appearance, but facial expressions and body language. Even now their faces mirror each other: eyes narrowed, and brows pinched together, mouth set in a thin, stern line. A staring contest and a battle of wills that’s lasted for more than a minute with no sign of either weakening or wavering. Millie strict and demanding over how she wants things done when it comes to her birthday invitations, her father wondering just how the hell he’d managed to get himself into such a mess in the first place. They're both ferociously stubborn; Millie even more so. And she always wins; no one is immune to that mop of hair and those eyes and that little voice.

Her father is especially weak when it comes to her. An almost six-year-old able to bring a man that size, and who possesses so much strength and power, to his knees. She’s his number one weakness; always balking at scolding her even when she deserves it, succumbing to all the begging and pleading for ‘one more’ bedtime story even though it always turns into five, finding it incredibly hard to say no and very rarely doing so. While his bond with all the kids is strong, the one with Millie is even more so. Perhaps because she’s the first after Austin’s death; a rainbow baby of sorts. Or maybe because she represents the start of his new life; his second chance. A man that had so little to live for suddenly being given everything to live for. She had been conceived in the most unconventional of place during the most unconventional of times. A little blue-eyed miracle that reminds him every day of just how lucky he is to be on this side of the ground.

“Daddy....I am telling you...” Millie finally speaks, her facial expression never changing and her eyes never wavering from his. “...you HAVE to use the glitter.”

“But I don’t want to use it. That shit gets everywhere. You do it the way you want. Then your mom can bitch at you for getting it all over the place.”

“She’ll bitch at you for letting me use glitter without supervision.”

“I am sitting right here. I am supervising.”

“But you gotta use it too,” she insists. “Or the cards won’t match.”

“They don’t have to, Martha Stewart. Relax.”

“Yes. They do have to match. Why are you being so difficult?”

“Amelia...”

She giggles. “Daddy...”

“You’re not the boss.”

“Neither are you. You just think you are. Mommy’s the boss. Your boss.”

Tyler frowns. “Is that what she said?”

“She doesn’t need to say it. It’s just the way it is. And mommy would tell you to use the glitter too.”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit. She’d never say that. She hates glitter.”

“She hates play-doh and slime,” Millie argues.

“And glitter.”

“She never said that!”

“Excuse me? Yes, she did. After your brother got mad at you and dumped a whole container of it in your backpack. Remember? When we still lived at the old house?”

“Oh yeah,” Millie scowls, then pulls her top lip between her teeth and then releases it with an audible ‘pop’. “...well I guess that means you should be really, really careful with it then.”

“I guess that means you should get someone else to help. A glitter bitch.”

“Daddy! That’s a bad word! Why do you have to give me such a hard time? Don’t be like all the other boys in the house. Please don’t.”

“How would like another brother?” Tyler counters.

She gives a dramatic gasp. “Why would you do me like that? Isn’t three enough? Why so many boys? Boys are dumb. And annoying. Except you of course.”

Grinning, he lays a hand on the top of her head and presses a noisy kiss to her temple. “You are so lucky you added that last part.”

“Why? What would you do? Nothing. Because you love me too much.”

“You know what?” His voice and face are stern at first, but then a slow grins spreads from ear to ear and he scoops her up and places her in his lap; pressing kisses against her cheeks and rubbing his beard against her skin until she’s giggling and squirming in a half assed attempt to escape; little hands on his cheeks trying to push him away, the squeals becoming even louder when his fingers dig into her stomach and start tickling.

“What?” Millie asks, when the playful assault ends, and she kneels in his lap facing him; hands delicately cradling his face, a look of pure adoration on her face as she regards him. “What daddy?”

“Get back in your seat and hand me the goddamn glitter.”

Esme laughs and then turns away from the window, busying herself with making a tea and a coffee and tidying the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet for only nine at night; both Declan and Addie fast asleep upstairs, Mac curled up under her crib, snoring lightly. Normally the twins are still tearing around. Either tormenting one another or their older sister or burning off the last of their energy in the pool or down on the beach. She misses them; the dirty handprints that she is constantly wiping off every surface, the sand that they track through every inch of the house, those little voices –and even their squabbling- and the way they eventually fall asleep either spread out on the couch with the tops of their heads touching, or on the bottom bunk pressed back to back.

They’re a handful and have been since day one; a pregnancy filled with complications and scares. But they’re a joy. Rambunctious and mischievous. Fearless to a fault. Always willing to try new adventures, as long as they’re together for them.

The sun is beginning to set as she steps out onto the patio, and the strings of solar powered white lights wrapped around the patio railings springing to life, bathing the area in a soft, almost soothing glow. And she places the steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of her husband, then lays a hand on the back of his neck and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Despite the outwardly display of confidence and the rare genuine smile that crosses his face, he’s struggling. The last couple of days have been especially rough; medications not enough to take away that edge and that sense of impending doom she knows he’s feeling. It’s so many things: TJ’s troubles, Millie’s rapidly approaching sixth birthday, the situation with Ovi and the very real possibility of having to get back in the game. But he gives her an appreciative smile and lays a hand on her hip; gently squeezing before allowing his hand to lightly slide over her ass.

“Just what are you guys doing?” she inquires and slips into the chair at the head of the table; a foot on the seat, bottom of her hoodie pulled over her knee.

“I don’t even know anymore,” Tyler admits. “I just do what I’m told.”

“We’re making birthday invitations,” Millie says. “Glittery ones.”

“Yeah...I see that...” Esme frowns, then moves her seat back from the table to avoid any wayward sparkles. “You know that crap is going to be everywhere for weeks, right?”

“Daddy already has it in his hair,” Millie giggles. “And in his beard.”

“Because you thought it would be hilarious to dump glitter in your hands and rub them all over my head,” he complains.

“It was funny!” she exclaims. “You’re going to be sparkly forever now. A sparkly daddy.”

“Like one of those vampires in Twilight,” Esme muses, and he gives her a dirty look. “Just much more handsome.”

“I have vampires,” Millie announces. “Daddy could kick their asses.”

“Damn right,” he agrees.

“Daddy would kick all the monsters’ asses, right daddy? Like you kicked all the bad guys asses. Do you miss kicking bad guys’ asses?”

“You know what I miss? I miss when you didn’t say ass every five seconds.”

“Better than the s word or the f word,” she reasons, and kneels in her chair to reach for plastic container full of pencil crayons sitting in the middle of the table. “Do you? Miss kicking the bad guys’ asses?”

“Nope,” he quickly replies. “I don’t.”

Esme knows it isn’t the entire truth; someone just doesn’t give up a job...a life...like the one he’d been leading and not experience some fall out. It’s fast paced and generous; living life constantly on edge and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Days and sometimes weeks of putting your ass on the line to help a stranger; shedding a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for that pay out in the end. The job is exhilarating; every mercenary will admit to that. That there’s a certain rush that comes with the intensity. And most won’t say it out loud, but there’s a feeling of satisfaction you get when you witness revenge and karma up close; even if it means you’re delivering them yourself with your bare hands.

His entire adult has been that existence. First the military, then the job. And there’s no way he doesn’t miss. It’s quite the change; going from that life to one of routine and domesticity.

“I bet the bad guys don’t miss you,” Millie muses. “They were tired of getting their asses kicked. But who does it now that you don’t? Who goes after the bad people?”

“Other guys,” Tyler responds.

“What other guys?”

“Guys like me. Who do that sort of thing. There’s lots of guys like that out there.”

“And girls too?”

“I guess. I suppose there’s girls out there that do that kind of thing. Mommy did.”

Esme directs a kick to his shin under the table, then shakes her head when he gives her a quizzical look.

“Mommy sort of did that job,” he quickly adds. “She helped guys like me out. She helped track down the bad people and then told guys like me where we could find them.”

“Mmmm...” Millie considers this, head cocked to the side, eyes focused on the drawing she’s creating. “....is that how you met?”

“Yup. When I used to live here before I had you or your sister or your brothers.”

“In this house?”

“Not in THIS house. In my old house. Well it wasn’t really a house. It was more like a shack. But there’s where I met mommy. A long time ago. Auntie Nik brought her there and introduced us.”

“We should go there sometime,” Millie suggests. “To your old place. To see it. Who lives there now?”

“A friend of mine. You met him a few times when you were a baby.”

“I want to go there,” she decides. “To your old place. I want to see where you met mommy. Is that where you helped put me in her tummy?”

“No. That happened somewhere else,” Esme speaks up. “In an entirely different country. In Bangladesh. A place called Dhaka. Daddy and I were working there. That’s where you were made.”

“We should go there too,” Millie concludes.

“Yeah, that’s a no from me,” Tyler says. “That’s not a place I want to go back to.”

“Is that where you almost died?”

Esme watches her husband’s face; mug pressed against her lips as she waits for his reaction. Noticing the small intake of breath and the slow, steady way he releases it. The way his shoulders tense and his leg begins to shake back and forth underneath the table.

“Yeah...” he finally speaks, then turns his attention towards the craft in front of him. His eyes are dark and that vein in his neck...the one that had to be surgically repaired after being blown out by Farhad- begins to pulsate. “...that’s where I almost died.”

“How?” Millie asks.

“You know what,” Esme comes to his aid. “This isn’t a good time to talk about these kinds of things. Not so close to bedtime, okay Millie? It will give you nightmares and as much as we love you, we don’t want you sleeping with us until you’re eighteen.”

“It won’t give me nightmares,” she argues. “I’m fine.”

“Amelia...” Her tone and her face are stern; the warning in her voice noticeable enough that her daughter looks up at her. “Not right now. Thank you.”

Silence falls on the table, no further conversation for several minutes. Nothing but the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, the slight rustle of the trees, and the soft scrape of pencil crayons against paper. And Tyler reaches under the table to lay a hand on Esme’s thigh, squeezing lightly and giving her a small, grateful smile. There are days when he can talk openly and honestly about what happened in Dhaka. He was able to tell the therapist the whole story without even breaking a nervous sweat. But there’s other times where it’s unbearable; the memories too strong and too painful. The mental wounds still too fresh and feeling still too raw.

“Look at you,” Esme laughs, and the lays a hand on the side of his face and turns his head towards her. “You have glitter everywhere. It’s all in your beard. It looks like you went down on a stripper. I hope you don’t think you’re coming near my bits looking like that.”

He grins. “Oh, I so am.”

“Like hell you are. Last thing I need is being sparkly down there. I don’t know how you’re going to get all that out of there,” she vigorously rubs her palms against her beard, then frowns as she studies the purple and silver flecks left behind on her skin. “It couldn’t at least be a good color that brings out your eyes?”

“Might have to just shave the whole thing off,” he says.

“Like hell you will. We’ve talked about this. Do you want a divorce? Because that’s how you get a divorce.”

“You don’t even know what I look like clean shaven.”

“You’re not Tyler without a beard. Your kids won’t even recognize you. That's how they know you. That’s how I know you.”

“Don’t do it, daddy,” Millie implores. “You’ll look totally different. Like a stranger. I want you to look like daddy.”

“Two against one,” Esme says. “The beard stays.”

“You only look like the beard because when we do...well when I do...you know... you like the way it feels.”

“I’ll give you that. But it’s also because it’s rugged and manly and you look so freaking sexy with it. Even with silver and purple glitter in it. Speaking of glitter....” she stands up and picks up on of the finished creations. “...I take it she mentioned her party and you went along with it.”

“Come on, you knew I wouldn’t say no.”

“I did,” she admits. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to be completely uncomfortable and miserable, either. That’s a lot of people. Here. In your space. I know how much you value your space. So, if you think it’s too much to deal with...”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. “I’ll deal.”

She stares at him pointedly, brows arches.

“I’ll be fine, babe,” he assures her, and reaches out to lay a hand on the small of her back. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Daddy’s tough,” Millie declares. “Super tough.”

“Yes,” her mother agrees. “The toughest guy I’ve ever known, that’s for sure.”

“Is that why you fell in love with him?” Millie inquires. “Because he’s tough?”

“There’s a lot of reasons why I fell with him,” Esme replies, as she sits back down in her seat and places her feet in her husband’s lap. “I guess being tough was once of them. Because I knew that I’d always be safe, and I’d have nothing to be scared of when he’s around. That he'd always be willing to protect me and be able to physically do it.”

Tyler smiles and gives her a wink, his hand giving her foot a squeeze.

“He also had really cool hair and crazy beautiful eyes,” she continues. “And big arms. Not to mention that face. Pretty damn handsome, I think. He was kind of mean though. When we first met.”

Millie’s eyes widen as she looks towards her father. “You were mean? To mommy?! Did you make her cry?”

“I did not make her cry and I was not mean.”

“Not right away,” Esme says. “But he got really mean and really bossy when we got to Dhaka.”

“Listen, your mom’s not telling you the truth,” Tyler address his little girl. “I got a little mean, yeah. You want to know why? Because even then your mommy didn’t like to listen to a word I say. And I was in charge and she did something I told her not to and she got in trouble and I got mad.”

“I just put him in his place though,” Esme says with a shrug as she sips her tea. “That just made him even more mad and even meaner. Deep down though, I think he liked it. A woman being all assertive and aggressive with him.”

“I’m not afraid to admit that I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

“That was obvious,” Esme grins, and presses her toes into his crotch.

“You think I’m tough, Millie? Your mom’s even tougher than I am. Hands down the toughest woman...person...I’ve ever met. She’s little, but she’s bad ass.”

“Like me!” Millie cheerfully exclaims.

“You’re exactly like her in a lot of ways. You know how tough someone has to be to trick the bad guys into telling her secrets and letting her know where they are? Crazy tough. When you get older, I’ll tell you a story about how she handled things in Ireland against some pretty scary people. She went in there and talked them all by herself. She wasn’t even scared. Not for a second. I was proud of her. Insanely proud.”

“Don’t make me cry,” Esme pleads, and gives him a brilliant smile. “Because my hormones are all over the place since having your daughter and I’m liable to bawl at anything.”

“Mommy’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known,” he continues. “Not a lot of people would do what she did. When she stuck around to help me in Dhaka. No one else was going to do it. I would have died if she hadn’t had been there.”

“But you didn’t,” Esme says. “And that’s all that matters.”

She hates being praised for it; truly believing that she’d done what anyone with a conscience and an ounce of compassion would have done in that situation. Ovi had been too young; there’s no way he should have had to spring into action and shoulder that kind of responsibility. But there’d been no excuse for Nik. There were other team members there; they could have easily kept the situation under control while she held; at least lending a hand to control the bleeding long enough to get him into the chopper and get both Ovi AND him out of there.

And she’ll hold that grudge for the rest of her life; every time the subject of Dhaka comes up or she looks at the scar on her husband’s neck.

****

Ovi arrives just as darkness fully sets in, standing on the bottom step of the patio; cautiously watching them for several minutes, hands shoved in his pockets, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You don’t have to just stand there, mate,” Tyler speaks up. “You can join us, you know.”

The younger man breathes a sigh of relief as he climbs the steps, giving Esme a small, apologetic smile which she returns with a curt one of her own before looking away. Their talk the night before had left a bitter taste in both of their mouths; she’d been harsh and brutally honest and refuses to make any apologies for it. She doesn’t understand how, despite all of the things he’s seen and heard in Dhaka and the years following it, that he can be so steadfast about diving headfirst into such a dangerous life. She’d laid out the hardest of truths she possibly could; the long-lasting effects on Tyler’s mental and physical health, the demons and the monsters that prey on every day, the trickle-down effects and impacts the entire family. Yet he remains determined. Either too stubborn to face the truth, or too just immature and ignorant.

“Millie, why don’t we go inside and get a bedtime snack,” Esme suggests, when Ovi steps up onto the patio, finishing the last of her tea and pushing her chair away from the table. “You can finish these tomorrow, okay? I think daddy’s had just about as much glitter and coloring he can take.”

“Okay,” she willingly –and surprisingly- agrees. “You’ll still tuck me in right, daddy?”

“You know it. Just come and get me when you’re ready, yeah?”

Nodding, she curls an arm around his neck and sweetly pecks his lips. Then scurries over to Ovi and wraps her arms around his, tightly squeezing.

“I can’t deal with this tonight,” Esme says, when Tyler catches her by the wrist before she can leave, a concerned and almost puzzled look on his face. “I don’t want to deal with it all. You do what you have to do. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

He nods in understanding, and she leans down to press a soft, quick kiss to his lips before ushering Millie into the house.

“I think she’s still mad,” Ovi comments, as he drops into a chair at the end of the table.

“Really?” Tyler scoffs. “What gave you that impression?”

Standing, he begins tidying up the table, stuffing pencil crayons, glue sticks, and tubes of sparkles into small plastic storage containers. A far cry from when his hands used to inflict pain and even death on others; glitter caked under his nails and stuck to his fingers as opposed to blood and dirt. And it horrifies him how disappointed he feels over the thought; how blood seemed so much better and easy to accept than a child’s craft supplies. It’s not the first time in six months he’s missed what things were like before, and he knows it won’t be the last. That it will always be there; that side of him that had actually enjoyed the job and the payday that came with.

And it fucking disgusts him.

“I understand why she’s upset,” Ovi says.

Tyler regards him, eyebrow arched. “Do you? ‘Cause I don’t think you do.”

“She doesn’t want you getting back into this. Into that job. Into the job. Because if what happened in New Zealand.”

“Do you even understand what went on there? Why I left? Why I called it quits and came home? Because something tells me you don’t.”

“Mental health issues.”

“That’s part of it. I came home because I couldn’t fucking do it anymore. I’d had enough. Of that life and all the bullshit that came with it. Fucking death and blood and gore and everything that came with it. Helping people that don’t give a shit if I’m alive or dead at the end.”

“I gave a shit,” Ovi reminds him.

“You know how long I’d be doing the job? Almost sixteen years. That’s a fucking lifetime for guys like me.”

“Guys like us,” the younger man stresses.

“You’re not there yet. You might not even get there. You might not even get past what I have in store for you. You want to think it’s all a big game and that it’s something you ‘just want to try out’? Well you’re going to see just how fucking fun it is when I get a hold of you. So if you’re having any second thoughts, I’d back out now before it’s too late and I have you curled up in a ball of your own puke and piss.”

Ovi blinks at the harshness in his voice.

“You wonder why she’s upset? Why she’s pissed off with you? With the whole fucking world right now? Do you know how many promises I’ve made to her that I’ve broken? So many that she doesn’t even believe me when I make promises anymore. That’s fucking sad. It’s pathetic. And here I am, breaking another one.”

“You’re not exactly...”

“You know what? You don’t get to talk. You're just going to sit there and listen to what I have to say. You want to be a man and make these kinds of decisions? Then you sit there and let another man tell you the way things are. I’m not just random off the street that doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The job was my life. It’s who I was. And when I walked away, I thought I left it behind. And then you come along with this bullshit...”

“Tyler...I...”

“Just shut the fuck up and listen,” he growls. “I’m not fucking around here, Ovi. I’m not pulling any punches. It wasn’t just the job that screwed with my head. There was a lot of things that fucked me up. Things you don’t even know about. All the way back to when I was a kid. But the job? The job fucked me in more ways than you can even begin to imagine. You think it’s fun killing people? That I actually enjoyed it? I took pride in it?”

Ovi shakes his head.

“I did it for the money. That’s it. I didn’t do it to help people. I didn’t give a shit about myself, why would I give a shit about them? And then you came along, and Dhaka happened, and that was my one chance to make things right. For redemption. To prove I wasn’t a shit human being. And part of me was ready to die that day. More than ready. And another part of me wanted to stay alive because I thought maybe...just maybe...I’d met someone that could teach me how to give a shit again. That would actually give a shit about me.”

“She obviously did. And still does. Or she wouldn’t be here.”

“She stayed behind on that bridge. Knowing there was a chance that Asif would get a hold of her. Do you know what would have happened to her if he had? What he would have done to her? Way worse than he would have done to you. He would have killed you quickly. He would have waited days with her. Weeks. Until he was bored with her; tired of doing all kinds of sick and twisted shit to her.”

Ovi swallows heavily, tears welling in his eyes.

“And she still stayed. Knowing what would happen if she got caught there. Fucking Nik took off. She wasn’t even going to come back for us. Everything should have told Esme to leave me there and she didn’t. So don’t come here...to my house...and even think about disrespecting my wife.”

“I wasn’t going to. I...”

“You didn’t even give a shit about what she had to say last night. She’s trying to save your life and you didn’t even care. She doesn’t want you ending up like me, don’t you fucking get that? You think I want to be like this? Fucked in the head? Having to take medication every morning to just goddamn function like somewhat of a human being? You think I want my wife and my kids to see me like this? What the hell is wrong with you that you can’t see what the job does? It hasn’t just fucked me up, it’s fucked all of them up. My wife, my kids. Why can’t you see that?”

“I don’t expect you to get back into the job. Just to help me. And you said you would. With the training. You said...”

“You think it’s really going to stop there? That that’s going to be enough? I’m going to get dragged back into this shit. You know it, I know it. Esme knows it. And it’s fucking killing her inside. Because I told her that this time I was done for good. And now look. Look at the goddamn mess you’ve gotten me into.”

“I never meant to...”

“Never meant to what? Bring me back into it? Bullshit. It’s what you wanted right from the get-go. You never wanted to do this alone. You wanted me with you right from the start. Well now you got what you want. You’ve got me right back into this crap. Whether I want to be in it or not. You know I wouldn’t let you do it alone. You damn well knew from the start I’d never let that happen, didn’t you.”

Ovi reluctantly nods.

“Well I hope you’re prepared then. Because I’m not going to make this easy on you. You want me to drag me off to some shit hole and get me killed, I get to do things my way. And I swear to Christ, if my marriage falls apart because of this and I lose my kids....”

“You won’t. That won’t happen. She’d never leave. You know she wouldn’t.”

“I know she WOULD. Don’t tempt it. I break one more promise to her and it’s done. She’ll take off and I’ll never see my kids again. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making yours miserable because of it. Understand me?”

“I don’t understand why you’re both so worried. Why you’re both so upset. I don’t...”

“What if I don’t come back?” Tyler angrily interjects. “What if this is the one time no one is around to save me? What if it’s the one time a sniper puts a bullet in my head instead of my chest? Do you know what I leave behind? Five kids. Five little kids that deserve so much better than this. Does that even matter to you? Do they even matter to you?”

“Of course they do!” Ovi exclaims. “I love those kids! They’re my brothers and sisters! How could you even ask me that? How could you...?”

“You love them but you’re willing to take their dad away from them? It’s okay that I go in there to rescue your ass, but I get killed for it? I leave them behind; I leave Esme behind. Do you know what that would do to her? Me not coming back? Like what the fuck?” He angrily tosses the craft supplies into a storage container on the edge of the patio and slams the lid closed. “Do you not realize everything I stand to lose?”

“I do. I do realize that. You have a life. A wife and kids and...:”

“And you’re still going to do it. You’re still going to go ahead with this bullshit.”

Ovi sighs.

“We start the day after Millie’s birthday. I don’t want to hear anything more about it until then. You know you’re more than welcome to keep coming over here, just don’t talk about this again. Not in front of my wife. And especially not in front of my kids. Understand me?”

“I understand.”

“We’re finished here. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s been a long fucking day and I’m done with it. With everything. I’m going into Port Douglas tomorrow to take Millie to see my dad. You can come along if you don’t mention a word of this around her.”

“Okay. I’d like that. To see him again. And I’m sorry. I really am. For all the problems. For all the bullshit. I never meant to cause issues. Especially for you and Esme. I never meant...”

“You come between us and fuck things up, I will make your life hell,” Tyler vows, as he gathers up the dirty coffee mug and steps towards the entrance to the house. “I lose my family because of all this, it won’t end well for you.”

“Tyler, I...”

“We’re done with this,” he says, and then slams the door closed behind him.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride.

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway.

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back.

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”.

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat.

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence.

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican.

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa.

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue.

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing.

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette.

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness.

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star.

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration.

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure.

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget.

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn.

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest.

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget.

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft.

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her.

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.”

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.”

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag.

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together.

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her.

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious.

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset”

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this.

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile.

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision.

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words.

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified.

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-” her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame.

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden.

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor.

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality.

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God.

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows.

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table.

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need.

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x”

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her.

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul.

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to.

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there.

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery.

How did she end up like this?

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?”

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud.

“Please - x”

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own.

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay”

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong.

“Same place, same time? - x"

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice.

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian.

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process.

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air.

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality.

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind.

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough.

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.”

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present.

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with.

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?"

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity.

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke.

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope.

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask.

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body.

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own.

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.”

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own.

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction.

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones.

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible."

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks.

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips.

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky.

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind.

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future.

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look.

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul?

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.”

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze.

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm.

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be.

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind.

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken.

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being.

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint.

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil.

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return.

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in.

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles.

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes.

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates.

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening."

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist.

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory.

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.”

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room.

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat.

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention.

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question.

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat?

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.”

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love.

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself.

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips.

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real.

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love.

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #smut #fluff #lesbian au #fic challenge #musical theatre challenge #dreamyunicorngirl #musical theatre au #tw religion #tw panic attacks #tw internalized homophobia #submission

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