#FUCK I FORGOT TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THE ~freshly blocked~ FLOOR
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after failing miserably the first go around, (crochet) Home's walls are complete! we're less than halfway there but hey! The Walls!
#wally. doesnt quite fit... but thats okay!#not all homes are meant to be entered i think#ok that top photo is. At An Angle.#ALL OF THE WALLS ARE SYMMETRICAL I SWEAR!!#i kept careful track as you can see on that sticky note!#counted the normal rows AND the blo rows!#FUCK I FORGOT TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THE ~freshly blocked~ FLOOR#photos from the bog#ok i got the walls (majority of it anyway) and the floor done#whats left is the wall Triangles + roof + detail#OH! and i need to get some felt#just a lil somethn to glue to the interior to make sure it remains Sturdy#this will be a box after all! fully functional and Delightful to have on my shelf!#what will i put in this small home. fuck if i know but we'll find out eventually!#maybe she'll hold my chapstick collection...#OH! OR MY STICKERS! the ones that dont have a Surface yet!#oh thats perfect :]c home can keep my unused stickers safe for me :]c
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together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois
a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!
Pierre was in Los Angeles.
At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.
You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.
“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”
“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising.
“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”
“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.
“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”
Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up.
“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call. You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.
“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.
You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.
“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”
“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.
“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.
***
Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.
Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”
The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”
“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”
In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”
Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.
“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.
“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”
“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.
“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”
“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.
Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”
“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.
“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”
“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.
“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.
“Yeah it’s perfect.”
***
The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.
“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”
Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”
With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.
As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.
You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”
“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”
“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”
Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm. He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”
Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”
“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”
Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.
Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.
Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.
“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.
And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.
***
This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.
You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?
“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”
“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”
“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.
“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”
Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.
“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.
“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.
Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better.
“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”
“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”
Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.
“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.
“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.
“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”
“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.
Only if you could get it through your heads.
***
The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.
“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.
Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”
“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.
“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.
“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”
“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”
“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”
The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom.
You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.
“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.
“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.
“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.
Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.
“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.
“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”
Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.
“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.
“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.
“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.
“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”
***
You’re coming over right?
Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.
Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.
He didn’t get you anything.
Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.
“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift.
You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”
“I called your mom and asked her for it,” You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”
“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”
You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”
“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”
“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.
“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”
“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”
Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.
“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”
“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”
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CHAPTER 1: Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim.
Summary: 19 year old Elizabeth Hillard is met with the truth that she is actually a late blooming Omega.
Please read the trigger warnings and tags!: description of medical vagina examination, abandonment and verbal scolding/abusive tones. non-consensual treatment. non-consensual drugging.
Notes: A gift to @cursedcursingviking
“Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim” means “be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.”
April 15th 2023, 13:00pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.
“Holy shit, holy shit, no, no, no!” she was sobbing. Stick in hand, a horse shoe and a smiley face soaked in her urine on the tip. Five other tests were on the floor around her feet, all positive; all Omega.
She couldn’t believe this, her whole life said “Alpha, Alpha, you are an Alpha.”
Her parents were both Alphas!
She was meant to be an Alpha!
The possibility of being an Omega for her is less than six percent. The last Omega in her family was her great-grandmother on her mother’s side or some distant shit like that. Her aunts and uncles were all betas and Alphas.
Her family have always told her that “to be an Omega is to be a waste of time.”
Omegas were submissive, obedient, they were at home looking after pups or in the hospital at the nursery or at daycares looking after loud, slobbering toddlers.
Her family were strongly built, they were made of soldiers, police officers, construction developers, political leaders and company CEO’s. Not pathetic, whiney housewives.
Currently she was seeing her whole world swirling down the toilet as she flushed it. She wanted to stay in school and study to be a high paid vet! Now she’ll be sent to a correctional centre or foreign country with extra distant family and forced to knit and paint until finally sold off to a partner or a birthing centre for science.
She sobbed harder before finally vomiting over the toilet bowel induced by the overwhelming stress.
Laying her cheek on the seat she glanced at her watch and cringed. Her mother would be home any minute! Picking up each test, she considered snapping them in half and clogging the toilet up with them yet what was the use? When scent was in the picture evolution was the final bitch.
Looking at the many smiley faces she felt like they were mocking her, laughing at her. Normally she would get angry, but now…instead she was sad. Tears sprung in her eyes again as she cradled them to her chest. Stumbling out of the bathroom she clamped up the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door instead of slamming it. Gentle, considerate. Dropping the tests onto the side table, she fell into her bed and crawled under her covers.
“W-worst day ever.” She cried over and over, muffled by the softness of her pillows she inhaled in.
April 15th 2023, 16:30pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.
“Beth! Come down here please!” Her mother called from the kitchen.
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed open, she was wrapped in a tumble of her sheets and blankets. Her mother must’ve just come just gotten home, she was always so busy with her corporate work, she hadn’t seen her dad in two weeks since his overtime in the city bank.
She could hear her call again, firmer this time around.
She groaned and dragged herself up from her bed and down the stairs. Her stomach growled, hungry. She wondered what her mother was planning to cook or if they were just going to have pizza.
Stepping into the Kitchen her mother was kicking off her leather shoes and ripping her suit jacket over the counter.
“What did I say about boys?” She snapped over her shoulder. Drinking down a Painkiller. Great, she was already in a bad mood. She forgot her mother only got her cornrows re-braided yesterday, her head must’ve been violently sore. Elizabeth tried warning her to not go into work, call in a sick day, but no one would attempt to change Mrs. Hillard’s mind once it was made, like most mums.
But boys? Now that Elizabeth didn’t understand the sudden burst of tone. She felt her body loosen and turn icy, her skin covered in goosebumps. She mother was furiously popping an second pill before her when Elizabeth shivered, “D-don’t bring boys over.”
She sneered, her canines flashing; her large brown eyes identical to her daughters, glared her down.
Stepping around her to the cupboards, she whipped out an air freshener and dosed the room in a scent of lavender…only to be clouded by hormonal pheromones.
She felt the air grow painfully heavy as her mother hissed and sprayed the can out, before furiously slamming onto the counter and slamming the cupboards shut.
“Then why the fuck do I smell an omega?!” her sharp nail pointed to the ceiling and she began yelling as though there was someone upstairs she was calling to, “You tell that bloody boy to get out before I haul his goddamn omega ass out onto the fucking sidewalk!”
Omega…She thinks I brought an omega over…She smells…me…omega…I’m an omega…no…no…
“M-mum…I don’t have a b-boy over,” Elizabeth stepped from side to side.
Her mother pinched the bridge her nose and sighed, “Well Beth…I didn’t know you were into girls,” gently reaching out, and peeled back her daughter’s silk cap lovingly releasing her coily hair, “…but she needs to leave.” Her mothers fingers touched her cheek, boiling. It was then that colour started to fade from her face.
“Mum, please-” Before the poor teen could explain that she was the scent, Mrs Hillard marched her way up stairs and slammed open the door to her room where a giant wave of humid Omega scent flew out.
No…no! Mum! Stop! No!
Her voice was silent, her lips shut in a worried grimace.
As Elizabeth ran up the stairs, she heard her mother scream.
April 15th 2023, 17:45pm, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.
The hospital was…cold…the air-conditioning pelting down on her neck made her snuggle deeper into her sweater. Her mother was trembling just as hard as she was. She was shaken up herself, Elizabeth couldn’t tell if her mother was experiencing fear, rage even …disappointment. She hadn’t let Elizabeth touch her ever since she found all the positive Omega tests. When she tried to hold her hand, her mother growled at her.
Elizabeth though craved touch, she needed support, she needed her mum, she needed affection.
The waiting room was almost empty, the only other people was an Omega man with his pup in a sling while his Alpha wife continued to protectively touch their baby’s forehead. Elizabeth stared at the baby though… pups…where are my pups?...
“Elizabeth Hillard?” an English accent cut through the train of thought on the baby. In the doorway to the hall, the tall doctor was looking between her and the couple. When she stood up, with her mother hot on her tail, he smiled and led them to his office.
Awkwardly Elizabeth sat down onto waiting chair next to the doctors desk. Taking a deep breath she could smell the scent of Alpha and hand sanitiser. The overwhelming senses made her feel slightly nauseas.
Her mother sat beside her with a mournful sigh, she lifted her hand out to the doctor to shake it, “Julia, Mrs Hillard, Beth’s mother.”
He smiled, “Hello Mrs Hillard, I’m Doctor Cavill.” After the two Alphas acquainted themselves he finally sat in his wheeley chair and regarded Elizabeth.
“What can I help you with today Miss Hillard?” he smiled. Beth noticed how he looked so clean, and was built like a brickhouse, he smelt like an Alpha. The rooms light glinted on his medical wrist band proclaiming him as his blood type and confirming his own scent. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were kind, made of two colours, blue and his left eye had a tip of brown…it was merely something she saw...his smile was warm like a freshly baked cookie. Oh god…she was aroused.
Beth didn’t realise she wasn’t answering his question when he stared at her and her mother finally answered.
“She smells like an Omega.”
The Doctor then turned his attention away and pursed his lips and lifted a single brow at Mrs. Hillard, “Is something wrong with that?”
Her mother scoffed and rose her voice to a humiliating state. Elizabeth’s heart was beating fast, her cheeks were heating up and she tried sinking further into the seat. Her nose dug into the woollen shoulder of her sweater.
“Her father and I are both pure blooded Alphas! How can this happen!? The last omega we had was my great-grandmother and that’s it!”
Doctor Cavill sighed calmly taking off his glasses and setting them on his desk he then folded his arms and stood from his desk, “I see, well then Mrs Hillard, please step outside to the waiting room. I will need to conduct a blood and vaginal test.”
Her mother obviously huffed and grumbled about ‘how unprofessional’ and ‘surely I can stay’. Even now Elizabeth wanted her to leave with her hostile attitude. Luckily there was no way a female Alpha would argue with a male Alpha. When the door shut though it felt strange. All the heavy tension in the room lifted off of Elizabeth’s chest. She felt instantly calmer and made it easier to breathe.
The doctor sat back into his desk chair and crossed a leg over another casually.
“So…” he smiled, “How do you feel Miss Hillard?”
She gulped slightly and shakily answered, “Everything is smelling sweeter than normal,” she hated the scent of hand sanitiser but now it was something she wanted to shove up her nose. If it blocked out every other scent from the dust on the walls to the chocolate in the vending machine outside to the scent of the alpha right in front of her…she’d drink it all down.
“No,” he chuckled pushing back from his desk and started rummaging through his desk for medical items, “I mean, are you okay? Are you stressed or scared, or are you alright? I can always get a cup of water for you. But we need to take your blood first.”
She shook her head and tucked her neck deeper down into her sweater. Her fingers felt the scratchiness of the wool. She nodded and slipped the material off over her head and folded it neatly onto the chair her mother sat.
“I’m terrified,” Elizabeth confessed, her voice choked up, “I don’t want to be an Omega, I hope this is just a stupid puberty flux…maybe it’s a flip!”
It wasn’t uncommon for this situation to happen. Hormones can sometimes Flip and shows signs for the two other blood types, sometimes blood has become contaminated due to high iron levels or too much sugar intake. Diabetes were always Flipping the board. There were a million things that could cause a Flip in the hormonal pool.
“There’s nothing wrong with being an Omega you know,” her doctor commented sternly, holding up a needle, changing the needle point while Elizabeth choked.
She felt unusually insulted, “Everything is wrong with being an Omega, I won’t get the job I want and I won’t be allowed to come to parties with my friends, I’ll be stuck home with a…a…a fucking baby. Or sent to a breeding farm! I heard about the science experiments conducted on pregnant Omegas in the camps.”
The doctor turn abruptly at her and narrowed his eyes at her, he seemed offended. What does he need to be offended about, he’s an Alpha!
But his frown became a smirk, “You’re aware they are safetly committed with the Omegas consent,” He patted the medical chair in the centre of the room, “But whatever case, what do you want to do Career wise?” he asked while she crawled up atop of the tall chair and let him pull up her sleeve and wipe the alcohol on her arm.
“I want to be a vet,” She winced as the needle broke through her skin. She looked away from the bubbling blood being sucked up through the tube.
As he pulled away and capped the needle tip he asked, “Ever thought about midwifery?”
“I don’t like babies,” she snorted, “They’re so uncomfortable to be around. And I don’t want to listen to a screaming woman in labour.”
She noticed the movement in his shoulders as they slumped, he nodded and she felt like she was failing an unspoken test. She felt a rising anxiety, she growled to herself, it’s just a hormonal Flip.
“Fair enough,” her doctor said off handily, he sealed up her blood in a plastic bag and started to write her details. The pen cap lazily hung from his lips. He looked like he smoked…he didn’t smell like it though, maybe it was the way he stood. His scent was so easy to smell and feel…the omega yearned to know if he could smell her. And to her tragic uncontrol, her underwear were rubbing rough against her sensitive areas, the fumes dragged out this needing slick that was sickening.
Being omega is disgusting, this is what they do all the time? Gross! GET ME SOME ALPHA HORMONES NOW. She knew this had to be wrong, all the time she had been surrounded by alphas and she had been strong and confident like an alpha, maybe a little strategic like a beta. She was sure though she was alpha rather than beta and there was no possible way for her to present as a dormant omega for this long!
“How old are you Miss Hillard?”
“I’m eighteen,” she informed him of her birthday and he nodded, writing it down in the corner of the bag.
She was officially pissed off, crossing her arms she felt her eyes watering. “I want to be an Alpha or even a Beta,” she whimpered, “I can’t be an Omega, no way.”
The whimper…Shit! Stop whimpering you baby! Stop proving this point! Could you be anymore Omega!?
The doctor placed the test bag on his desk before gifting her a soft tissue “Have you taken a home determine test?” his hands settled onto his knees as he crouched down before her.
She broke out into a light sob and nodded, “ugh huh, I took six different ones…all positive for Omega.”
The doctor smiled sadly and handed her the box of tissues he had on his desk. A nurse came knocking barely after she had started. It made her feel puny when she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She felt helpless, why couldn’t they just get her some alpha hormones already?
“Please take this to the test room,” he asked the nurse, handling a plastic bag with her needle inside.
Doctor Cavill let Beth cry as long as she wanted and reminded her that it wasn’t a hundred percent if she was an Omega yet.
The doctor rubbed her back and cleared his throat. From a draw below her feet he pulled out a green plastic cape, “Miss Hillard would you like to step into the bathroom there and remove your bottoms? Put the gown on?”
Time to get the vaginal confirmation that she was tighter than a needle hole. She pushed his hand away. God he sounded patronising, even if he was being merely polite about the events unfolding she took it as a personal attack, an underlying “You’re a weak omega, deal with it!”
No! I’m not an Omega!
Things were escalating to quickly; she barely realised the conclusions she was leaping to and how dramatic she was pushing with these emotions. She sniffed hard and snapped at him, “Can’t I just take my pants off now?”
Doctor Cavill shifted back uncomfortably, he grit his teeth and scrunched up his eyes, “I merely am offering a more comfortable option,” he clapped his hands, “But you may if you wish, have you ever attended a gynaecologist for a papsmear?” he asked as he got his tools ready from another draw.
She leaped off the chair and slammed her foot down.
“Duh!” She yelled, kicking her shoes off, and shoving her pants down, she was furious. Moodswings was a popular symptom of Flips.
“I just want to get this over with. Mum is so pissed off. Can’t wait for some fucking A-pills.” She grumbled, leaning back into the chair and spread her legs apart…normally she did this with a female doctor but right now she was too impatient to request a woman and she needed to know how fucked up her Flip was and how long would she experience it and how powerful would the drugs be. She couldn’t ever stand the look her mother gave her when she held up the positive determine test with horror.
The doctor cleared his throat again, snapping white gloves onto his hand and over his wrist band. He squirted a tube of lube over his hands and over the speculum, lining it up to her vagina and pushed it inside slowly, “Miss Hillard, please relax for me.”
She huffed to herself. I am fucking relaxed! No you’re not, you’re a bad omega, obey him!
The metal was cold inside of her but she was looking forward to the results: Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, I am Alpha.
He took a flashlight and shone the light down her passage, looking down at her inner muscles, “How often do you practise sexual intercourse Miss Hillard?” looking up at her from her pussy.
Shit, the scent was strong, it was so sweet like maple syrup and honey but sweeter…lick me. Oh fuck please alpha please please.
She shook her head and blushed, “N-never, I’ve only masturbated. So….” She swallowed hard, her head felt hot and she swore she could feel cold sweat dripping down, “Am I an Alpha or Beta?”
The doctor dipped two rubber fingers inside of her, patting down and around inside her. And suddenly his eyes widened, he gently slipped out his fingers and the cold speculum out. On his fingers was blood…oh shit…
“You may sit up and dress Miss Hillard, “The doctor set his tools and gloves into a silver tray. She was shaking…what was she?
He was washing his hands in the sink right beside her head when she bit her lips and lifted up her undies and jeans back up. The room was so quiet, the only noise was the sinks running water and the air conditioner. Beth shivered and sniffled.
Doctor Cavill’s shoulders were low, he turned his head and faced her. Twisting his fingers together he shook his head, “Miss Hillard,” he started with a long exhaled breath, “You’re days away from your first Estrus.”
The earth dropped and the moon broke and the stars were dimmed…“What do you mean Estrus!?” she questioned. Tears spurted from her eyes again. Gagged by nature.
No fucking way. Yes way.
“‘Heat’, an Omega will go into Estrus or commonly known as Heat while an Alpha will go into Oestrus commonly known as a ‘Rut’,” Doctor Cavill tried explain only for the angry young woman to scream abuse at him.
“I know what it is! I must be going into Oestrus, n-not an estrus, I can’t be an Omega, doctor! Ch-Check again!”
Sweat trailed down her face onto her neck, her heart was punching her insides, seeking an escape of her ribcage.
When she tried undoing her pants again, her doctor tore her hands away and took her wrists up, he was breathing harshly through his nose, “Miss Hillard I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and take a deep breath. Listen to me.”
She shook her head over and over, she couldn’t believe it! She was finally sobbing hard, choking on her tears.
Wailing, “No, no, no, please doctor, please!”
Out of the depth of the doctor’s chest came a stern growl, “Sit. Down. Now. Or I will have to restrain and sedate you.”
Her body was out of control, she didn’t want to sit but her arse met the chair cushion anyway. Good omega.
The doctor huffed, shaking his head with disappointment, her head flinched down, cowering and humiliated. She felt apologetic, but this wasn’t the real her.
“Good girl,” he praised, handing her a paper cup filled with water from the sink, “Now drink.”
The water was gulped down in a heartbeat, she needed the refreshment even if she didn’t want it, her doctor nodded, “That’s it.”
As she sipped on some more water the nurse from earlier stepped inside and handed the doctor a sheet of paper. The blood results… she shook on the spot, her red face panicking.
“Pl-please.” She choked on the water slightly, clearing her sore throat she sniffled, “What does it say?”
There was still a chance, maybe he was wrong; maybe this was just a intense Oestrus that was causing her to bleed. Maybe it was so strong her vaginal walls were stabbing themselves, seeking out an omega cock to claim.
Cavill looked from her to the parchment a few times, he shook his head. He held out the medical sheet to her and pointed to a positive cross.
The world went silent even as he was talking to her…it was a distant noise.
“Miss Hillard, you are as I had diagnosed, Omega positive,” he scratched his gland gently, “You are days away from your first Estrus I will give you a choice to either battle through it with medical aids or medical suppressants.”
She dropped the paper and the cup, the shock was as cold as ice. She felt weak and her arms numb, her eyes rolled back and her mouth lulled open. Her life was completely over.
Elizabeth Hillard the Omega fainted.
April 16th 2023, 1:25am, Saint Heiler, Jersey, United Kingdom.
When Elizabeth woke up, she was delirious. The world wouldn’t stop twisting and turning. Abover her was a bright light, she cringed away and whimpered. There was a mean bite at her wrist. She felt cold, washed out. Her body was laid out and angled up a slight. Her cheek rubbed into the soft hospital pillow. She smelt blood, so much metallic salt in the air. And her stomach was viciously growling. She peered down and noticed what was pinching her wrist. Handcuffs. She was handcuffed to the railing of her bed!
Clearing her eyes, she found herself surrounded by three blue curtains. One was quick to open, startling her. The nurse from earlier smiled at her eagerly, her Beta tag was super shiny in the light, forcing Elizabeth to blink rapidly, “Oh look, you’re awake. Can you please tell me your full name sweetheart?”
When she sat up slowly and moaned, “Elizabeth Hendrix Hillard.”
Before she could ask the handcuffs to be removed, the nurse smiled and held up a torch.
“Wonderful, now I am gonna need to shine a little light in your eye, can you please look into the corner of the ceiling dear?”
Doing as she was told, it was quick and over as soon as it had begun. The nurse was pleased, “Fabulous, right, I’ll be right back, Doctor Cavill needs to have a chat with you.”
“B-but my hand…”
Ignoring her, the nurse left.
Something was clearly off. Why did they handcuff her!? She started to tug at the chain, feeling her anxiety seep deep and activate a sense of fight or flight. The curtains reopened. And in stepped the doctor.
He grinned and nodded his head to her, “Hello there Elizabeth, how are we?”
She wasn’t amused in the slightest, quick with retort. “Chained to a bed rail.”
He smiled and whipped out a key, uncuffing her from the bed. She cradled her wrist, murmuring ‘thankyou’.
Her stomach loudly purred, extinguishing the level of discomfort she wanted to send the doctor. “…and hungry.”
“I’ll tell the nurse to get you some jello,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands. Just as he was to leave, she launched herself forward and caught his medical coat, “Wh-where’s my mum?”
He softly assured her, “She is just sitting in my room, we were discussing options after I showed her and your father your blood results.” Oh…dad…oh jesus…
She suspected her father to have been incredibly furious. How much furniture did he break?
“You…” she paused, “options…” she gulped and smiled at the doctor, “….I want suppressants...as soon as possible.” They would surely fix everything! She could have some and go have a coffee with her friends tomorrow.
“Not those kind of options…” He sighed and perched himself near her feet at the foot of her bed.
That was a weird answer…what does he mean? Could they change my DNA? Could they turn me into an Alpha. She had heard of some new sciences like that coming in.
“What other types are there?” she laughed hesitantly.
When he didn’t answer her, she felt the air grow heavy again…there’s a reason they kept you chained like a bitch.
There was only one other option….a correctional institution. She felt ill.
“I want to see my mum,” she gulped and moved to slip out of the bed. The medical gown was scratchy against her skin, she started to feel worse, her fingers scrunched up and unravelled. Her body felt dizzy when she stood up to quickly. The doctor attempted to block her way when she peeled back the curtain to many empty bed and a single door with a sign, “Farewell room.”
No, no, fuck, no! where’s mum and dad!
She hurried to the door and shook at the handle, but it was locked, she was locked in with the doctor. She couldn’t escape. The floor cleaner and bright lights were clouding her senses, blinding her eys and stinging her mouth and nose.
She ripped a heavy breath, not thinking it would be so painful after holding it in too long. I won’t cry, no, no crying!
“Elizabeth I’m gonna need you to calm down,” the doctor informed her, setting his hands over her shoulders, she was fast to slap them away. She lowly growled at him and bared her teeth ferally. Don’t you fucking touch me!
When she realised whatg she had done, especially to an alpha, she felt instant regret and guilt, she choke on more tear and buried her head into the doctors chest. His heart was beating fast too, but not like her rabbit pounding blood.
“N-no,” she cried, “I want my mummy!”
She felt the doctor soothingly rub his hand over her head and down her back. He hushed her until she was just a whimpering woman.
The door unlocked, and finally…“Beth…” her mother spoke out to her.
She snapped back around and saw her mother and father beside the door. Her father barely came him, his lips curled in, disappointed, disgusted and silent.
A tiny smile came to Elizabeth’s face, her hands reached out, “Mum!”
But Mrs Hillard stood back from her. Again and again. The closer Elizabeth sought out her mother, the more Mrs. Hillard distanced herself and stood closer to the door.
“M-mum? H-hug me…” she begged, “pl-please mum?”
She sighed and looked away from her, refusing to look her in the eye. Shame. “Doctor Cavill, your father and I believe it is best if you…go away for sometime, “ she clutched her own arms, “…where people can help you.”
Elizabeth did not see it that way at all, and she knew her mother was lying out of her arse.
“I don’t need to be helped,” Elizabeth sniffled and smiled, “I just-just need some suppressants.”
“Elizabeth,” she seethed through her gritted teeth, “Go with the nice nurses.”
“M-mummy, please,” She put her hands together and got to her knees on the cold tiled floor, “Please don’t do this!”
“STOP!” her mother screamed, “You are making a scene!” she rolled her eyes and turned around to leave, “You will go to ‘Saint Selene’s School For Adolescent Omega.’ We may see you during the summer.” And slammed the door closed.
She ran to the door and found it locked, she pounded the window with her fists and screamed out, “D-don’t leave me, please don’t leave me Dad!…M-Mummy!” her father and mother did not look back as they walked away, abandoning their only child. Their backs and bodies continued to get smaller and smaller the further they walked. The sight broke her heart. The concept of betrayal could not be clearer. Her breath clouded the glass, her tears sliding down and tapped onto the floor, onto her naked feet.
Doctor Cavill’s hand reached out and wrapped around her bicep, trying to tug her back from the door. “Come on,” he said.
She felt her body move and she went into a frenzy of defense, “Let go of me!”
When he did not, she saw a lonely pen on the end of a bed frame with a clip board. She grabbed it and jabbed his forearm. The blue ink spattered across his skin while he yelled in pain.
“Get the fuck off of me!” she squealed again and held up the pen with both hands, take a few steps back from the now pissed off Doctor. The sound of the door opening again had her heart rushing.
Mum!?
To her massive disappointment, it was the nurse who was shocked by the scene unfolded. Now Elizabeth was surrounded.
“Put the weapon down!” the beta demands, holding up her own hands in defence, “Now.”
“Calm,” was the word she heard him say beside her ear, before pressing her back into him, grasping her jaw and finally feeling an incredibly long sting in her neck followed by the unusual flow of liquidised drugs into her body, “calm.” Her last thought was, that’s a lot of fucking morphine.
#Henry Cavill#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x black female reader#non con#tw noncon#tw drugs#tw abandonment#tw kidnapping#alpha/beta/omega dynamics#dystopian
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Dead Ivy | Chapter Four
CHECK IT OUT FROM THE START | AO3 LINK
Her skin prickled against the air that the window unit created. It fought tirelessly against the propped open front door, the porch light pouring warm light into the hallway. It reflected off the hardwood with more subtly than the shifting waves of the lake paired with a crescent moon. Beca was drunk. She let her keys fall into the dish by the door with a little clank- and she stared at them for a moment.
When she was younger, she had a curfew. It was ten o’clock on school nights and eleven on weekends. Her mother would wait up with a book in hand and the curtains drawn. She would let the night air take over the house, the screen door not doing much against the elements. Beca would still try and sneak in, even if the hinges creaked more than the wrap around porch. Then her mother died, and she didn’t have to tip-toe anymore. Just like she didn’t have to now.
“Beca? That you?”
Her father had changed out of his work clothes, though the oil was a permanent fixture under his nails. He looked tired, like the ghost of a man who had once had everything. Maybe that was the moon. Or maybe it was the fuzzy feeling that accompanied Beca, but it made her feel a deep ache. She felt bad for him. How she was the only one he had left.
“Yeah, it’s just me, dad.”
“I waited up for you… you didn’t call.”
She stared at him curiously. Even when she was a teenager, he hadn’t done that. After coming home from work he would shut himself away in his garage and work on yet another car. Her mom used to say it helped him think, but Beca always believed that it helped him be anywhere but here: Trapped in a southern domestic life with two kids and a wife that was dying.
Besides, Beca was an adult. A twenty-nine-year-old woman with a career and an apartment on the West Coast. He didn’t’ need to wait up for her, just like her roommate didn’t’ ever need to call her an Uber when she was out drinking late. She accepted both gestures as they were.
“You’ve been drinking.”
Beca breathed out heavily, she could still taste the ghost of her whiskey sour on her lips. “Yeah.”
Beca turned her attention to the staircase, putting her right foot against it. Her palm was met with the initial shock of the cold railing. She went for a second one when her father spoke. “Did you drive?”
A certain weight overturned in her stomach like she had swallowed something a little bigger than a marble. The glass was turning against her insides in a cold and unnatural way. The greasy slab of pizza that she had scarfed down after walking back into the bar was threatening to resurface. “What?”
“Did you drive home tonight?”
“No, no, I heard you.” She swallowed, dropping her hand from the railing. Her father’s face was hard, and his eyes were dark. Maybe it was because he looked so sickly, but she was sure that wasn’t it. It was anger. Seething anger that seemed to be contagious. “I took a taxi. Why would you ask me that?”
He kept his features smooth, but let out a labored sigh, finally frowning down at the hardwood floor. Beca could feel her nails digging into the railing. Whatever buzz she was carrying had tapered off. She could hear the deafening click of the hands on the clock hung beneath thoughtfully arranged family photos. Nice snapshots in time that made everything look so pristine.
“I don’t know, Bec.” He ran his hand over his freshly shaped hair. “It seems like the rational thing to ask. You’re my kid, I’m allowed to worry.”
“Not about that. You think I would get behind the wheel after that happened?” She asked, and his eyes snapped back to her with a flash of anger. They quickly softened. “I’m not some reckless teenager anymore. I’m not going to get plastered and then…”
Beca’s voice and thoughts wandered off. It wasn’t a teenager who had hit Jason, and she knew that. It was an older guy, sad and drowning his sorrows in a few whiskeys at the local bar. He taught himself how to drink and still stay within the lines. Fell asleep behind the wheel, maybe- but he had walked away with a few scratches and nothing more. Jason hadn’t walked away at all.
“You really think I would do something like that? That I would endanger not only myself but everyone else on the road because of a stupid fucking choice?”
“Someone did!” He rose his voice, dropping his hand to the side “Someone got drunk and got behind the wheel of a vehicle before smashing it into Jason’s car and I lost him. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back. Not to me, not to you, not to his ex-wife. Because he can’t. He fucking can’t.”
She swallowed thickly, fingers tightening around the banister. She stared at him for a moment and he stared right back. He looked like he had woken up in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water, but instead, he walked away with glassy eyes and a sullen face. “Goodnight, Dad.”
“Goodnight, Beca.”
She forgot how painful a hangover could be. How her head would pound, and her mouth would feel deadened with a metallic edge. The AC unit continued to hum evenly and Beca let out a breathy sigh when she heard her father’s car start up in the driveway. The sun had barely begun to peak out, and part of her hated the fact that she was awake in the first place.
Beca reached blindly for the water bottle next to her bed but settled for her phone instead. She cringed away from the seemingly blinding light and pulled open her notifications. Facebook. She didn’t even know why she kept it on her phone. It was a place that linked her here.
Stacie had tagged her in a few different posts that she doesn’t remember posing for. If people in town didn’t’ know she was back before, they knew now. She was posing sloppily next to the older woman, her nose pressed against her cheek and a drunken smile on her face. Stacie captioned it: Some things never change.
But a lot had.
She continued to scroll through the notifications before clicking on her memories. She found herself doing it every morning- looking at things she had posted on this day years before. Eleven years before. There were a few posts about school, mainly how she had just gotten her license and was looking for cars. But then there was Chloe.
A picture of the two of them leaning against the tree that was in her backyard. She could see the base of the carving. The sun peaked from behind the large oak, haloing Chloe’s natural red curls. Her eyes crinkled at the sides when she smiled, and her focus was solely on Beca. It made her stomach knot up.
Beca let out a sharp huff and clicked off her phone, staring up at the ceiling instead.
Everything about this town had plunged her into a world she worked so hard to forget. But burying the bad came with dismissing the good. And Chloe was everything good. Even after eleven years, Beca felt like this woman knew more about her than anyone.
She blinked away any sleep from her eyes and peeled the duvet back, sweat already wracking her body. She remembered the first time she saw her roommate going for a jog after a long night of drinking. They both had the same amount of liquor and Beca had curled up on the end of the couch while Aubrey resounded to taking a shot of ginger-infused juice and went for a run around the block. She was fine and Beca suffered. She thought it was an LA thing, but Aubrey pointedly told her that it was a human being thing.
So, she found herself jogging. Not because she was hungover, or the vague memory of what her father had said to her last night, just in general. Because it was something to distract her from the phone she left on her nightstand, and the sudden urge she had to go into the tool shed for an ax. Getting in a few blocks seemed like an easier option than sawing down a tree the size of her house.
Beca placed her headphones accordingly and began her journey along the sidewalks in her neighborhood. This place used to feel so big to her: the classic southern ranch homes that occupied families covering their own secrets while searching for others. They would sit on the porch and sip their sweet tea and wait for someone like her to run by. Following her with their eyes, the daring looking up from their books to offer a wave in exchange.
She could feel the back of her shirt cling to her skin, the spring heat eating away at her as her feet pounded against pollen dusted sidewalks. She expertly dodged couples walking their dogs, edging to the end of the third block she covered. Beca pulled her headphones out, placing her hands behind her head as she struggled to catch her breath in the heat.
Beca turned around Montgomery street, ignoring the pounding against the inside of her wrist. She followed the beat of the song until she made a right on Hope Avenue. Then another left against main street. The small town suddenly came into view and her mind dripped with the thoughts of the last time she had jogged this far.
It was freshmen year.
Nina Blanchard had cornered her in the girl’s locker room, backed into another locker that wasn’t her own. She considered that a small mercy among miracles. Nina had hit puberty over the summer, had grown in height among other things. Beca took a few blows to the stomach and one to the face before she grabbed her bags and made a run for it.
She had sprinted across town and all the way to Hope before struggling to drag one breath into her starving lungs. She was drenched with sweat and her cheek throbbed. The door was locked when she finally made it home and Beca had sunk to her knees in the backyard next to a big oak tree. One that swayed in the wind, making its long arms tap against her windowpane during dark storms.
Beca stopped next to the flower shop on the corner: the door was propped open with a bag of mulch and Goldenrods hung under the windows. The coffee shop next store gave off the scent of pastry and Beca fought back the nausea in her stomach. She placed her hands behind her head and tried to steady her breathing.
A businessman balanced his coffee while sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear. Two women sat at the outside table, casting a few sparing glances to a little girl that sat on the sidewalk. Her hair was a mess of blonde curls, her head downcast as she picked evenly at the grass poking up between the sidewalks. Beca couldn’t tell over her heavy breathing, but she looked like she was crying, tears dripping from her chin.
Beca wanted to leave, to begin her long jog home, but instead, she pulled her headphones from her ears and lowered herself to the curb- not completely next to the girl, but enough for her to pick up her head and give her a strange look. They sat in silence while Beca continued to catch her breath.
“Why are you sweating so much?” The girl finally asked, voice foggy.
“I went for a run.”
“You stink.” She wrinkled her nose and looked up all at once. Beca was a bit taken aback by the sheer blueness of her eyes. She felt a pain beneath her ribs and she wasn’t sure if that was the three miles, or if it had something to do with the familiarity of them.
“Yeah well, you’re the one crying on the curb, kid.”
She frowned for a moment and Beca continued to stare before the two of them burst into laughter. This kid couldn’t’ be more than ten, maybe eleven, but she couldn’t’ tell. Either way, it pained Beca to see her eyes rimmed in red and nose on the brink of running.
“Some kids at my school… they’ve been torturing me since we could walk. Nothing really helps, you know? So I try to ignore it but sometimes it’s too much.”
Beca nodded as she understood, and for once in her life, she did.
“My mom sent me to get some things from the store, and I was going to, really, I was. But they were blocking the way and I ran in the other direction because that’s easier than getting pushed to the ground again.” She dragged her arm against the base of her nose. “So now I’m here with this stupid list I was supposed to get an hour ago.”
“Let me see that,” Beca reached out her hand and the girl apprehensively gave over the folded-up piece of paper. The handwriting was looped in a mix of cursive and print. Beca had to bite back a scoff. It was nearly unreadable, but she could make up the word eggs. “Your mom write this?”
The girl hummed and took it back. She shoved it into her jean pocket and stared forward, blinking silently at the little crosswalk that had no one begging to cross it. “Sometimes people tear you down because they have nothing better to do. It’s easier for them to fight their envy against you than to face their own. You just can’t let it bother you, kid. Once you shut all of that out, life gets a lot easier.”
She shook her head, forcing a small smile. “Is that why you’re out here running?”
Beca laughed, finally letting her heart settle “Don’t be a smartass. Don’t you have a list to get?”
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Careless: Chapter 6: Balconies
A/N: There is some smut. There is a ton of Ivar/Leela angst as well lol. There are some mild threats lol I hope you enjoy though lol. I really like writing Leela. She just has no bound which makes her extremely awesome to write. The taglist is open!! If you would like to be added or removed, say the word!!! Let me know what you think!!
I made a MASTERLIST!!!!
Ivar had no words to say to Leela and was bad at detecting if they were angry or sad tears. But she hadn’t stop crying since he picked her up two days ago. This was the reason she had left him last time and a smart piece of his heart ached to think she might leave him again. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Freydis but he said nothing. He stayed to himself consoling Leela who didn’t even want to go to work.
She had started cleaning. Leela sorted through the laundry as the washer changed cycles. He hooked his arm around her waist puling her up to him. “You good?”
“No.” She moped turning to him. “This is all too much again.” She breathes.
Ivar doesn’t want to hear it scooping her up from the ground placing her on the washer. She feels the water trickling into the washer and the hum from the spin cycle starting. He grabs her to the edge of the machine taking her underwear off allowing them to fall in to the ground. They hadn’t had sex in days and being used to having her daily and multiple times had him on the edge. He spreads her legs watching her breath grow shallow as she peppers kisses along his cheek bone. He enjoys her soft moist lips trailing along his neck pulling up his scrubs and then her hand reaching in his pants. She grips his shaft causing another hungry groan to escape. Leela was already slick and he had done nothing to her. He pushed her down on him causing her to hold her upper body up on the washer which was spinning non-stop below her. They both could feel the vibration surging through them. Ivar thrust in her forcefully. Pushing in and dragging back out only to pound into her again. Her hands claw down his back down a familiar trail of fingernail marks and tattoos. Ivar felt his orgasm building and he knew she wasn’t there yet. He reaches between them circling her clit. The sounds she makes in front of him are majestic. The melodic cries of her coming cause him to follow her but he doesn’t stop for a few strokes making sure he filled her before pulling out.
He can’t stop kissing her, a feeling of lost had been following him around for a few days, since the incident. He gets dressed once more still watching her on the couch.
“I have a quick route today. I have to do four stops and then check in with Sig about last week.” He grabs his backpack kissing her briefly before taking his keys from the end table.
“Okay.” She pauses. “You don’t have to come over tonight. I have to get some things done.” Leela looks at Ivar dressed in his powder blue scrubs and his freshly shaved face. “You look nice.” She inhales taking in the scent of his perfume and then laying back down on the couch. She couldn’t say the same about herself. She’d ate her weight in junk food and ice cream curled up on the couch with him. Her eyes were swollen, and her hair was a hot mess.
“I’m coming back. I can help you with whatever you go to do, and I’ll help you clean.” He nods at her smirking. “Love you, see you later, aight?”
“Aight. Get your nursey ass out.” She tries not to smile, kind of proud about seeing him actually do what he worked hard to accomplish. “Love you too.” He left, and she climbed from the couch trying to come to life from her obvious slump. The three weeks of vacation she had saved up had been her saving grace, even if she hadn’t planned to use them all right now. The billboard was gone the pictures were burned and her job was still intact, but it didn’t mean she didn’t want to know who was out to get her. Leela felt the guilt weighing on Ivar. He’d taken the pictures, but he always had taken pictures of her. They were that couple that couldn’t stop recording each other just to look at it later. Everything pointed back to Freydis. She showered and slicked her messy sew in back into a pristine bun. She pulled her dress suit from the closet and beat her face. There was a plan in action and she wanted to make sure Freydis saw the real her. The drive to the hospital took all of twenty minutes and the entire time she blasted her music amping herself to not kick her ass on sight. She got there parking in the guest section and she headed up to the floor she’d heard she worked on.
Freydis was not busy, perched against the nurse’s station talking to Hvitserk. His eyes widened as walked towards her quickly. “What are you doing here Lee?”
“Hvitserk, good to see you too. I didn’t come to visit you however, so I suggest you move your skinny ass out of the way before I, “Mike Tyson” you.” She shrugged her shoulders walking passed him with no resistance to Freydis.
Freydis was trapped against the wall and the counter and the fear in her eyes was evident. She swallowed hard gazing at Leela. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here to say in the politest way, that if you keep fucking with me and him, I will…” She leaned closer to Freydis barely touching her ears with her lips. “Fuck you up and I don’t mean in the drag you across the floor way. I will reach…” The threats continued for a stream of a minute and then she stood up clearing her throat. “I know you hung those pictures. I’ve called my lawyer and he’s contacted the police and they have cameras in the surrounding areas. So, I guess you will get what’s coming to you.” Freydis says nothing as she backs away from her pivoting and smiling. “I have to go. Have a good one.”
It helped that she said something to her or at least for the moment it did. She opens her phone seeing snapchat telling her that Ivar was nearby. She dials his number and he doesn’t answer. It doesn’t bother her, the shop he was at was around the corner. She’d go to him.
Ivar closes the hood of the car tugging the hat down to cover his eyes. This was the first car he’d done in years. The car might eve run fine and not explode. He’d likely lost his touch. He jogged a block out the way waiting for the explosion to shake the streets. He slid into one of the cafes ordering a water and some food at sat at the window. He was set to get off work in ten minutes it was enough time for him to get his food eat and head home. Ivar’s hands shake as he opens the water. This was the part of his life that he wanted to seal away. Yidu slid in the booth with him and smiled.
“I remember when you were still a baby, you know.”
“I know.” He grimaces. “Look I don’t think I can do this Yidu.” He whispers. “It’s not as simple as it used to be. I have people I care about and I don’t want to get mixed up in fueled wars and family shit. You aren’t my family.” He stressed.
“I know you have changed.” She squeezes the lemon into her cup of water and it happens. The explosion shakes the block and she watches as his face tings shades of red. “I only need you for three more.” She pushes him a bag under the table. “There is 25,000. Just put it in your bag and go do whatever you young kids do now. Riku will call upon you when you are needed again.”
“Right.” He shakes his head feeling his heart trudge into his stomach and the water threatening to com back up. This was no longer easy. “Leela.” He said as she entered the small shop.
She was dressed up and he liked this adult “come fuck me in my office” suit she wore. He felt his pants grow tighter and his dick pressed against his leg. She still looked shaken and he was sure no matter what is was, he was the cause of it. She walked over to the table placing her huge purse in the middle of it. “Who is this?”
“You and your women.” Yidu giggles finishing off her water. “I will see you later.”
“Uhm, no the fuck you won’t.”
“She’s my old babysitter babe.” He laughed. “This is Riku’s mom. Her and my dad used to be good friends and she was in the neighborhood, so she ate with me.”
She presses her lips together wanting to call his bullshit, but she doesn’t say anything about everything she had just read. “Something is on fire a block over.” Leela says ignoring Yidu as she leaves the table. “We should head back to the apartment. Did you ride your bike?”
“Uber.”
“Come on… I drove.”
The ride back to the apartment is silent for the most part. Leela lets him drive holding all of her their things. “So, these people that are just reappearing in your life are just good people. Why does Ubbe not talk of them? I know you know the same people.”
“I don’t know. Ubbe is weird.” Ivar avoids the question completely keeping his eyes on the road and not on hers. “Why are you so dressed up? I thought you were going to stay in the house? You look like you went to court.”
“I went to the police station and talked to them about the case and then I went to the hospital and I told your ex-whore that I would reach down her throat and rip her heart out if she fucked me over one more time. I’m not Y/N. I know y’all Lothbroks got these blondes going wild and shit, but she ain’t gone try to kill me and all that. If she come for me again I’m swinging her ass over the balcony.”
“Uh huh.” Ivar tries to suppress his laughter and he does biting his lip turning the music up.
“And no sir, I’m not done with your ass!” She turns the music down and turns to him. She quickly unzips the bag pouring the money in her lap. “What the fuck is this?” she pushes Ivar’s shoulder causing the car to swerve. “You’re lying to me aren’t you? You over trying to be thug Ivar and shit?”
“Why in the fuck would you do that?” He gripes straightening the car up and turning into the apartment complex. He parks and turns to her. “What do you mean “thug” Ivar? You’re so damn dramatic, I swear.”
“There was a bomb that went off less than a block away from you. You think I forgot about all that shit Heahmund told me about you? You think I’m fucking crazy huh? So, cut your bullshit. And be honest with me, or Freydis’ ass isn’t gonna be the only person flying over the damn balcony.”
Taglist: @captstefanbrandt@wilddrabble@sparklemichele@imgoldielikehawn@earthsmightiestasses @siren-queen03@whenimaunicorn@titty-teetee @hvitserksgirl@oddsnendsfanfics @amour-quinn@readsalot73@getinmelanin011@sunnyfortomorrow @proudcoiler88@perfectus-in-morte @g4u15@lol-haha-joke@allinestarr-blog @doloreschanal @mads---world—world@xilyadax@leaderradiante @letsshamelessqueen-m @marvelsviking @equalstrashflavoredtrash@sassymcgonagal1651 @kenzieam @igetcarriedawaywithyou@akamaiden @cocobanbooom @tomarisela @cbouvier23@courtrae89 @pebblesz892@cutiebubbleboo @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly@kickbacksnextdoor@bojabee @atequila @samwinchxtr @bang-kim-bap@danceyreagan
#ivar#ivar the boneless#woc fanfic#woc reader#poc reader#ivar x oc#ivar x woc#vikings fanfic#vikings season 5#vikings#alex høgh andersen#laketaj#laketaj24
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PROMPT: penelope + leah, "licking your fingers clean of her."
AT LAST. We shall be a fandom of two (2) people with WLW farmers in Stardew Valley.
Obviously not Dragon Age. I do love Stardew Valley for those who didn’t know that! This will be on AO3 very very soon.
Pairing: Female Player x Leah / Penelope x Leah, Stardew Valley
Rating: Explicit! Sexy times and also cursing.
Note: Bit of a character study, some spoilers for Leah’s romance.
**************
Penelope liked facts and figures. She made a mean spreadsheet. It was what Joja Corporation hired her for. Her degree in biology was uninteresting to them. Her minute attention to detail and near obsessive need for planners and organization? That they could use. For eight hours a day. In a dimly lit cubicle. She could plan the shit out of their payroll and organize their files for new hires and -
Fuck. Just thinking about it made her feel claustrophobic all over again.
So the whole point of coming to Stardew Valley, to Grandpa’s farm, was to get away from all that.
And now she found herself sitting on the porch of her newly renovated farmhouse, her cat Jin rolling around in a sunbeam on the porch, staring at a spreadsheet of her expected yields and profits from her last fall harvest, and projections of how much she would need to mine over the winter if she wanted to a) eat b) renovate the house again and c) buy more animals to sell more animal products so she wouldn’t have to break her back all winter in the mine.
Fuck.
It was then that she heard the heavy drag of footsteps coming up the gravel path she’d laid down - the one that ran between her young cherry saplings, past the small pond, and towards Cindersnap Forest. She looked up from her laptop and shaded her eyes against the early morning sunshine. Someone was coming towards her - red hair - Leah?
Leah, who’d barely spoken a word to her at first, who she only met by chance one Friday in the Stardrop Saloon in late spring because she rarely left her cabin. Leah who tucked her hair behind her ears over and over again when she was nervous and let it fall out of its braid when she waved her hands excitedly, discussing her latest sculpture and how it conveyed the utter isolation of a crowded subway platform in Zuzu City.
Leah who seemed so unflappable until she got on the phone with Kel, her ex-girlfriend.
Leah who was scared to show off her sculptures to anyone but Penelope.
Leah.
Fuck.
Leah made Penelope’s heart speed up the way only one other person had before - Marie, her college sweetheart, the woman who abruptly broke her heart the night before they were supposed to move into their first apartment together. Which led to her taking the job at Joja to afford the place since she couldn’t get out of the lease, instead of getting her masters in microbiology the way she’d planned. Which led to her gaining twenty pounds as she binge-watched Wynonna Earp and sampled every single Ben and Jerry’s flavor they sold at her local (you guessed it) Joja Mart.
Which ultimately led to her sitting on this sunny porch worrying about eggplants and why on earth it was she wasn’t allowed to use a goddamn gun to kill the monsters in the mine (she was shit at the slingshot).
Which ultimately led to Leah, walking up the gravel path, making her heart beat the way she thought it never would again.
Leah had a statue behind her. She was dragging it on some kind of dolley behind her. It was at least as tall as she was, and brown as the corduroy pants she wore no matter the season (brown as her kind eyes). Her face was flushed with effort but she was beaming as she made her way to the house.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” she assured Penelope, waving off her offer of assistance. On the porch, Jin stood and arched her back and meowed plaintively at Leah, as if she hadn’t already been pet and coddled for half an hour that morning while Penelope lay in bed.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Leah said when she reached the farmhouse, beaming despite her sweat.
“Sure is,” Penelope replied, her heart speeding up again. Leah kept right on beaming.
“I’ve got a gift for you. It’s a sculpture I’ve been working on just for you. Well, you probably figured that out. Ta-da!” She waved to the sculpture with a flourish. It was mahogany, and nearly as tall as Penelope herself. It looked like it was made of a series of loops rising organically out of the earth.
“It’s called How I Feel About Penelope,” Leah said. There she went with the tucking-the-hair-behind-the-ears. How I feel about Penelope. Leah who was so shy she had to speak through wood to make herself heard.
So what was this sculpture saying?
Penelope knew she should have taken that art history elective.
“It’s amazing,” Penelope said. “And I know exactly where it’s going to go.”
“Here, let me help!”
“Oh, it’s fine - the bedroom’s a mess -”
“Nonsense.”
The truth was that the bedroom was fine, but Penelope wasn’t sure she wanted Leah to know that that’s where she wanted the statue to go - right where she would always be able to see it when she woke. But in the end Leah didn’t seem to mind the placement at all. She praised Penelope’s choice, her feng shui, the way it went with the deep green wallpaper she’d just ordered from a catalogue.
“I like it,” Leah said just as she was getting ready to leave. “I like how you bring nature inside.”
I like you, Penelope thought, but the words wouldn’t come.
Leah left, and Penelope went back into the bedroom and stood looking at the statue - its curving, arching arms, its strength, its flexibility. How I feel about Penelope.
She went back out on the porch and closed the laptop, pushing the spreadsheet from her mind. She would be flexible. She would walk the farm and smell the soil and not stress over every cent. She would just be. Like Leah and her sculpture.
*
It wasn’t the last sculpture Leah would show her. Not by a long shot. They spent the rest of that fall and then a good part of the winter that followed working on sculptures for her art show, which Penelope had finally persuaded her to move forward with. It was a good distraction from the nagging feeling in the back of Penelope’s mind - that no matter how hard she worked, how many times she counted up how much food she had saved up for her livestock and frozen in the fridge for herself, she wasn’t doing enough.
“Winter is when all of nature rests and resets,” Leah told her. “You should rest and reset, too.”
But sitting around her own farmhouse only led to fidgeting and spreadsheets (what was wrong with her) and watching too many cooking shows on her TV, or taking too many pictures of Jin lolling about cutely on the floor while secretly counting and recounting how much more lumber she needed to have Robin build another barn and how quickly she could reasonably afford it because if she had another barn she could get more goats and then -
So resting and resetting became going to Leah’s house with some freshly gathered hazelnuts to roast over her fireplace, or maybe some poppyseed muffins - and then, finally, her very first batch of homemade raspberry wine. And then they’d sit there by the fire and Leah would wax poetic about the sculptures she was considering for the show, how they challenged personhood and celebrated her favorite mediums and how she left things intentionally unclear for the viewer to provoke thought. It was exactly the sort of thing Penelope used to overhear in the quad in her college days, and scoff at. How could people spend their whole lives overthinking about art to that degree?
But now she was starting to get it. Leah shaved away seemingly random scraps of wood from a large block and beauty and meaning emerged. And Penelope forgot about the exact alkalinity of her soil and whether she should plant three fields of cauliflower next season or do kale instead and get more harvests out of it or if that would deplete the nutrients -
Okay, so it didn’t make her forget completely. But Leah’s little cabin was still an oasis, and Leah was still so beautiful and smart and kind, and Penelope was hopelessly in love.
It was the kind of realization that dawned slowly over the course of their daily conversations, not something that hit her like a thunderclap. When Penelope thought back over it later, she thought the exact moment might have been when she came out of the bathroom and saw Leah looking at the window at the drifting snow, a content smile on her face. She loved Leah. She hadn’t even held her hand, and she loved her. She felt safe with her. She understood more of the world through her eyes. She loved her.
So she went to Pierre’s store and bought a bouquet of flowers - the biggest and most beautiful he had in the dead of winter - and she carried them over to Leah’s house. And she stood there on the step, holding them with trembling hands, because nothing had ever been as scary as this. Not coming out to her parents. Not sitting alone in that empty apartment after Marie left. Not quitting Joja and getting on the bus to Pelican Town. Nothing scared her as much as the idea that she, with all her facts and figures and anxieties, wouldn’t be good enough for the woman she loved.
Leah’s eyes lit up like the lights in the town square when she saw Penelope standing there.
“Are these - are these what I think they are?” she asked.
“Well - if you think they’re special flowers that are saying I want you to be my girlfriend then - yes?”
Leah laughed and laughed, and then she kissed her, and it was suddenly the warmest winter Penelope had ever known.
**
Penelope hadn’t doubted she was gay since the sixth grade and her first crush ever (Mimi Marquez from Rent). But damn, did Leah manage to remind her every day.
Leah would be covered in sweat from working hard on a large sculpture and Penelope would look at her and think damn, I’m gay.
Leah would show up with ingredients to make dinner one evening, knowing Penelope would be exhausted from working in the mine, and she would hear her gentle laughter in the kitchen while she iced her back in the other room and think damn, I’m gay.
Leah would kiss her hard and fast, pressed up against the kitchen counter, and then Penelope would hardly be able to think at all, but if she was, the only real thought that would come would be I am so, so, so gay.
And also that she was so, so in love.
Leah wanted to take things slow after everything that happened with Kel, which suited Penelope fine. There were plenty of long make-out sessions on one of their couches, and many long walks in the snow, hand in hand. And then there was one night, towards the end of winter, when a late snowstorm kicked up and make it hard to see even a foot past the windows of the farmhouse.
“You know, I try not to make a habit of quoting carols - but it really is cold outside. You could stay,” Penelope offered, tentatively.
Leah beamed with quiet warmth, her nose scrunching, as she hid her face behind her mug of hot chocolate.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
When they got to the bedroom, Leah undressed before Penelope could offer to give her some privacy. She got to watch the arch of her back as she pulled the sweater over her head, see the gentle pudge of her stomach sticking out over the band of her cotton underwear, the freckles on her legs and the red hair that covered them, fuck -
“Ooh, this looks cozy. Can I borrow it?” Leah held up a big, ratty pink sweater.
“Uh huh.” Penelope hoped she didn’t look as dazed as she sounded. Leah pulled on the sweater. It brushed the tops of her thighs and swayed against her butt as she walked over to the bathroom, and Penelope felt delicious, wet heat sinking into the space between her legs. She knew what she was thinking about the next time she pulled her beloved vibrator out of the bedside table and teased herself all over before sliding it home so it pulsed against her G-spot and buzzed against her clit at the same time - those legs.
Maybe she’d think about those legs brushing against her face as she licked her -
“Hey, honey - do you mind if I use the last of this lotion you’ve got here? It smells amazing.”
“Go ahead,” Penelope said after she cleared her throat. “I, uh, made it myself. With those crocuses I gathered the other day.”
“Mm. Nice.”
She wasn’t staring.
She was not staring at Leah as she spread the lotion between her hands, propped a leg up on the bed, and began smoothing it over her freckled skin. She was definitely not staring at the way the sweater rode up and gave her a view of that white cotton underwear -
“Uh, I should get ready for bed too I guess,” she said at last.
“Yeah,” Leah laughed, scooping up more lotion. “I’m definitely not sleeping next to you in your dirty mining clothes.”
Oh god, she probably smelled like goat and cow and chicken and sheep and clay and granite dust from the quarry. She hadn’t thought of that.
“Shit, sorry. I should probably shower.”
“I didn’t say that,” Leah said. Her smile as she capped the lotion was more sultry. “I happen to like the way you smell, you know.”
She was staring again.
At the pink bow ofLeah’s lips, at the end of her braid where it swung over her shoulder.
She was aching between her legs at the thought of running her fingers through that hair. Of sliding her fingers in somewhere else.
“Penelope?”
Leah looked both confused and amused. She’d been staring again.
“Shit, fuck, sorry, I - I’m just, like, really, really turned on right now.”
The only way to describe the smile that Leah gave her then was catlike. It was sly and full of promise and doing absolutely nothing to make Penelope less turned on.
“Oh good. I was wondering about that. Because I’m pretty turned on right now, too.”
Yes.
Leah was as slow and gentle as Penelope had imagined. Her kisses were long and sweet. Her skin was soft and warm. She liked it when Penelope sucked her nipples into hard points and when she bit down on the side of her neck - and she liked it best of all when Penelope pulled down her underwear and ran her fingers along her wet, swollen cunt.
“Yes, I want you just like that,” she murmured. No shyness here, not naked and spread out on the quilt under the winter starlight.
“Just like this?” Penelope asked, her voice barely a whisper. This all felt like a mirage that could slip away at any moment. No matter how real and slick and perfect the flesh under her fingers was.
“Yeah - now kiss me -”
No one had to tell her twice to kiss Leah.
She kissed her as she slid one finger and then another inside her. She kissed her as she rubbed the pad of her thumb in a slow, wide circle around her clit. She stopped kissing her only to make sure that that was good. (“Yeah, slow like that, slow like that is good.”) She kissed her again until the sweet pressure of Leah’s thigh between her legs was becoming too much, when she had to rock against it over and over and over because it just felt so good on her own clit. She kissed her until Leah kept saying more, more, more and all her focus had to be on fucking her with her fingers and thumbing her clit now and then, until a beautiful pink flush spread all over Leah’s skin and her eyes screwed shut with ecstasy and she came, cunt squeezing tight around Penelope’s fingers, and the sight was so beautiful that it had Penelope rubbing frantically against Leah’s thigh - and then Leah recovered enough to slide her own fingers in-between them, and it was just enough pressure, just enough friction, and Penelope felt her own clit swell and twitch and then throb with pleasure as she came, too.
Then there was time to kiss again.
Time to lick the taste of Leah from her fingers.
“You’re kind of perfect, you know,” Leah said, lying there warm and pink and satisfied beneath her. Penelope felt herself glow from the inside out. She was perfect to the woman she loved - anxieties, insecurities, spreadsheets and all
***
The day they got married was kind of perfect, too. It was nearly a year to the day since they first met in the Stardrop Saloon - a late spring day filled with drifting blossoms and the smell of fresh earth. The Community Center wasn’t rebuilt, not completely, and the cherry saplings weren’t coming in as fast as Penelope would have liked, and yields on the kale had been low so far, and one of the goats might be sick and she was behind on collecting lumber for the new coop -
But it was perfect.
It was perfect because Leah was her wife.
Because after the heartache of Marie and the soul-sucking boredom of Joja and the terrifying risk of coming to Stardew Valley - it was all worth it.
Waking the morning after to their little farmhouse and Jin meowing for more food and Leah already in the kitchen, making coffee, humming a song - it was all worth it. The kind of thing you couldn’t plan for in a spreadsheet. The kind of thing she hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time.
Penelope rose, ready to tackle the day.
#beach writes#stardew valley#leah from stardew valley#female player x leah#idk what the fandom tags are#whoops#not da
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fic | 12:51
12:51;
or: Bonnie, Caroline, and a superheroes origin story in five parts.
Bonnie+Caroline; Klaus/Caroline, Bonnie/Damon | wc. 7373 | ch. 2/5
read on: AO3 / ff.net
this fic is an ode of my love for @ishenwulf and @icebluecyanide, and solid proof that headcanons do not just remain screams between us. half of this fic belongs to them, simply because their existence amaze me so much i just had to stuff the evidence of it into this story.
i hope you all enjoy.
.
.
—
Part Two
Call It Fate, Call It Karma
—
.
.
Removed from the mayhem and massacre of New Orleans, there wasn’t much for Klaus to do in New York. He tried his hand in being protector of the night, but after Caroline realised he’d been tailing her for some time, she was quite angry with him.
She realised he’d been tailing her when she heard his admiring cheers after kicking a newly-turned vampire in the jaw.
“Couldn’t have done it better myself, sweetheart!” Klaus applauded, pocketing his binoculars.
“How long have you been following me?” she demanded. She craned her neck to look up at him.
From his perch on the rooftop, he said, “A few hours.”
Caroline stared at him, unimpressed.
“Four nights now,” he admitted.
Caroline waited, still.
“Two weeks,” he sighed, figuring it best to be truthful. He crossed his fingers behind his back.
Caroline, without a word, left.
He noticed she was more careful with the way she walked now because he hardly heard her at all. His apologies had been met with silence. He resolved to amend his mistake and reduced his stalking to just twice a week, until it became increasingly harder to track her down.
Klaus visited the apartment four times the following week and managed to miss Caroline every single time. Damon, elbow deep in a tub of Bonnie’s Phish Food, was disgusted to find Klaus in his sanctum sanctorum, poking a finger into the tall stack of books Bonnie had fake-borrowed from the library.
The books fell with a clatter, or would have, had Klaus not put his super speed to good use to pick them up before they hit the floor.
“Bored much?”
“I was locked up for nearly a decade. It doesn’t take much to amuse me.” Klaus had moved on to Caroline’s collection of small cacti lining the windowsill. They used to be grouped in the middle of the kitchen island, but Damon had moved them there to prove a point. When Bonnie easily stepped over them to venture out into the night, Damon figured he might have underestimated the peril of the prickly plants.
“If you like it here so much, why don’t you just move in?” Damon asked with a mouth full of ice-cream. He followed that mouthful with several hasty gulps of JD. “That was rhetorical. Get the hell off my couch.”
Klaus peered owlishly at him. “Are you worry-drinking?”
“No,” Damon said, dumping the now-empty bottle for a new one.
Klaus went ahead on his prowl around the room, studying things, touching things. He had a particular way of observing an object, meaning: if it wasn’t Caroline’s, it was discarded into a pile in a corner of the room.
All of the things in that pile belonged to Damon.
“What are you doing?” Damon screeched, scandalized.
“Making room for me, of course,” Klaus said.
“Of course?” Damon pitched his bottle at Klaus’s head, but forgot that Klaus was more than a thousand years old and knew how to duck. The bottle bounced – miraculously – against the mantelpiece and then landed squarely in the middle of the pile.
Klaus looked satisfied. “Good, that’s the living room sorted. Now which one’s your room?”
—
Word of Bonnie and Caroline’s plight for the seemingly-impossible had taken Dumbo by storm. Sometimes, in the middle of Bonnie levitating a drunk werewolf by the ankles, a fan would come and ask for a picture.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Kieran from the grocery store asked in awe.
“YouTube,” Bonnie answered. She turned her palms upwards and the werewolf crumpled against the alley wall.
“Dude, does he have fur—”
“Hi, Kieran,” Caroline appeared out of nowhere as she greeted him warmly. She made sure to deepen her voice. It sounded a bit like a growl now, and probably diminished the warmth. Kieran looked like he was going to piss his pants from excitement.
“How do you know my name?” he asked, mouth agape. “Should we exchange numbers now? I’m good at texting. Holy shit, your eyes – holy fuck, are you a va—?”
“You short-change me every week. Also? If you’re trying to clean up the environment, why even offer plastic bags at the counter?” Caroline narrowed her eyes, wondering if that counted as criminal activity.
Bonnie inclined her head. It was only a small shake, but Caroline sighed and understood.
“Anyway. You saw nothing. You were probably on the way home to go marathon Homestuck and jerk off to how many people you scam daily with the price of your so-called free range eggs. I checked your supplier, buddy. All caged! Caged by fiends—”
“Caroline,” Bonnie said in her let’s-get-a-move-on voice.
Caroline finished compelling him and sent him on his merry way. “How’s Fluffy doing?”
“He’ll live,” Bonnie said. She inspected a nick in her arm that Fluffy had managed to scrape with his one sharp canine. His other had fallen off when Bonnie punched his face with a wall. “What’s next on the list?”
After carefully pocketing Fluffy’s freshly inked contract, Caroline pulled out her phone. Her shadowed eyes appeared darker in the light the screen provided in the alleyway. “Gotta check out that warehouse in Midtown. Klaus said it’ll be hot tonight.”
“Klaus,” Bonnie repeated. Her tone implied she didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t despise it either, which Caroline chose to view with optimism. “Is this going to be a thing now?”
“No,” Caroline said too quickly. She straightened her spine and managed to look dignified even as she said, “I just agreed, very unenthusiastically might I add, that he could be our intel. Since he does know the seedy underbelly of this stinkhole city.”
“He probably gave birth to the seedy underbelly of this stinkhole city,” Bonnie muttered. “Anyway, that’s like, what – forty minute walk? Forget it, I’ll Uber there.”
“Jeez, Bonnie.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Not like you haven’t done this before. Hop on.”
A breeze and thirty-five blocks later they arrive at their destination, Bonnie’s cape whipping behind her as she lopes gracefully to her feet. Caroline grudgingly admired it, despite hating how impractical it was.
But then again, it made Bonnie look incredibly cool, especially when she did that thing where she lifted herself into the air.
“I see you hating,” Bonnie notes, “and I raise you your mask and how it does almost nothing to hide your identity.”
“I like them to be able to hear me talk,” Caroline shot back. “When we start going after actual creatures of the night instead of undead jock types, maybe I’ll take more care—”
“Shh.” Bonnie pressed a finger to her lips. She stood stock-still, chanting something under her breath. A minute later a light wind blew strands of her hair away from her forehead. “I sense at least twelve.”
“Now there’s a party,” Caroline said and snapped out her extendable baton. She didn’t need it, but appreciated the aesthetics.
—
Damon returned from grocery duties laden with things they did not usually buy. He knows this because he would edit the grocery list heavily whenever Caroline left it on the counter for Bonnie to find. Today, Bonnie followed him to the corner market because he refused to show her where he’d hidden the list.
“Why do we need kale?” He pulled a face.
“It’s amazing how you still think you’re included in this pronoun,” Bonnie said. She walked right past the pork rinds and into the grains aisle, where she reached for the quinoa. “I spend my nights jumping up buildings. It’s called maintenance, Damon.”
“Qui-NO-a,” Damon tossed the pack back on the shelf. “Am I just going to starve, then?”
“There’s Mike’s Pizza right around the corner,” Bonnie replied, unfazed. She grabbed the quinoa again. “Why don’t you just go home?”
Uncharacteristic silence is all that comes from Damon’s mouth, which opens and closes and opens again. His eye twitches, his mouth pulls into something other than his token smirk, for once. “It’s getting… harder.”
Bonnie bites her lip. She’d been avoiding the conversation, clearly. “I see.”
“Seeing you is a nice reprieve,” he offered.
“Got it.” Bonnie sized up the contents of the trolley, then put the quinoa back on the shelf. Damon perks up. “Wanna get a pie to-go? It’s been a while since scrabble night.”
“Are- are you sure?”
“The crime can wait.” She shrugged. “I just got a manicure anyway – not really feeling like punching much tonight.”
“Don’t you usually just—?” Damon waved his arms around, fingers jerking. “Levitate ‘em? Make brain matter leak out of their ears?”
“You tell me,” Bonnie snickered. “Aren’t you supposed to be the first ever foremost best quality expert on my alter ego life?”
Damon gasped. “So you do read WatchOutVillainz.com!”
—
Caroline’s room was a hive of secrecy. The only person who was ever allowed in there was Bonnie, who usually came in through the adjoining bathroom. Whenever Bonnie did so, they let the shower run and talked in whispers, just because they knew it would grate at Damon.
There was something tugging at the corner of her mind as she swept down the street and climbed up her fire exit and into the window of her room.
The night before last, when she and Bonnie had ambushed those twelve vampires in the middle of their midnight snack, three of them had managed to skedaddle their way out of there. She had beat the others to an inch of their undead lives, Bonnie keeping them in place by simmering the blood in their necks, and only one name had come up.
Her bedroom did not really reflect her work ethic. When she decorated, she had placed comfort, coziness and warmth above efficiency, with quilted throw pillows and Moroccan rugs and a leather ottoman inherited from her late grandparents.
Her walk-in closet told a different story.
Pushing aside winter wear, she found what she’d been looking for: a safe. Inside the safe was a file cabinet, meticulously organized. It took a while to find the file, because she wasn’t sure whether it had been filed under R, E or V.
In the end, it was in the ‘MISC.’ section. She pinched the file firmly between her fingers and out slid all her surveilled information on Raul the Eurovision Vampire.
She had caught him in a shady bar, after he’d eaten the entire room because he’d lost in the Man! I Feel Like A Woman!: A Tribute to Shania Twain karaoke competition. He’d eaten them because in addition to not applauding him after he finished his rendition of You’re Still The One, they also didn’t believe he was the same Raul who had won the annual international TV song competition back in 1959, simply because if he truly had, he’d be dead by now.
Mostly it was the applause thing.
Raul the Eurovision Vampire had on a long cape that trailed across the blood-smeared floor. He liked wearing high-heeled stiletto boots that gave the appearance of him hovering in mid-air, and brought them up in conversation any chance he got. He ditched those boots when he discovered Caroline was not above clawing up a drainpipe to chase after him.
She skimmed through his contract and found his number; a few seconds later she had her phone out.
Raul answered on the fourth ring. “I’m not home,” he hissed, and hung up.
Caroline tried again.
“You are nothing but persistent!” Raul announced despairingly. “Is it not enough that you’ve banished me from the only home I’ve ever known; denied me the simple splendour of finally belonging?”
“Weren’t you born in Romania or something?”
There was a sound akin to a hurricane as Raul breathed into the phone. “Those are fighting words, square and true! I will vomit on your possessions, insolent mushrump!”
“Uh – yeah. I need you to do something for me.”
“A favour, she seeks!” He’s still exclaiming. It’s giving her a complex.
Caroline quickly explained the situation. “…and now I’m pretty sure you’re my one way in.”
“You want me to help you capture my friends?”
“Just draw them out. And are you sure they were your friends?” Her lips twitched. “They gave you up so easy.”
Raul scoffed, but that was all.
Caroline put her offer on the proverbial table. “I’ll let you come back to New York every third weekend.”
“What makes you think I’d ever return?” Raul sniffed. “That vile city was a coxcomb that never wanted me. Never was there a city that made me wish more for the eternal wiles of death.”
Honestly, she thought the same about this phone call. With an eyeroll she said, “I’ll give you back your boots.”
There was a long, ugly pause. It was so long and so ugly that Caroline thought he had put down the phone.
At long last he announced, with vigour, “Seduction certainly becomes you, Lady Distraction.”
“Actually, my name is—”
“Alas, I have a party to plan!”
“Wait, party?”
“Good bye!” Raul exclaimed. The line did not go dead immediately: there was the sound of a fumble and then the background chatter of Raul watching a tutorial on how to cook moussaka, before an incredulous Caroline ended the call for him.
—
As luck would have it, Caroline met Klaus at the party. Or rather: Klaus’s hand was conveniently in the way when she was reaching for a cheese stick.
When she looked up, he was looking at her with astonishment.
“Can it, Mikaelson,” she said immediately.
Klaus frowned. “But I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re going tell me how ravishing I look. I’m going to ignore the comment and focus, instead, on why you’re suddenly and miraculously standing by the cheese platter of the first party I’ve been to in three years. Sure, it’s actually a stage for my vamp round-up later, but—I mean, come on. You’ve got to cool it on the stalking.”
“For one, I was going to tell you how arresting you looked,” Klaus corrected. He actually sounded offended. “And despite the evidence of the contrary, I’m not stalking you. I was invited.”
He pulled out an invitation from his pocket, raising his eyebrows in challenge.
Caroline put her cheese stick back on the platter. “You know Raul the Eurovision Vampire. Seriously.”
“You mean Rah-OOL?” Elijah asked.
Caroline could have kicked herself for even being surprised at how suddenly he appeared. They probably spent the better half of a century perfecting the art of making an entrance.
“He’s changed over the years, his vowels not so pronounced.” Elijah had a slight kink between his eyebrows, as if it wasn’t even worth frowning over, but he was anyway. “If you listen closely, you can tell he used to have an Indo-European accent; it’s quite distinct. I detected clear derivations from the original Proto-Indo-European, but it’s unmistakable. A fool he has been making of the people in this room, but not us.”
Klaus nodded quite seriously, sipping his gin.
“It is difficult to find likeminded company these days; people these days hardly have time to consider the nuances of language shifts and devolving case systems,” Elijah was saying with a solemn shake of his head.
“That is so interesting.” Caroline strained to smile and ended up baring her teeth instead. She turned back to Klaus. “How do you know Raul?”
(“Rah-OOL,” Elijah interjected.)
At that moment, Raoul got up on a makeshift stage in the center of the room and started belting out a welcome song he’d penned just two hours before the party (as he’d reminded each one of them as they walked in earlier).
He was back in his cape, boots, and white face paint. Everyone was understandably distracted.
“He’s a mate of Kol’s.” Klaus said absently, and then returned his gaze to her. “Kol turned him some time around the 14th century. He used to sing for Marie Antoinette,” Klaus added, like it was supposed to impress her.
Raoul placed a hand to his chest and screeched.
“Man, what a bummer I wasn’t alive then,” Caroline said dryly.
—
Klaus insisted on walking her home after she had ‘created a scene’ by making three grown-ass vampires cry in the middle of Raoul’s fourteen-minute percussion solo.
Caroline’s only response was to rustle their freshly-signed contracts against his jaw.
When they swung open the front door, Bonnie and Damon tumbled, both quite shirtless, from the couch to the floor.
Caroline backed away until her head hit the door. “I didn’t know scrabble was euphemism for sex!”
Damon chose that moment to stand, all the better to deliver his comeback, but Caroline gave a shriek that rivalled Raoul’s, and Klaus quickly ushered her out.
—
The sun set in a brilliant burn of orange and red. Caroline and Klaus were sitting on a bench, his coat around her shoulders.
“Why doesn’t Damon have a room?” Klaus asked, once he’d placated her with ice-cream. Copious amounts of it.
Caroline shuddered at the memory of seeing his erect nipples. And then the shudder turned to rage, and she stabbed her spoon into her double chocolate. “Because he doesn’t live with us.”
“But he’s there all the time.”
“So are you,” she pointed out.
Klaus has the grace to look abashed. “Only because my situation at home isn’t… the most ideal.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “But I am leaving tomorrow. It’s time, I think.”
Caroline looked up. She hadn’t expected to hear that, not so soon. He’d been here for maybe a month, skulking around, loudly expressing admiration. He noticed her lack of enthusiasm for Damon’s pancakes whenever she got back from a fight and nudged mugs of blood from questionable origins, but it was always hot and pulled flavours deep and rich from her tongue. Sometimes he’d intentionally give her the wrong addresses to vampire cult gatherings just so he could be there ten minutes earlier to “observe her progress”. Once, after a werewolf had scraped her arm with his teeth, Klaus had readily shown her his wrist.
The look he’d given her that night had sent her to bed with uncertain, dark, thoughts—and a want, too, that made it difficult to sleep.
She stood up, took Klaus’s untouched ice-cream and dumped it in the trash along with hers.
He didn’t object then, nor did he object when she retook her seat next to him, turned her face upwards and closed the space between them with a kiss. Klaus made a sound of surprise, and deepened the kiss.
He didn’t object when she tugged him off the bench onto their feet, nor did he object when she all but dragged him out of the park with great difficulty, because he still insisted on kissing her while she do it. They could have hailed a cab, but it turned out making out in alleyways could be great fun, especially when Klaus put his mouth to her neck and palmed her breasts through her thin cotton shirt.
“Do you mind if we make a detour?” Klaus asked hoarsely when she’d slammed him to the crumbling alley wall and had looked deviously close to getting down on her knees.
“Detour?” she worried at his belt with playful fingers. “Where do you have in mind?”
“My place in the Upper East Side,” he said with a half-grin, because his eyes are closed to the ministrations of her hand through the front of his jeans, which soon stopped when she spluttered.
“You have a place—” she cursed and flashed to her feet, shoving his shoulders. “You sly asshole.”
“Honestly, love – if you can see yourself how you look in the comfort of your own home—” Klaus tried to beseech her, but she snorted and stalked off.
Klaus appeared in front of her and stopped her in her tracks. “You were slipping on your mask one night and I saw how fearless it made you look – how sharp and cunning and ready to strike fear into hearts. You exuded this understated sensuality. I was in love with it.”
Caroline looked at him curiously. “Was?”
“Am,” Klaus amended.
“Good. I’ll have sex with you with that in mind.” She cleared her throat and stared ahead. “Take me there.”
Klaus smiled. He smiled all through hailing a cab, and the smile only just faltered when she was standing in the foyer of his townhouse, looking around with her mouth agape.
“Wait until you see my bedroom,” Klaus tried for a joke, but it died when Caroline started undressing.
Sleeping with Caroline was not like the green call of the forest all those years ago. It was like slipping into sleep, a tumble of instinct and touch, a lull that kept on lulling. He pushed into her with a groan. Her neck was wet with her blood; it had spilled from his mouth when she’d wrapped her thighs around him and squeezed. She cursed and damned him when he thrusted deeper, and then she kissed him with the same mouth.
Ten years shackled behind a wall had left him starving for touch, and she met his need with an urgency – but also with a practiced care, a tenderness she didn’t realise she had kept in her breast all this while. Caroline could be soft when she wanted, and she wanted to be soft now, with him. When she came, she came with his name on her tongue in a long, keening sigh.
Before he left, Klaus woke her up. They shared a kiss in the shower—nothing more.
He was about to duck into his car when he paused, struggled with something internally, and then turned back to her. The kiss he left on her knuckles lingered, and he gave her a long look weighed down by layers of things she didn’t know how to interpret just yet. She just looked back. Whatever he found in her eyes, he seemed content.
And then he said good bye, and was gone.
Caroline didn’t know it yet, but it would be four years until she would see him again.
—
tbc
#baroline#klaroline#bamon#klaroline fanfiction#ishenwulf#hannah writes things#fic: 1251#what to tag: the eternal struggle#otp: speak my name when you damn me#otp: yellow ledbetter
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Revenge - EM & (S)M
/ This one is about a recurring dream that keeps reminding me of a memory of a person. Trigger Warning: Guns, Suicide./
The party was booming as predicted, and surprisingly as hoped. The louder it was due to others, it was better background noise for what Elisia was dealing with. She didn't need others to know, nor did she need anyone else getting involved. All that would do is make the situation worse, possibly even more fatal. Last thing that was desired was more death. The three of them but most specifically Elisia, had lost so many beautiful faces as of the past three months. There was not even the slightest hope of causing another one.
"Elisia, the timer just stopped. Seventy hours is done, he's here and we have to find him. Split up." Ash suggested, and Elisia nodded.
"Blake and Hailey, go to the right and outside. Ash and Elisia, upstairs. James and Jake go to the left and outside." Mack suggested, and Blake and Hailey scrambled. The phone Hailey held was open to the chat with secretsnakes, as well as Elisia's phone and Ash's. Secretsnakes was the username of the person who'd been cryptically threatening them and slowly damaging their lives and ruining large aspects of it. At one point thus far, everyone except Elisia had their life severely threatened.
"Ash, look, shush. Wander the other half of the house up here." Elisia whispered while walking towards the spare bedroom.
"Hey, Brandon. What's up in here? Isn't the party out there?" Elisia tried to make small talk to avoid problems or suspicion if Brandon wasn't the one.
"Oh, yeah. Just dropping my bags. See ya downstairs." Brandon said, waving as he left the room. Once Brandon fully ran down the stairs, Elisia practically tore the bag open to check for any weapons like shown in previous snap messages.
"Elisia, hey! I didn't know you were coming?" Mikey exclaimed, happily greeting her. "Well, you said you weren't." He seemed angrier, or more disappointed when stating her being there.
"Oh, sorry, Mikey, I'm really busy, I-I can't talk right now." Elisia said softly, as she walked towards the door. Mikey walked further into the room, blocking the doorway so Elisia couldn't leave. If only she hadn't sent Ash off.
"You said that the first time. This is the last time. You said no to donuts, no to photography at the park, no to studying for the English quiz and no to pizza because you were busy. You're always busy, you're always so, so fucking busy!" Mikey was beginning to ramble, as he reached towards his belt, and his waist band to his jeans right under his hoodie.
"Mikey, I-I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'm sorry, I swear, I swear I didn't mean to," Elisia stammered, realizing who she'd been ignoring from the start.
"Shut up, shut up! You're only sorry because now is the part when I silence you forever. No more posts about stupid Ash, no more English note posts and no more stupid nature pictures. No more ignoring me. No more stealing my things." Mikey's tangent was about all the wrongs she'd done to Mikey. "Did you, do you post those pictures together because you know how I longed for you? Do you post the videos because I've craved that book since I lost it? You knew it was mine, you had to have!" Mikey growled close to her face, now pressing her near the wall. The only thing in the way was the large dresser chest before the wall.
"James, find Ash, text Elisia, I can't find anything." Hailey recommended.
"Elisia won't pick up, text Ash." James said softly, holding the phone. "Says she's offline. Same with Ash."
"They can't be. They know what's going on, where do you think they went?" Hailey asked.
"Wait, Ash is online. Now he says he can't find Elisia." James explained, and Hailey shut her phone off.
"Text in the main chat for everyone to search for Elisia." Hailey said, and Ash sent the message as they ran back into the house.
"No, no, look, Mikey, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I-I'll give it back, I'll-" Elisia tried to fight here, for whatever she could hold onto.
"Shut up. You won't be giving me back anything but my freedom of mind, my oxygen. I'm taking the life from the others that you took from me. Finally, I can finally take what finished me." Mikey laughed a bit, and fear flashed through his eyes. "I don't want to do this, you were such a beautiful, such a nice girl, for the longest time, Elisia, why couldn't you just stay that way? I left for three months and you forgot all about me!" Mikey was raising his voice quite a lot now to emphasize the point he was trying to make. It frustrated him beyond belief, all the small things were killing him.
"Mikey, pl-please, please," Elisia whispered, shaking her head softly.
"You asked for it. Begged." Mikey cocked the gun and in less than the blink of an eye, turned it on himself and the gunshot really rang through the whole house.
"Elisia!" Ash yelled, and Hailey and Ash scrambled to find where the gunshot had come from. Jake and Mack, as well as Blake were all rushing upstairs. Ash opened the door first, seeing Elisia standing still. Her head was slightly facing the floor, and her eyes wide opened. As the walls were, so was Elisia, splattered in freshly blown out blood.
"Hey, hey, Elisia, Eli, hey. Hey, he's dead, Eli, come on. Mack, get the officer up here, Salem is dead, in here." Ash shouted.
All Elisia could hear was the ringing through her ears, and then Salem. "Mikey. His name was Mikey, he was Mikey from my third grade English. I knew him this whole time." Elisia whispered, and she couldn't turn away.
"Eli, we have to get you cleaned up. Come on." Ash grabbed one of Elisia's hands, and walked with her out of the building beside James.
"I killed him with the pain I caused him." Elisia continued on. "It's all my fault, I made him want to do that." Elisia was crying, so softly.
"Eli, it isn't your fault. He took his own gun and shot himself. He took that gun, and he turned it towards himself. He's gone, Elisia, gone. You're safe now. We have to get you cleaned up." Ash held her to his side, as he tried to gently rub circles into her shoulder with his thumb. He needed to snap her out of this. That in itself would take a while.
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DATE POSTED: July 2016
SYNOPSIS: V. STABILIZE ME: PART FOUR // ANARCHISM. These paras are about Lip’s entire life basically flashing before his eyes during a coma.
OTHER NOTES: this series made me so sad I couldn’t even finish it I gotta get this shit finished.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: drug abuse
Spinning on his heels, the blond was met with a sea of people, bouncing all in sync to the same heavy-techno song. His eyes momentarily widen as his intoxication amplified with every bump. Their hands causing the ceiling to ripple before crashing down on him causing his high to amplify. Suddenly, he forgot what it was he was searching for and allowed the lyrics come blasting through the speakers, causing him to bump his head.
CRASH, sirens – They’re all in my head.
Playing games, keeping me in bed.
sirens warn me, the LIGHT will hurt me.
I’m CRASHING, CRASHING, CRASHING.
Why did he feel like he could relate with these lyrics so deeply? Lip began to bounce with the crowd bringing himself higher, HIGHER – whoa, LITERALLY HIGHER. Gaze falling to the floor, before floating up above the bouncing crowd, the lyrics becoming more intense and music fading away now. It felt like someone was more shouting at him than SINGING. But the harder he tried to focus on the lead singer the more blurred and distorted his vision became.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE NEED YOU HERE THEY SAY.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE HAVE BILLS TO PAY.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP
WE WON’T SURVIVE ON OUR OWN.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE NEED YOU PHILLIP HAWTHORNE.
At the last line of lyric the weightlessness immediately stopped. Nearly twenty feet in the air and the faint sound of the crowd screaming at him growing louder and louder as a loud fearful noise of his own left his lips. Body falling, faster and faster before he’s consumed in black silk sheets, body sweating and head beginning to pulse it was clear what he was suffering. WITHDRAWS. A loud groan fell from his lips as he gripped the soft fabric and brought it over his head, blocking the sun out. “What the fuuuuuuuck.” He groaned, the sound of sirens now passing his flat. By how loud they were he could only assume his windows were wide open. strange. HE never opened the windows.
The pink pixie did. Slowly he lifted his head and allowed the blankets to fall off one eye. One eye which now began to pulse as he peeked around the room searching for her. She wasn’t anywhere in sight. But he could smell her perfume. It had to be mid-day, he could only assume Lila went out to grab something to eat or maybe she was in the other room, cleaning up his mess. He vaguely remembers her, but once he tries to remember the night before all he was faced with was the memory of that song with sirens twirled between every syllable.
This of course only amplified the pain that now rushed through his entire body. Groaning once more he allowed his head to fall into the pillows as he pulled the blankets up a bit tighter around him. All he wanted to do was sleep now, the pain amplifying in his ribs, arm, forehead, and his feet. god damn his feet. They were pulsing as if they had been entirely crushed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got a heel-to-the-toe related injury from the little one. She always was a bit clumsy, and to amplify that with alcohol was basically begging for her to fall at LEAST once.
He can hear her singing in the other room now, his brow slowly raising as he could smell pancakes. pancakes? That was weird. But, that was Lila. Pulling the sheets and comforter off the bed as he crawled out of it he was sure to cocoon himself. The entire place felt as if it were below zero but still, he felt sweat slowly dripping down his forehead. His jaw was rapidly shifting from side to side, the sound of teeth grinding calming his amplifying anxiety as he seemed to take years walking down the corridor to the kitchen. “Lila?” He asked, his voice fragile as he finally hit the kitchen, only to find a batch of freshly baked cookies along with a laptop waiting for him on the counter.
Shifting his weight he sat down at the plate and the room darkened, windows shut, and night consumed the daylight peeping in. He was alone, it was nearly ten-thirty and there he was sat in a chatroom for local young adults in the new york city area.
LILA: inky come back
LILA: inky…… rip
LILA: where do you think he went????
LEO: who cares
LILA: be nice >:(
LEO: he’s probably jerkin it to all the pictures people sent
A quiet scoff left his lips as he reached for the keyboard
LIP: shut the fuck up leo
SUTTON: ah, speak of the devil.
LILA: INKY!!!!
LIP: what’d I miss?
LILA: Did you get my cookies?
LIP: So you did come over.
SUTTON: hmm.
LIP: I was asleep
LIP: But yea Lila they’re awesome.
LEO: “cookies”
LIP: leo shut the FUCK UP
LEO: NO YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP
SUTTON: BOYS STOP FIGHTING.
This was the first time in a long time Lip actually felt like he was smiling from ear to ear. The headache and pain slowly fading as his heart swelled with excitement, speaking to these people – these friends. The mother of his child. He felt like he was just a kid again, talking to friends online late at night avoiding responsibilities. His smile is strengthening as his playful banter with Leo continues, that is until he hears his phone begin to vibrate.
Brows raise as he slowly turns his attention away from the laptop and tray of cookies to follow the sounds of vibrations. He’s confused, insanely confused. Where were the noises coming from? Where the HELL was his phone? The closer he got, the louder the vibrations became before he grabs the door to his study only to find himself stepping into a pink and frilly room. A little girl sitting on the bed holding the vibrating device. The walls were pink, the bedspread pink, the toys, everything – PINK. But there she was holding his phone and accepting the call before he can even figure out who it was.
“Mommy!” The little one squealed, quickly rushing off the bed and to the window where she pushed the curtains out of the way, allowing a bright light to come beaming through the panes. “Are you here? Are you going to have lunch with me and Daddy? Are we going to the mall?” A thousand and one questions rambling from her lips and Lip just standing at the doorway, watching it all. Tugging at his jacket sleeves he slowly made his way toward the two, bending down to sit beside the small three year old and hugging her tight. He didn’t dare let go. He didn’t know why, but he felt like maybe this would be the last time he could hold her.
He felt… Like something bad was going to happen, and she was going to be taken from him. That she wouldn’t be there with him. “Can daddy talk to mommy?” He whispered before quinn nodded, handing him the phone. Pressing it to his ear all he can hear is SOBBING.
“Lip please,” she begged, her pain evident through the speaker. He felt like she was right there beside her but he just couldn’t see her. “Please, I’m so sorry. I need you to wake up. Please wake up.”
“What are you talking about? I am awake.”
“Daddy.” Quinn sighed, using the tone she learned from her mother. “You silly goose, you’re sleeping. Mommy said you’re going to wake up soon so just wake up! Daddy, Wake up!” Her voice becomes more frantic as she speaks. His gaze falling to meet hers as tears began streaming down her cheeks and she reached for him. “Daddy! No- Mommy stop Daddy wake up! Daddy– Wake up!”
“What do you MEAN?” He asked as his hands began to tremble. He was standing so far away from her, darkness surrounding them both as she was dragged closer and closer to a door that seemed miles away.
“DADDY, WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE NEED YOU HERE THEY SAY.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE HAVE BILLS TO PAY.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP
WE WON’T SURVIVE ON OUR OWN.
YOU HAVE TO wake UP.
WE NEED YOU PHILLIP HAWTHORNE.”
“HE’S CRASHING.”
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