chapter two

cut open my heart, right at the scar

chapter index

author: thank you for staying. feedback will be greatly appreciated!

warnings: soft smut, alcohol mention, drinking, anxiety mention.

word count: 2.571k

Some people call it faith, a few others call it manifestation. It could be a mix of both — after all, what could be more powerful than an innocent child wishing for something every night as if her life hangs on it?

You didn’t know if the stars and the whole cosmos were aligned precisely to make your daughter happy, but you felt wretched knowing that her happiness meant some tough times ahead for you; all this time, she never had what she wanted the most because you’ve been keeping it from her. 

For a good motive, though.

Knowing you so well, practically as if you shared the same brain, it didn’t take much for Willow to discover what was wrong when she was determined to investigate a little. It began when you called up the office to inform them you’d be working from home due to a sudden heavy cold, then Willow found out that Lily was staying at your parent’s for the next two days; usually, the time she stayed when something was up and you needed time isolated. Then, you ignored her text messages, and also her calls when she decided to insist a bit more, knowing you’d shut off from everyone.

But you couldn’t ignore the banging on your front door.

Willow groaned when she found you still in your pyjamas, dark circles around your usually sparkly eyes, and your hair up in a messy bun. She had her brows furrowed and a large paper bag from your favourite bakery in her hand, you sighed knowing what was probably in it and how much you needed it along with a bottle of red wine - once you were done with work.

“I’ve stalked a little,” she confessed, stepping into your flat once you opened the door a bit more, giving her space. “What are the odds?”

“There aren’t any, it’s called karma and I fully accept my punishment,” you went straight to the point as you threw yourself on the sofa after grabbing the paper bag from Willow’s hands; the freshly baked chocolate muffins and croissants inside relieved your nerves only for a second.

“Don’t say that, Y/n. We both know you had your reasons,” she rubbed your back, making an effort to reassure you the minute she noticed your eyes glistening with tears. Willow had been there through it all, from the night you met Mason. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

The loud music and the bright lights were annoying, to say the least. Still, you were in such a great mood that you couldn’t stop your hips from perfectly moving right and left, to the sound of every beat, and you were having fun. It was Willow’s birthday and, as a sucker for birthdays, your mission was to have the greatest time and make sure your group of friends had a blast too. In your little world, you poured champagne into your best friend’s mouth and allowed her to pour it into yours too, but you knew Willow’s reflexes weren’t the best when sober so why would they be when she was already wasted?

“Fuuuuck!” The black slipper dress was glued to your body, but you couldn’t hold a loud laugh as Willow followed you. “Fuck, fuck! Whatever, fuck! Let’s go get another drink.” 

The thin line between carefree and careless was already there, even more so when you were bold enough to ask for tequila, after shamelessly flirting with the bartender and a few other guys around, and returned to your booth with one bottle in each hand, knowing the group would want some shots. Almost stumbling on the last step that gave you access to the booth, sitting on the burgundy leather sofa, you frowned when a towel was given to you. Looking up, you found that cute guy who you’d been staring at, holding it for you and that big smile that made the corner of his eyes wrinkle flashing at you. 

“I thought you might need this, Miss Champagne.”

“How thoughtful of you to help me with my champagne problems…?”

“Mason.” He winked and your heart skipped a beat. How pathetic, swooning for a guy you just met. At a club, and completely drunk.

Mason was a cute name, but right now you could only think of how it’d sound if he made you moan it. You didn’t know, but he thought about that multiple times since you walked into the booth next to the one he shared with his friends and watched you, he thought of how those hips would move on top of his instead of moving to the beat of each song that filled the place. He thought how badly he wanted to just hold it and make you help move them for him. You were fun, your energy matched his and he was looking for an escape. And, on top of that, you were breathtakingly gorgeous and couldn’t care less for who he was when he told you, and you stated that the only athletes you cared about were swimmers-Italians, to be more specific.

As the night went on and Willow was now forming a line of boys to kiss - twenty, to match her age - you wanted to go and stop her but you knew you wouldn’t be able. Instead, you switched the first guy for one of Mason’s friends and begged him to kiss your friend so good she wouldn’t want any other. Declan was on for the mission and they disappeared together after the kiss. 

You danced together, shared a few more shots of tequila and when Mason asked if you wanted to go to his place, there was no point playing difficult, you both wanted the same thing: fuck each other senseless. He got you all naked before you could even reach the stairs.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Masey.” You pouted, making him giggle at the nickname. Mentally, he was already fucking you and you could tell that by the way he looked at you. “And you’re perfect just like that, I don’t want you wearing nothing but the adorable flush on your cheeks while you’re here or I might have to punish you.” 

“Hm? I think I’ll put my clothes back on, then.” On your tiptoes, you reached for his lips and brushed them with yours, his warm minted breath making you close your eyes and let out a low and hoarse moan that only worked as an incentive for Mason to grab your thighs and carry you into the living room, straight to his large dark sofa. “Too many clothes, Mason.”

He nodded and quickly got rid of the navy blue Nike hoodie and the basic white shirt at once, leaving his bare chest exposed. Your mouth watered as your eyes wandered through his body, noticing how beautifully sculpted it was, all in the right places. But what caught your attention, innocently for the first time of the night, was the bulge under his faded blue jeans. You gulped.

“Like what you see?” Mason grinned and you quickly nodded, reaching out to unbutton his jeans. He softly slapped your hand. “Why so eager, baby?” The pet name made you moan, along with the tip of his fingers touching your nipples, then between your boobs and making the dangerous way to your lower stomach. 

“Mason…” You felt your pussy clench around nothing and he gave you another grin as he made himself comfortable on the sofa and you watched his head disappear between your legs.

You felt his breath against your pussy, making your eyes roll and your back arch. “Such a beautiful pussy, I bet it tastes so good.” Mason pressed his lips against your inner thigh as his fingers now played with your juices, teasing you, making your whole body shiver and crave his touch. It felt like you were about to lose your fucking mind when he circled your clit with his thumb and his warm tongue played with your folds. Mason’s moans while eating your pussy were heavenly, he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it, but you craved for more. 

“Mason, please,” You whimpered and your eyes met. Those big, brown eyes met yours and he lifted his hea, the sight of his lips wet from your juices making you bite your lower lip as hard as you could.

“Say it.”

“I need your cock inside me, now. I need you to fuck me.”

And he did, each thrust harder and deeper than the previous as Mason devoured you. Your sweat mixed with his, your moans, and the way he fucked you was something else. When his thrusts started to become sloppy and his breathing heavier, Mason quickly flipped you so you could ride him and your only goal was to make that man cum so hard he’d forget his name. 

“You take me so well, Y/n. Such a good girl.” You felt your pussy clench around him when he praised you. Leaning your body forward, you held his jaw with your hand and let it slowly slip to his throat. Mason just nodded and you grinned, finally squeezing it softly, making him moan louder. 

“You gonna cum for me, Mason?” He nodded again, holding your hips steady as he now moved his hips up again at his own clumsy pace. “Then look at me when you do it and while I cum all over your cock.”

He repeatedly moaned your name, his grunts only encouraging you to squeeze his throat a bit harder, letting it go when a final loud grunt parted his lips and he came, followed by you, with your body finally crashing onto his.

“That was fucking great.” Mason giggled and you nodded in return, giggling too as you rolled to the side. 

“For drunk sex, it was.” Looking down at his body once again, to appreciate the view next to you, you instantly frowned when you noticed his uncovered and still-hard cock. “Mason, I thought you were wearing a condom?”

PRESENT DAY

The streetlights softly brightened your living room in the most soothing yet nearly depressing way; Willow was gone for a few hours, leaving you and your memories to yourself. During the day, you didn’t talk much about your current situation and what you’d do - if you’d do anything or just let things happen, and go with the flow, but still with some sort of control over the whole thing. Your thoughts were everywhere but also focused on two people: Lily and Mason. You knew that, eventually, you’d find yourself in this situation - it was painful, it made it hard to even breathe, and you never really prepared for it because deep down you spent four years hoping it would take lots and lots of years for Mason to be in your life again, as unfair as it was to Lily. And being unfair to your own daughter was, by far, the most disgusting thing you could do in life. She brought you nothing but love and joy. 

Willow would often say that before being a mum, you were a human being. A woman who had been hurt by a man, and then you had to raise this man’s child. But you knew you couldn’t use this excuse anymore, it was time to face the consequences of keeping Lily hidden from her father and his family, and above all, stop punishing your daughter for your poor choices in life.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Jaz asking if the plans you had for Saturday were still up, and you apologised saying that you had the flu, but that Lily was more than allowed to go and you’d talk to your mum to arrange everything. After another lie to protect yourself, since there was no flu, you thought that maybe opening a bottle of white wine would help you through what it would be a long night awake, alone with your own thoughts and desperate attempts to minimise all the collateral damage that would find its way into your life once you revealed the truth. First to your daughter, then you’d have to hunt Mason Mount again.

His reaction was what frightened you the most. What would he do? What would he say?

Would he take Lily from you?

Would he hate Lily and reject her?

Every question that crossed your mind blurred your sight, made your heart clench and felt like a stab right through your heart. 

You would never let him take Lily from you, but the thought of him rejecting her was just as painful, because that little girl was something else and she deserved the whole world. She deserved a daddy that would be entirely devoted to her, just like yours had been since the day you were born.

Already feeling your body welcoming the familiar floating sensation caused by the wine, you allowed yourself to stalk Mason a little - something you hadn’t done in the longest time. It didn’t surprise you that he still looked pretty much the same. Everytime you caught his face on TV, you avoided looking too much because it hurt and bothered you deeply, but now, scrolling through his pictures you noticed that his smile was still the same and the wrinkles around his eyes was something Lily had inherited. The soft redness on his nose too. Lily had a lot of him, even if you knew so little about Mason, despite sharing a life with him.

The Instagram “message” button burned under your finger, but you went back to scrolling through his pictures, because what exactly would you say? 

“Hi, remember me? That day I went to your house and you shoved me off, I was going to tell you I was carrying your child so I’ve decided to hide her from you for a period of four years”.

Gosh, what a fucked up situation you were in. Besides, what was the chance he’d actually reply?

Liking one of his pictures was subtle, he wouldn’t notice. One like amongst the millions he was getting post World Cup. You’d let the universe decide if things should run its natural course or you’d have to put yourself in a situation you’ve lived before: ringing his doorbell and telling him the biggest news of his life, but four years later, and pray for the best outcome there could be of this situation. You wondered what your family would say, what his family would say, how everyone would treat you after but you couldn’t expect much. You were hiding a child from her own right to have both sides of her family whilst growing up, despite your personal reasons. 

What would the media say, if it ever came to that? 

“Heavens, I think I’m gonna vomit…” You mumbled, the combination of alcohol and thoughts of your daughter’s precious face in the media, on gossip websites, made some tears fall freely down your cheeks. You still forced a large gulp of wine, to ease the anxiety that was creeping in. Half of the bottle was gone.

You fucked up, greatly and badly.

With tears still wetting your cheeks, looking absolutely pathetic, you frowned at the notification that popped on your screen. 

Mason Mount was officially back into your life.

In fact, he never really left. You had the most special part of him with you, and you could only hope he’d see it the exact same way.

Bound | A Loki x Reader Fanfic - Chapter 20

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, human sacrifice, mentions of torture, blood and injury, violence, angst

Tags: slow burn, romance, smut, fix-it, canon divergence of Avengers Infinity War/Endgame, AU, humor, limited use of Y/N, action, sharing a bed

Consider joining my Patreon – where all fics are posted earlier than anywhere else and you can make fic requests at certain tiers!ヽ(•‿•)ノ

Read on AO3 | Wattpad | Previous chapters on Tumblr

Summary:

A year has passed since the Snap. As you look to find a fresh start in life, you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A small cult dedicated to the newly revitalized Norse religion chooses you as a sacrifice with the belief that this will give Thor and the other gods the strength to undo what Thanos has done. What you don't know is that human sacrifices come with a powerful magic — those who are sacrificed become linked with the god they have been given to.

It's been a millennia since a human was sacrificed to one of the gods. You've been bound to Loki.

CHAPTER 20

It was so very strange to wake up and not feel the bond to Loki. For months it was just another part of your life. You woke and went to bed feeling this need, this passion, to be around Loki. It was weak at first, but grew by the day until you didn’t just want to be around him, you wanted to be with him. The bond grew into a hunger – it did for both of you. And now that the deed was done, instead of feeling this odd tug in this chest, this invisible string connecting the two of you, you were free.

With the bond gone, now all that you had to contend with were the butterflies. Because no, you were no longer bonded with Loki magically, but in the process of this entire experience, you ended up forming a different bond with him.

You wondered if there is a way to undo a sacrifice without having to meet its conditions. Perhaps, somewhere, there is a hidden tome or forgotten ritual that could have freed you from Loki. Perhaps, but now that you no longer needed to find it, you would never know.

You berated yourself for taking so long to have sex with Loki, because by god was he phenomenal. This whole time you’d been saving your pride and dignity when you could have been having the best orgasms of your life. However, that first one probably would not have been as earth-shaking had you not waited so long.

All jokes aside, you were happy the way things turned out the way they did. You just wondered… What happens now?

It was early evening, a few hours since you’d taken your nap. You actually may have been able to sleep longer, but your raging stomach woke you up first.

“I am feeling rather famished too,” Loki said. “Come, let’s clean up and then get some supper.”

Loki drew a bath. The bathroom was a lovely peach marble, the glossy stone bathtub was big enough to hold half an elephant. Loki conjured some candles and incense to freshen up the room, and poured oils into the bathtub.

He stepped into the tub after you, holding a bar of soap. “May I?”

“Please,” you replied.

Loki gestured for you to sit against him, so you did. Laying your naked back against his chest, the god began to lather soapy bubbles on you, scrubbing your skin from head to toe. However, he did pay heavier attention to certain areas of your body, namely your breasts and thighs. No matter where he rubbed, his wandering hands tended to return to your erogenous zones.

It wasn’t very long until you were wet in other areas. Loki was like a bloodhound in the way he just smelled your arousal, knowing exactly what to do and where. He plunged two fingers inside of you while another thumbed at your clit. You tensed underneath his touch as he rubbed your slick walls, and touching your backside his length was hard and ready.

“Lift,” he commanded, and you did with no hesitation. In one swift motion, Loki was inside you. Your body needed to accommodate the sudden girth, and you moaned as he stretched you.

“It’s slippery, so hold on tight.”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, gripping the sides of the bathtub as he began to move inside you. Ripples of lukewarm water occupied the tub. Your body was still tired from your previous excursions, so thankfully all you had to do was keep upright. Loki did the rest of the work, moving his hips within you.

Then, he picked up the pace, moving one hand between your legs to fondle your clit as he did so. His cock railed into you, your fingers blushed red as you held tight on the bathtub’s edges. You moaned ceaselessly as Loki moved inside you. The ripples transitioned into waves, sloshing over the sides of the tub and onto the marble floor. Your cunt clenched as Loki brought you higher and higher, one hand delivering you pleasure and the other keeping your hips in place so that his cock could adequately fuck you.

Your moans bounced off the walls and around the room, and Loki’s hips snapped into you, delivering the last few thrusts as he came inside you. His moans and erratic movements pushed you over the edge and you came with the god, milking his seed from him. You shuddered and sat back against him once he removed himself from you. The two of you panted heavily.

“You feel oh-so lovely, my dear. I can’t get enough of you,” Loki said with his lips pressed to your ear. He nibbled on your neck.

Your head spun as you were still coming over your high. He chuckled, taking your lack of response as his commendation.

“Let us finish cleaning up and then go to supper.”

To that you could at least nod.

—------

When you and Loki finished cleaning up and getting ready, you went down to get supper together. In the dining hall, many of the other inhabitants of Valhalla also ate. As was customary for every meal, the tables were filled with all sorts of delectable items so that no one could want for food or taste.

The chatter in the large room died down when the two of you entered. Every head turned. The talking was replaced by whispers and giggles. You watched as people clearly gossiped about you and the god with hands over mouth. Instantly, you grew self-conscious.

“They’re talking about us,” you whispered to Loki.

“Let them. There is no shame in what happened last night. Besides,” he turned to look at you and a smirk appeared on his face. “They are probably wishing they had a night so memorable as ours.”

You giggled, then Loki led you to the table the gods usually sat at – at the head of the room. Freya, Heimdall, Vidar, and Baldr were already there conversing and from the looks of their plates, finishing their dinner.

“Hello everyone,” you said as you and Loki seated yourselves.

The four gods smiled and shared a knowing look amongst themselves.

“Good evening you two,” Freya said, her smile the biggest of all. “How are you feeling?”

Heimdall chuckled quietly.

“Come out with it, Freya,” Loki said.

“Considering we all heard you two last night, I can assume you are no longer bound by the sacrificial magic?”

You blushed a bit, then smiled. “You’d assume correctly.”

“That’s fantastic to hear!” She got up from her seat to hug you. “And despite our disagreements, Loki, I am quite overjoyed that you two have found each other.”

“Were we really that loud?” you asked sheepishly, with a nervous smile still.

“Yes,” said Vidar, the god you’d only heard less than five words from in total. Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.

“But that’s a good thing that you two enjoyed yourselves and more importantly that you are no longer bound,” Freya said.

“Yes,” replied Loki.

As most people moved from dinner to dessert, Odin and Frigga entered the dining hall together. Odin held Frigga’s hand up with his own and guided her down the middle to the table the gods were seated at. Instead of sitting down, however, they faced the room. The crowd’s conversation and laughter died down as they anticipated an announcement from the Allfather.

“Warriors! Gods of Asgard! Is tonight’s feast treating you all well?”

The Vikings and gods all cheered in response.

“Excellent. Might I have a moment of your time for a special occasion?” The Allfather then gestured to Loki and you. “My son and this brilliant, brave human helped achieve the impossible. They defeated Thanos and brought back the population that was wiped out by him.”

The crowd cheered again.

“Loki, Y/N, approach,” Odin commanded.

Loki got up from his seat and stood before his father. You followed suit.

“Kneel,” Odin said. And you did.

With both Loki and you on your knees before the king of the Asgardians, Odin summoned a spear. It was a golden spear with two smaller prongs on either side, long and well-polished. Loki made a small noise of surprise – acknowledgement.

The Allfather held the spear in both hands and with the flat end, tapped Loki on his right shoulder, and then his left. Loki would tell you later that the spear was called Gungnir.

“Tonight, I grant my son, Loki of Asgard, the gift of life. If you so accept, you will be allowed to leave Valhalla – and Folkvangr,” Odin nodded to Freya, who simply raised her glass in response. “--and walk amongst the living again. However, you will not be able to return until you reach the end of your life.”

Loki cleared his throat. “Thank you, father.”

Odin said your name next. “Although you are not dead and are merely here because of the unfortunate circumstances that befell you, I extend you permission to leave, should you so choose. I am deeply sorry for what happened to bring you here, and I thank you for helping my son.”

Odin did the same with Gungnir to you, touching your right shoulder and then your left. When he pulled it back, you looked to Loki with teary eyes and a smile. He looked back, unable to hide his own watery visage.

“Rise,” commanded Odin, and both of you did. “What is your decision?”

Loki turned to you and repeated his father’s question. 

“I mean, you want to return, right? You said it yourself, you hate it in the afterlife,” you replied.

“Midgard isn’t much better, but it is something,” Loki said.

You rolled your eyes. “Earth doesn’t suck that much. But yes, my decision is to go back to the land of the living. And I’m not even dead! I was just stuck here with you.”

“Would you say ‘stuck’?” Loki said teasingly. “You weren’t forced to come with me anywhere, you could have stayed in Folkvangr. I would even venture to say that you quite grew to like me.”

“Some days more than others,” you said with a smirk.

Loki turned back to his father. “Yes, Allfather, I accept your gift to regain life.”

“I accept your gift to leave,” you said also.

Frigga then stepped forward and placed her hand atop Odin’s. Together, they raised their hands and a brilliant, golden light shone from them. The gods then touched Loki’s forehead, and the golden radiance encompassed the god of mischief, working its way from his head down until his entire body shone like the morning sun. The light was so bright that you had to shield your eyes. Loki turned his hands over, looking at the golden light emanating from them. Then, quickly, the light faded until it disappeared completely.

“Welcome back to life, Loki,” Frigga said, kissing her son on the cheek.

“Welcome back,” Odin said simply.

The entire crowd of gods and Vikings roared in claps, shouts, and hurrahs. Some even threw flowers

You hugged Loki with all the force in your body, nearly knocking him over by the sudden gesture.

“Foolish Earth woman,” he said and hugged you back, lifting you from the ground and giving you a spin. When he placed you back down, he spoke again. “I don’t have to stay in this wretched place, but since Asgard is gone I must live on Earth, and that is quite a strange thought to contend with.”

“I’ll show you around, take you to all the best restaurants,” you said. “We may have to disguise you though, considering…”

“Is there a place you know where I may stay?” Loki asked.

“Loki. We’re together now, you’re staying with me.”

He looked surprised, then smirked at your candidness.

“I didn’t want to intrude, or assume. But yes, I would like that.”

You shared a kiss, smiling when you broke off.

“I wanted away from you ASAP when we first met, but I couldn’t leave you,” you said. “Now, I have all the will in the world, but I want to stay right by your side.”

“Funny, that,” Loki said, stealing another kiss. “I can safely bet that the Norns are laughing right now.”

You and Loki made arrangements before your departure, and then it was time to say goodbye.

“You’ve really come such a far way,” Freya said to you that evening. “And you too, Loki. Have fun in life again, but when you die – should you come back to my realm, I am not letting you leave.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Loki.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, unconvinced. Then she hugged you, “Goodbye, dear.”

“Goodbye, Freya,” you said, hugging her back.

She opened a portal back to the familiar Folkvangr, stepped through, and she was gone.

The same interactions were exchanged with Frigga and Odin. It was great to see Loki get along better with his father. It wasn’t exactly the closest father-son relationship, but it was miles apart from the way Loki talked about him and from their cold interaction when you arrived in Valhalla. It wasn’t quite cordial, but it was something. Their goodbyes didn’t involve a hug, but you definitely felt a strange sort of love from the interaction.

Frigga didn’t hold back her hugs though. She squeezed like she always did in a bear hug that she pulled you and her son into. She spoke with you and Loki for a few minutes before it was time to go.

“Before you go, tell Thor that I’m so proud of him. I miss him every day,” the goddess told Loki.

“I shall, mother.”

“Goodbye, my son,” she said, giving him one last, quick hug.

Then Heimdall stepped forward. “I can open the Bifrost, but know that once you are transported, the magic of this realm will not allow you back as long as you are alive.”

Loki nodded.

“And as the Allmother and Allfather said, I am proud of you too, Loki. You have come a long way since the little boy that would sneak into other realms somehow away from my gaze.”

A small corner of Heimdall’s lips turned upward.

“It wasn’t always easy, but it was fun when it worked,” Loki replied.

“Mm,” said the gatekeeper.

Then, the brilliant, blinding rainbow of the Bifrost opened.

“Goodbye Y/N and Loki,” Odin said.

Frigga waved. “Goodbye, I will miss you so much!” She wiped a tear from her eye.

Then, with hands clasped together, Loki looked to you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

Together, you took a step forward and entered the bifrost. Once again you were transported through the tumbling, roaring rainbow that felt like eons but in truth only lasted a few moments. You felt the ground underneath your feet and the rainbow disappeared.

You were on Earth again. Actually on Earth: the Earth you knew and loved. The Earth full of life and adventure. 

And now it was Earth with Loki.

—----------------------

After hugging him again, you opened a portal to the very first place you wanted to show Loki now that he was going to live here on Earth with you. It was your favorite restaurant and it flashed in the image within the portal’s ellipse.

“No offense to the Viking food or anything, but I need something different,” you spoke, holding his hand.

“I, ah, actually have a different idea first,” Loki said.

“Oh?”

Loki made a movement with his hand, and a new portal formed next to yours. You allowed yours to vanish. On the other side was a small town, shown from bird’s eye view. It couldn’t have inhabited more than 500 people. There were a few homes, farms, and shops, and only one main road that went through it all.

“Where..?” you began to ask, but then Loki pulled you through with him.

The two of you appeared on the other side in the middle of the town square. A few people bustled there, shuffling between the few shops the village had. Others chatted with one another.

“Loki, where are we?” you asked. A chill went up your spine. Something seemed familiar about this town, but what you could not place.

“You’ll see,” Loki said, coldly. Then, out of nowhere, he shouted: “Townspeople!”

Most everyone in the immediate area perked their ears, turning their heads to the god.

He then cast a spell, and repeated: “Townspeople!” This time, however, his voice was amplified tenfold – like he spoke into an invisible megaphone. 

You covered your ears, flinching.

“It’s time we had a meeting!” Loki continued.

He waved his hand again, and a deep purple emanated from his fingertips. Within a minute, what seemed like every citizen of the small village arrived in the town square. Each of them arrived either on foot via running or by vehicle, and all had a purple haze around their heads until they filed in. The ones who ran to be there had to catch their breath. Every one of the new visitors seemed frenzied and concerned, and then once they finally settled in: confusion. There was chatter, and the town square filled with the sound of a hundred different conversations but of one topic: What was going on?

You tugged on the hem of Loki’s shirt. “Loki, what are you doing?”

“Soon, pet. Soon.”

From the middle of the square on a raised platform, where the mayor or other official would address the town, Loki asked one simple question.

“Where is Sherrie Freberg?” 

His voice was cold and low.

Your eyes widened. “Loki…”

“Why do you wanna know?” A man in the crowd asked. He looked to be in his late forties, balding. His brow was furrowed and fists balled.

“I’m glad you asked,” Loki said, straightening his back. His lips curled into a foxlike grin.

The god gestured to you. “After the Snap happened, this woman drove through this town, seeking nothing but nourishment before continuing her journey. Then, in her vulnerability, Sherrie Freberg captured her, strapped her to a pyre, and she was burned at the stake by you animals.” He spit as he said the word.

People in the crowd began to shuffle, and whispers were carried around. Some confused, others nervous. You wanted to stop Loki. This was going to go bad, very bad, but you felt like you couldn’t move.

“Have you nothing to say to that?” Loki prodded. A few people in the back of the crowd tried to snap out of the spell trapping them here, but Loki obviously was not relaxing his grip.

Then, another man came forward. You recognized him. Thick beard and a surly expression. He was one of the men who threw you into his truck and drove you to the place you were sacrificed – and goodness, that was years ago here on Earth. But for you, mere months. It still hurt you, traumatized you that people could do such a thing, treating you like a sheep for the chopping block. You had no voice, no input, nor agency, and it was terrifying.

The surly expression of the man dropped when he looked Loki in the eye. He was at the front of the crowd now, in front of the stage, looking up at the angry god.

“I am sorry, your greatness. Loki, god of mischief,” he spoke, putting his right arm over his chest. He kneeled. People in the crowd gasped. Some others kneeled and silently prayed in reverence.

Loki’s eyes widened for a moment, a flash of confusion, then anger. The man continued.

“We… We were frightened. The Snap, it took our loved ones from us and we didn’t know what to do. Ever since Thor’s return to Earth a decade ago, we converted to the Norse religion. There were gods walking among us, how could we not worship what was right in front of us? But nothing was working; we prayed, we performed rituals we read about in old books. We just wanted our families back and we resorted to…”

“To sacrifice?” Loki interrupted him.

The god squatted, placing his pointer finger and thumb under the man’s chin and pulled, forcing him back on his feet. The man groaned from discomfort. Then Loki let go, releasing his hand in disgust.

“Enough excuses. You think I pity you? What about her?” Loki asked, pointing to you. “You thought you killed her, hmm? That you could just forget? Her sacrifice would loom in your minds, but it would be easy to forget since she was merely a stranger to you. Oh, but she didn’t die that day. When one is sacrificed, the moment they would have died they are transported to the god they are given to. She felt every burning, licking flame upon her skin.”

The crowd was silent as the grave.

“Now I ask again,” Loki continued. “Where. Is. Sherrie. Freberg?”

“She’s my mother!” a woman called out. The woman was young, maybe mid-to-late twenties. She had dirty blonde hair and freckles across her face. She raised her hand to better draw attention to herself.

“And where is she?” Loki asked.

“She died three months ago,” the woman replied. “Unknown causes. I think her death was karma for what she did, to try and bring me and everyone else back. When the Avengers reversed everything, I learned shortly after coming back what she did. I was horrified. She made me swear not to tell anybody who returned.”

Loki was completely still as he analyzed Sherrie’s daughter. He flicked his hands, and the woman’s eyes glazed over. Her visage took on a neutral expression, and any hint of emotion or perception of her surroundings disappeared, like she’d been turned into a robot. After a few seconds, Loki repeated the action with his hand and she returned to normal. The woman gasped for breath and looked at her surroundings, completely unaware that she had just been bewitched.

“I believe you,” Loki said. He tapped his chin with a finger. “Well, what do we do now?”

“Loki stop!” you pleaded. You heard the townspeople’s explanations and enough was enough. You pulled his arm so he was forced to look at you.

“Why?” he asked. “Don’t you want retribution?”

“I… Maybe, I don’t know. But you’re scaring me. Half of the people here didn’t even have anything to do with what happened to me. They didn’t even know.”

“I’m doing this for you,” he said.

Loki then outstretched his hand, and the bearded man flew through the air. His throat connected with Loki’s open palm, which then snapped shut. The man gasped and gurgled as Loki began to strangle him with only one hand. People in the crowd screamed and tried to flee, but Loki’s spell that brought them here would not permit them to leave.

“Loki!” you shouted in fright.

“I said I am doing this for you,” Loki repeated with gritted teeth, squeezing harder upon the man’s neck.

The crowd screamed in terror as Loki continued his assault upon the man. He was a terrible piece of garbage, a stain upon the world for what he did. But half of the people here didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you. They didn’t deserve to be forced to witness this horrible spectacle.

And maybe the man did deserve to die, but what this was doing was hurting Loki, too. The mad, sadistic look upon his face as he choked the man out reminded you of the Loki you saw on the news in 2012 during his assault on New York; the Loki that was crazed, power-hungry, and utterly unsympathetic to the suffering of others. That may have been Loki once, but it wasn’t him now, and you couldn’t let him go back down that dark road to who he used to be.

“And I said STOP!” you screamed as you wound up a spell within you. Outstretching your arm, you used a similar spell on the man, but instead to pull him forward you pushed him back. 

The force was great enough to wrench open Loki’s palm and throw the bearded man back. He flew through the air and landed on his back on the end of the stage ten feet away from Loki. His face was a deep red and he gasped and coughed as air filled his lungs again.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” Loki shrieked. 

The god’s attention was completely on you now, and in his distracted state the man clumsily climbed down from the stage with the assistance of the townspeople. He still hacked and coughed violently.

“Because this isn’t you anymore, Loki!” You shouted back. “I love you too much to let you become the monster you think you are!”

He shook his head violently, balling and unballing his fists. His right hand twitched, then with a spurt of rage he punched the podium, screaming as he did so. The wood shattered and jagged pieces flew through the air.

“I am a monster.”

“Not to me. You’ve changed.”

Loki laughed sardonically, shaking his head. At the very least, he seemed to calm down just a little.

“You are one of the strangest humans I have ever met.”

He was definitely calming down. You clasped his hands in your own. “And I love you, but don’t do something we’ll both regret.”

“What do you suggest I do then?” he asked. Loki was still very agitated, but more vulnerable. He turned his gaze to the crowd, to the man still gaining his breath back. The townspeople gasped, then he looked back at you. “What they did to you wasn’t right. It was barbaric.”

“Yes, I know that!”

He snarled. “They don’t deserve… Fine. Fine!” Loki threw his hands into the air. “Let me think.” 

A half minute passed as Loki pondered his options. The crowd was still deadly silent as they awaited Loki’s judgment. 

“Well,” Loki spoke. “As this is partially an Asgardian matter… Perhaps they should face Asgardian justice.”

“Meaning?”

—---------

Five minutes later, Thor and Valkyrie were on the stage with you. After some magic communication on Loki’s part, he caught them up to speed. They understood and agreed to meet, and with Stormbreaker and Valkyrie’s pegasus they arrived very quickly.

Despite Loki’s murderous tirade and actions, when more Asgardians arrived the townspeople gasped, some cheered and hurrahed. A few got down on their knees.

“These – these are the people that sacrificed her?” Thor asked, incredulous and outraged.

“Not all of them!” you interrupted quickly. “Half of them weren’t here when it happened.”

Valkyrie crossed her arms and glanced over the crowd. “I say we just kill the ones that did it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Loki said. There was a slight sadistic glee in his voice.

“No,” Thor replied. “No, we can put those responsible on trial back in New Asgard. Imprison them or execute, whatever the people decide, but only after they receive a trial.”

“Fine then,” Valkyrie said, bored.

“If that is what our gods command,” the bearded man said.

After all that happened today, you were utterly shocked that the man still kept his faith and even agreed.

“I wish I could kill you,” Loki said. The man lowered his head in fear. “Do what you need to Thor, Valkyrie. I’m done here.”

Thor nodded.

“Thank you, Loki,” you said. He caressed your arm in silent acknowledgment.

“You may have made a few valid points,” he replied. “If this is settled, where were you taking me before all this? A restaurant?”

You blinked rapidly. Loki almost just murdered someone and now he was talking food? Your brain needed a moment to catch up. “Oh – I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“Then I shall take us somewhere.”

He opened a portal and, holding your hand, he guided you through with him.

On the other side, rolling hills of grass stretched out for miles and miles. Small packs of snow were melting from the spring air, and the occasional tree swayed in the wind. The sun was close to setting for the night, moving closer to the west horizon.

“Are you furious with me?” Loki asked.

“I was. And I still am mad, to be honest. But what matters is that you stopped. The people who sacrificed me deserved justice, but I was worried you were gonna go on a spree and just murder the whole town.”

“I very well may have,” Loki said.

“And those people didn’t deserve it. Most of them didn’t even know.” You paused. “Yes, I am mad at you, but I’m also proud that you were able to stop and think of something else. They’ll get their justice, I know it.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

You shared a kiss, staring into his bright green eyes. After all this time, you still couldn’t believe that you fell in love with the god that tried to enslave your planet. He was a vastly different man now, because the man back in New York wouldn’t have listened to reason. He would have slaughtered them all. While definitely far from perfect, the now Loki – the one who taught you magic, who saved you from giants from Muspelheim, who let himself die to fight Thanos – was the one you loved.

He must have been thinking similar thoughts to you, because then he said: “Oh, mortal girl, how did I become tangled up with you?”

“Wrong place, wrong time?” you said, jokingly.

“Or perhaps the right place and the right time,” he said, brushing a thumb under your ear.

He pulled you in, initiating a deeper kiss, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He cupped his hand behind your head, the other resting on your waist. You kissed until your head spun and you had to break off for air.

“Again, I feel I must apologize for what you went through. Not just the sacrifice, but for when the fire giants kidnapped and hurt you, and that you got roped into fighting Thanos.”

“Oh, I –”

“And I also wanted to thank you for your courage, your intelligence, but most of all your kindness.”

“Thank you,” you replied. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing them softly to your skin.

“So, where are we? What were you going to show me?” you asked.

“The World Tree: Yggdrasil.”

Loki guided you over the hills, taking your hand as he did so. As you got closer, you smelled salt in the air and heard a faraway crashing of waves.

“There’s snow here, but the ocean too? Where are we, Loki?”

“I believe it’s what you would call Norway.” Loki paused. “I am trying to recall where the spot is and I am hoping to find it before sun sets.”

“What are we looking for exactly? Giant tree branches in the sky? I’m not seeing any.”

“A hole in the ground, actually,” he corrected. “A window to a cave system below us.”

So you searched, splitting up to cover more ground. Eventually, something that fit the criteria caught your eye and you called Loki over.

“Yes, yes, this is it,” he confirmed.

You couldn’t see anything, only felt a slightly cool air wafting from this hole. It was about a foot long and about 7 inches wide at its largest point. Not large enough to fall into, but definitely wide enough to trip an unsuspecting hiker or even twist an ankle. You called ‘hello!’ into the hole, and the cave echoed the greeting back. Loki gave a light chuckle and teased you for your childishness.

“What does this have to do with Yggdrasil?”

Loki looked to the horizon, where the sun was about to touch. “You’ll see in three… two… one.”

The sun and the horizon met, and a faint glow emanated from the cave lip, the glow growing brighter by the second until you could make out the shape of a long, winding line which you soon realized was a giant branch. This branch snaked up through the cave lip and into the skies above, branching off into hundreds of tiny, smaller branches. It appeared in front of your eyes as if it had been here the entire time. The glow of Yggdrasil’s branches shined bright purples, pinks, and light blues, looking similarly rainbow colored to the bifrost Heimdall called.

These smaller branches seemed to extend miles up and out to where you couldn’t see their endpoints. After a few minutes, as the sunset grew gradually dimmer, the leaves of Yggdrasil popped into existence, twinkling yellow and white. Some of these leaves fell from the branches and you watched them carelessly fall to the ground, disappearing the moment they touched the ground.

You followed the branches above back to the base below in the cave system. Loki nudged your arm and pointed to a small creature running around the larger branches below. It was hard to make out until you noticed a twitching, bushy tail. 

“I’ve heard about this squirrel from a myth I read as a kid,” you said excitedly, watching it jump from branch to branch with ease. “I can’t remember his name, though.”

“Ratatoskr. He carries messages up and down the tree, from the eagles on top to the dragon Nidhogg below, and vice versa.”

“Can we see Nidhogg from here too?”

Loki shook his head. “I’m afraid not, he’s much, much farther down – at the tree’s roots. Hundreds of leagues down. Besides, the sun is about to disappear for the night, and Yggdrasil will too.”

The two of you took in the magnificent sight of the world tree for a few more minutes until the glow of the leaves disappeared; and then the rest of the tree went too, growing fainter and fainter, until the two of you were left under the luminosity of the stars.

“Wow. That was… really beautiful, Loki.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said with a smile. “Normally, Yggdrasil is very hard to see, as most of the branches wind around Midgard, not through it. But this is one of those few spots where a bough found its way through Midgard, and burst out this hole here. At the right angle the sun illuminates it for just a few moments until it sets.”

“Thank you for showing this to me.” You hugged him tightly. 

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed you softly.

Love, Emma (4/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014). Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s Peace – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. 

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her usual precious advice, and also big thanks to @carpedzem who screamed at me in the best way possible <3 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Last scene of the last chapter was Killian arriving in NYC after the whole Neal stole watches and Emma impulsively runs away thing. This chapter opens on Killian, Emma, MM and David in MM’s kitchen -- right after Emma and Killian’s hug.

Part 1 - Mirrorball , Part 2 - AUGUST, Part 3 - HOAX, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 4 - PEACE 

Would it be enough

If I could never give you peace?

.

Four years before Emma’s wedding – New York.

As Killian makes small talk with David and Mary Margaret in the kitchenette, Emma is quite thankful she cried this hard. While she really went all in, wept with both her eyes and her nose for a good ten minutes and clearly smeared Killian’s sweater for life in the process, Emma must confess that she does feel better.

Scientists didn’t lie about dopamine. The grey feeling in her chest is twirling in a salt puddle, but Emma knows it won’t be drowned forever. (Not when hazel lingers behind her eyelids, anyway.)

As she sits next to Killian, in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, Emma feels like she might be floating on a cloud. She’s almost tempted to close her eyes, and get some well-deserved rest, but Killian might leave again and her eyes shoot open at the thought.

She did not forget his text. He said he would be busy. Why isn’t he, suddenly?

Her fork slides to the right, and nearly stabs her cheek. Emma sighs, embarrassed, but they don’t notice her, engulfed in their conversation. That’s for the best.  

A nasty hope raises her heart. Maybe, just maybe …

But then, no. No. She deserves better than this, better than being left hanging for him to look back at her. Knowing he never does.

“Well, I’m glad to see you two are still the most infuriating couple in town.”

Emma looks up to see a smile on Killian’s face. He is peeling an orange, and its smell fills Emma’s lungs with Christmas memories and Ingrid’s tender smile. She must be worried sick.

Guilt circles Emma’s throat, until she gets distracted by the orange peels dropped next to her. They look like petals.

Emma thinks, as Killian sits next to her, all upright and proper and Navy, that she sees him for the first time in ages. That the strawberry cloud surrounding him has blotted – somewhere between their last goodbye and the moment she realized she was blaming him for her grey, fuzzy feeling. She doesn’t know if she is allowed to blame him. Probably not. But it still itches.

David and Mary Margaret obviously like Killian. She sees it in the way David presses his shoulder when he reaches for butter, and Mary Margaret makes sure his cup of coffee is never empty. She thinks they always did like him more than they liked her. But that’s fair. She also liked Killian better.

“Aha, thank you, mate ,” replies David, and he has a green apron on his right shoulder and he looks very much so adult and Emma frowns, feeling like she missed an important step from teenagerhood to adulthood. “What about you, any lovebird?”

Well, now that was quick.

Mary Margaret’s swiftly elbows David in the ribs, but it’s too late. The eggs are already stuck down Emma’s throat, and it feels like a strong hand is strangling her. She coughs loudly, and a glass of water is pushed in front of her. Killian.

He won’t let her be mad, will he?

“Careful, Swan.” He even dares to smile. She wants to yell at him but Mary Margaret and David would stare, and she would have to explain why she’s yelling, and then she would have to talk about this funny, funny feeling in her belly when she thinks about M, and… She drinks up.

Killian gives a small chuckle then, but Emma barely hears it. She only hears the fickle buzzing of her heart.

“Sorry mate, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” Killian’s words are sure and calm.

Without a glance, Killian hands Emma an orange slice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and sure, for a while it was –  and she shoots him a death glare but she takes it all the same.

What does he think he’s doing? Does he think she’s just his to pick whenever he feels like it?

The small slice is very delicate and it leaves tangy, sugary drops on her fingers, but she does not think too much about it and shoves it in her mouth. It explodes in orangey sweetness.

“Can we change the subject?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma isn’t looking up but she knows she’s staring at her with all of the compassion and the pity in the world and it makes Emma even madder.

Everything is so bitter. She doesn’t know where to look, where to be, for the pain to flatter.

“I need to get out,” Emma exhales suddenly. She doesn’t mean to say it like that, but those are the only words her brain comes up with.

“Oh. Alright. Well, David and I were thinking about going to the Christmas market but—”

“— It’s fine. You guys can go to the Christmas market, I’ll stay with Emma.”

Emma doesn’t offer Killian a glance, instead buries her nails into her palm. How dare he.

“Are you sure, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma wants to snap back that she should have thought about it before inviting Killian over, but then she sees the gentle glint in Mary Margaret’s eyes and she can only sigh.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Killian and I need to talk, anyway.”

She hopes Killian’s heart makes a loop in his chest and the tip of his ears turn scarlet, as they always do when he is embarrassed. It’s all he deserves.

“Well, then it’s settled.”

And Emma wishes it didn’t smell like oranges and Christmas in the room, because then it would be easier to hate Killian Jones, for sure.

.

Bare are the trees of Central Park as Killian and Emma walk in, their boots crushing the fresh snow. Crunch, crunch, it sings. Emma loves that sound.

She is wearing her biggest red coat and a huge beanie but she is still shaking. She buries her hands in her pockets, walking ahead of Killian, and when she looks back he isn’t by her side. Panic rises in her mind, until she gets a glimpse of him a little down the street, queuing next to a coffee shop.

As she walks to meet him, her stomach twists. He’s getting her a hot cocoa. A green and viscous fury creeps from Emma’s toes to her heart. When he hands her the steaming cup, his fingers brush against hers and she blames the cold for the shiver that tingles her skin.

“Thanks,” she hisses, but still will not look at him. Twirls of chocolate steam escape the cup, it smells like heaven.

But Emma is very determined to hate Killian, from now on, and she hides her grin behind her cup.

“Should we sit on the bench?” offers Killian, and she loathes the gentle tone of his voice.

“Yup.”

Down the park, families are strolling and Emma’s heart sighs loudly. Oh, this is very much so unfair. What’s even more unfair, though, is the fact that when Killian presses one hand down her back, she doesn’t want him to stop.

She wants him to linger there. And when his hand quits her back as he sits down on the bench, it leaves frostbite.

She licks her lips, squeezing her thighs together. “Are you alright, Swan?”

She nods and sips the hot chocolate. Clouds of cinnamon tickle her nose. It makes her smile against her will, and then it makes her sad. He knows her by heart. Can you really leave someone you know by heart behind?

“I’m fine. So, we said we would talk,” she quickly mutters, and takes another sip of her warm drink.

Ah, this hot cocoa is definitely soothing her soul.

Killian crosses his legs, and she knows he only does so when he is uncomfortable and she is glad. He better be.

“What do you want to talk about?” Christmas lights twinkle in the trees behind him. They form the shape of a snowflake.

“First, who called you?”

They are green, red and yellow, the lights. Their sight should not tighten her throat like this.

“Ingrid. She was worried about you. She wants you to come back, Emma.”

She nods, a small, quiet cloud of white smoke escaping her lips.

“I thought she’d hate me. I thought she wanted to get rid of me.”

Killian’s furious stare burns the side of her cheek, and Emma blushes but she won’t look back at him.

“Why would she hate you, Emma? Ingrid’s always cared for you.”

She wants to tell him that he cared and he still left, but then she would start to cry, and she does not want that.

“Yeah, right. Well. I’m not used to someone putting me first.”

It’s hard to shake Neal’s smile from the cobweb of her thoughts. She thought he liked her. Hell, she thought he was in love with her and she was the one incapable of moving on from her teenage crush. She thought she was the one throwing away their chance at happiness. She was wrong.

And Killian reaches for her then, breaks their secret and unspoken oath of distance and loneliness and grabs the hand she let linger on the cold, wooden bench, and Emma can’t control the great dive of her eyes into his.

And blue are his eyes, icy blue, and so full of warmth, and she wants to drown in them. She clenches her jaw.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Emma. You deserve so much better than that scumbag.”

Well, does she? Anger burns deep within her. It’s a wicked flame.

She snatches her hand away from him and in that gesture she catches a smell of peeled oranges and everything sucks again.

“You were with her, right?” she attacks then, pushed by this bold fury in her heart, and they have to talk about it or it will kill her.

He opens his mouth then, but no sound comes out, and Emma swallows frozen stones.

“I…I was.” A pause. “How long have you known?”

She shakes her head then, blonde hair dancing over her eyelids. “Since this summer.”

But also, far before that. She thinks she knew the moment he stopped answering her calls at midnight and their texts got more scattered. That was probably the moment she knew.

She buries her hand in her pocket, so that he will not grab it again, and she drinks long mouthfuls of her hot cocoa. She swallows too fast and the vindictive liquid burns her throat. She winces.  

“I see. And since we’re talking great revelations, how long has this thing been going on with Neal?”

So much for friendship, she thinks. So much for loyalty and comfort and trust. It nearly hurts as much as the savage burn left by the hot cocoa down her throat. Liar.

“This summer,” she lies.

She wants him to think she never cared, even if she most clearly does, or she wouldn’t be clinging to her hot cocoa this way.  

There’s a scoff next to her. “I see.”

And then silence falls, and Emma doesn’t want this battle to end. But when she glances at him, his hands are calmly spread out on his lap, his cup of cocoa long forgotten, and she wants to shake him, to tell him to fight for her, for them, but he is already defeated and he doesn’t care.

“That’s it?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse with tears.

He looks at her then, shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Swan?”

Anything. Anything but his silence and his mature smile and his soft eyes that don’t see her.

“We’ve made mistakes, both of us, in keeping secrets from each other.” A pause. “I made a mistake. I should have talked to you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“But we didn’t, Killian.” And this is very dangerous, because there is a sob curled up in her throat that is very eager to come out, and she cannot, she cannot let it out.

She needs him to understand.

“Why didn’t we talk about it, Killian? Why didn’t you say anything? Why?”

And he’s staring at her with his big blue eyes, and she feels miles away from him.

He must feel it, he must know how wrong this whole situation is, for them to be with anyone else, he must feel it or she’s been wrong all along.

“Because –” he starts and she’s glad to hear his voice is quivering, too. “— because I care too much about you. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

The Christmas lights are so very sad suddenly. “But it has changed everything, Killian.” A snowflake lands on his black, tousled hair. It’s snowing.

“Are you mad at me for leaving?” he asks then, and it’s such a quiet whisper in the snow, she barely hears it.

Anger turns to sadness. It always does.

She peers at him through her eyelashes. “No. Yes. ” A pause, the cold is biting her lips. “I tried to hate you for leaving.” And then he looks sad, and she remembers his own sorrow, and guilt circles her throat. “But I couldn’t.”

Her tiny cold hand leaves the safety of her velvet pocket to grab his palm, and she hopes he hears it. I’ll love you until the end of time.

And in a heartbeat, she presses her lips against his scruffy cheek, discovers his skin cold and damp, and there is a stubborn, stubborn hope in her chest – the hope that he might turn his face at the last moment and drink her breath.

He doesn’t.

When she backs away, her hand lingers on his face as she gazes at him intensely – to remember the gentle shadow dropped by his thick eyelashes on his cheekbones, his cheeks that have turned crimson, and his lips, vibrantly red and tasting of chocolate, his entire face as she allows herself to run after him, one last time.

Her hand leaves his face for the cold wetness of his coat, the bracelet at her wrist ringing, ringing, but she cannot let go, not quite now.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He whispers, and finally turns his face towards her. It’s unfair. He is twenty seconds too late.

Her heart skips a beat. She thinks it echoes all through the park.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

She nods, and she should find peace in that, but she doesn’t. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need peace, not when this soft flame burns within her. Not while it keeps her alive.

“I know that, Killian.” And she glances down at his lips, stares intensely at them, and she is this close from kissing him, this close, but he backs away, and she smiles – defeated. “Thank you for coming, even though you were busy.”

And she watches him lick his lips, frown. “I’d drop everything for you, Emma. I will always have your back.”

She nods, her heart bursting. Her hand falls down his arm, a pink petal dropped in the snow, and reluctantly settles for holding her cup of hot cocoa. It feels like something is being ripped from her flesh. But that is also fine.

She stares straight ahead, at the Christmas trees and the families, and she exhales: “Let’s go see that Christmas market, huh?”

“Aye.” And he stretches his hand for her to hold, and the tip of his fingers is red and frozen and, before she knows it, his lips are pressed against her cheek, and a flower blooms in Emma’s chest.  

And when she looks up, she swears she sees him bend towards her, a liquid flame burning in his gaze, and her breath gets caught in her throat. But then he stops, and snow melts on her lips.

The distance between their bodies, the unfinished course of his lips towards hers, the heartbeat she misses, all of this is fine.

She links their arms as they walk, muffling the voices in her head. They tell her she shouldn’t play with fire, but she has nothing to lose anymore.

.

Killian throws their now empty cups of hot cocoa in a nearby bin while Emma calls Ingrid. A weird pang lingers in his chest. This crisp winter day carries Christmas smells with it that fill Killian’s lungs with nostalgia and a strange kind of hope.

As he watches Emma pace restlessly in front of him, unaware of her surroundings, he feels proud of her for reaching out to Ingrid first.

Killian watches as Emma clenches onto the phone, throws a strand of hair behind her back and frowns, heels clacking on the pavement, and he notices just how different she looks. Her hair has grown, and she styled it to form golden curls over the red of her coat. She’s wearing lipstick as well, a bright red shade, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her with it.

She’s changing. Evolving without him. It shouldn’t feel like this, in his throat, but it does, and in a blink he looks down at his feet to conceal his feelings.  

His thoughts go back to Neal then, Neal who’s hiding somewhere and he desperately wants to find him and smash his pretty, pretty face.

But then he hears the click of Emma’s black boots on the snow coated pavement, and he looks up, forcing a smile on his face. There’s not much else to do but smile.

“Come,” she smiles and grabs his arm, “Everything we need is right in front of us.”

Oddly enough, they spend a good day together, one that brings Killian back to summer nights and long walks along the beach, and her hand in his, and the feeling, the conviction that this would last forever.

As they eat crepes and toasted marshmallows and somehow their laughter echoes between New York’s brick buildings, forever is merely a word and they are fighting against the passing of time.  

All of this is ephemeral. But then again, everything is. Perhaps it is the reason why he wraps his arms quite as hard around her when she whines “I’m so cold, so cold” by a street corner, and she is so small in the crook of his neck, and his lips linger on her forehead as a chuckle shakes both of their shoulders.

(They never join Mary Margaret and David.)

And when nighttime falls, and they’ve finally reached Mary Margaret’s building, and it is time to say goodnight and goodbye, always goodbye, he makes a conscious effort in memorizing the features of her face. The pavement shines, glints, glistens under New York’s street lights, wears its prettiest fluorescent feathers.

And Emma’s face is inhabited by that same green, wet light. Her curls have loosened throughout the day and a crown of baby hairs is escaping from her beanie. She only looks more beautiful and touching. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold and her eyes are two green lakes shining with gentle sparkles and her mouth is wet and he desperately wants to kiss her.

It would be easy to cave in, lean forward and drink her breath. Easy to take advantage of her broken heart and mold it with his hands.

And then what? Emma does not like him like he does, Emma is in love with Neal, she always has been it seems, and kissing her wouldn’t lead anywhere but to more heartache.

And he thinks of Milah then, Milah who’s betrayed him but whom he deeply cares for and who is willing to be with him. Milah who loves him, and whom he might love, if only he allowed himself to.

He wants to tell Emma then, join me in my hotel room, I did not come all the way here just to spend a few hours with you, come lie next to me and we’ll – Sweet, sweet fantasy.

Where would that bloody lead them?

“So, this is it. I’m expecting you to call me once you’re safe and home at Ingrid’s,” he finally whispers, and he sees it, this strange glimmer in her eyes.

She’s smiling, nods, seems at peace.

“You never told me her name. What is it?” she suddenly asks.

Frozen, frozen snowflakes fall all around them. The fire burning between their two bodies is still excruciating.

“Milah.”

She nods again. Breathes in and, he’s starting to understand as well, lets go. Very resolute, very brave when she kisses his cheek – for just one instant. And then her lips vanish.  

And she smiles again, and Killian finally understands he is losing her forever.

He watches as she carefully cuts the golden string tying her to him, and his hand has a small jolt but he is not quick enough to stop her.

“I’ll see you around, next summer, I guess,” she simply mutters and does not wait for his reply to turn around.

The din of her boots echo on the pavement, until it does not.

And just like that, he’s lost her.

.

Watching Ingrid’s yellow bug park in front of Mary Margaret’s building, this Sunday morning, really stirs something strange and unfamiliar in Emma’s chest. She doesn’t know quite why but suddenly there is this heavy, heavy weight on her chest and it is hard to breath.

“It was nice to have you here, Emma. Do come back, when you are not in trouble, some day,” smiles Mary Margaret, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Emma’s body.

And Emma breathes into her, and she thinks everything is terribly overwhelming, but maybe it is a good kind of overwhelming for once. She clutches onto her friend.

“Thanks, Mary Margaret. I’ll be more than happy to come back.”

And then David’s pulling her into another hug, and Emma starts to think life doesn’t suck as much as she wants to believe it.

Ingrid gets out of the car, rubbing her hands together. “Well well, they don’t lie about New York weather.”

And Emma cannot tell but her face is definitely splitting into a ridiculous, ugly smile, and her chin starts quivering. An ocean of unfamiliar emotions is swallowing her. But maybe, just maybe, as Ingrid’s green eyes find hers and shine so very softly, maybe she is allowed to feel them.

“Emma.”

“Ingrid.”

And then Emma doesn’t know who reaches first, it’s her, it’s her stretching her hand and grabbing Ingrid’s shoulder and pulling her against her, until the weight on her chest explodes into thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness.

And it’s really hard to swallow the tears that threaten to come out of her eyes when Ingrid’s hand finds her scalp and gently massages it, and her smell fills her lungs, and she never realized Ingrid had a smell and that it smelled like home.

And then Ingrid’s lips are on her temples and Emma is nowhere to be found, melting into a puddle of glittering happiness.  

And when she looks behind her back, Mary Margaret and David have disappeared.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, Emma.”

And then Emma shakes her head, nods, laughs a little. “It’s fine, Ingrid. It’s fine. It was equally my fault.”

Ingrid grins, her hands cupping Emma’s face, and Emma feels safe and loved, and she forgives both of them.

Emma learns during their car trip back to Storybrooke that Ingrid found the jewelry store where the watches were stolen, and she gave them back, and the shopkeeper was so happy he withdrew his complaint.

Neal is nowhere to be found. But Emma thinks that’s quite alright, because this pain will fade away with time as well.

And when Killian sends her a text “Safely landed. Already missing you”, Emma ignores it and shoves her phone down her bag.

This pain will fade away with time as well.

.

Six months before Emma’s wedding.

Emma’s running. She’s running like she’s never run before. Mind you, as deputy Sheriff of Storybrooke, for two years now since David left for New York, running is part of her job description. But she’s never run with this kind of fervor before.

She’s running as if Killian Jones might close his eyes and never wake up.

“Family?” asks the hospital nurse without a look at her.

Big, big pearls of sweat roll down Emma’s temples as she stares at the nurse with eyes wide open, trying to catch her breath. “Y-yes,” she lies, in the blink of an eye.

And then the nurse glances down at her left hand and Emma knows she sees the ring on her finger and thinks –  but she is mistaken and it is fine.

“Alright. His room number is 815.”

And Emma turns around like a devil, like she’s possessed really, and she thinks she is, she is possessed by a fear that’s tearing her heart down and setting it on fire.

“Miss?”

“Mmm?” What again?

“You might want to prepare yourself. He was given a huge amount of morphine, to lessen his pain. He probably won’t be awake when you come in. ”

Emma nods, swallows downs a disinfectant smell that burns her tired lungs. If she could prepare herself she would. But there’s no preparing for that.

.

As she steps into Killian Jones’s hospital room, Emma feels like her heart is thrown at her feet and the whole world is joyfully trampling on it.

Her entire universe stopped spinning when she received the call. (She’s still his next of kin. That thought alone infuriates her.)

But as she faces him, lying still on this small bed, his skin, so pale, so pale he nearly seems dead, with his eyes resolutely closed and this enormous, horrendous bandage around his wrist, she wonders by which miracle her legs manage to hold her.

“Killian…”

She tries to convince herself she won’t cry then, but her eyes do not care for her pride and are soon filled to the brim with tears as a smile crinkles her face, but it’s not a smile, it’s a terrible, terrible sob that won’t come out.

She drags her boneless legs towards the bed, and then she’s faced with an awful dilemma: where to touch him, where to tether herself, and not to hurt him in the process?

Her eyes twitch, she blinks, and settles for brushing slightly his cheek.

“Hello there,” she whispers then, “Heard you had a very bad fall. I came as soon as I could.”

Flashes of Neal’s anger and disappointment and anger and more disappointment linger behind her eyelids. He was furious.

He couldn’t understand why she would drop everything, why she would drop him on the spot, just to save this childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a year.

“When, Emma, when are you going to choose me over him?”

And he tried to take her engagement ring away, the one she is turning around her finger, swirl, swirl, the golden ring, the golden cage.

A very viscous bile climbs back up her throat.

“I missed you,” she exhales, and clenches onto his bruised knuckles.

She gathers all of her willpower not to stare at the void, the void where his hand is supposed to be, and she licks her lips because she is scared this is one blow will simply be too much to withstand.  

Life has a peculiar fondness for punching Killian Jones straight in the face, it seems.

.

Opening one’s eyes is really the most natural thing to do. Until one’s eyelids seem as heavy as lead, and there isn’t much for one to wake up to.

His life really fell apart, in those last months, huh. Which is why, as this bloody machine closed on his wrist during the ship’s inspection, Killian Jones really wasn’t that surprised. He would have chuckled if not for the pain, taunting Fate with a very sharp “Oh, is that what we’re going for now?”

That’s what he got for being promoted to Lieutenant. Any good Lieutenant made sure the ship’s mechanics were properly checked before sailing away. And he did, bloody hell.

It was the worst ship launching the Navy had seen in years. Killian would be proud if not for the pain, again.

And then he hears her voice. “Hello there,” and for a minute he fears he is dead.

But then her hand is on his face and the sun couldn’t possibly shine in hell, could it?

He wants to reach for her, but the only hand he has left refuses to move, and it is driving him mad. Her smell fills his lungs, fills it with ginger and herself and meaning.

And then she leaves the room and it is darkness and void and silence. And he wants to scream.

.

David and Mary Margaret stand up as one in the waiting room, as Emma shuts Killian’s door behind her.

Seeing them is such a relief, it makes her forget the pebbles in her belly for one instant.

“Emma, honey,” and Mary Margaret’s arms are around her, and it’s a wave of comfort. “We came as soon as we could.”

Emma drove all night from Storybrooke to Portsmouth and coffee is starting not to be enough to keep her eyes open.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” asks David as he presses his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

She shakes her head. “Nope. He went through surgery last night. He should wake up any time now.” This bitter taste in the back of her throat will not fade and the thousands of coffees she’s had only worsen it.

“How…How did Neal take it? Considering he was opening his pawnbroker’s shop this weekend?” risks Mary Margaret, in a very small voice.

Right. Neal.  

Mary Margaret doesn’t mean to hurt Emma any further, but there it is, the weight on her finger, swirl, swirl, swirl.

“Bad. Very bad. But he’ll manage.”

Emma tries to ignore their concerned eyes then, because they know too much and she doesn’t want to prove them right. Although every inch of her being is probably giving her away anyway.

Swirl, swirl, swirl.

But she wants to belong to someone, and Neal knows her, in spite of everything, he knows her and he chose her, and it is enough. Hell, he fought for her, for two years, showing up every day at the sheriff station once he learnt Graham had taken Emma under his wing, he showed up and he showed her he cared.

And she quite literally put him through hell before giving him a second chance after his first betrayal.

“I never meant to let you go, Emma. I swear it to you, but the police were at my back and I couldn’t bring you into all of this. But I never stopped loving you, I never did, and I’ll love you until the end of time – only if you’ll let me.”

And sometimes, all one really wants is to be wanted, after all.

“Do we… Do we know if she’s coming?” asks Mary Margaret in a very quiet tone, as if she doesn’t want to utter the words.

Emma has a big sigh then. “No, she’s not. Killian definitively broke up with her three months ago.”

David and Mary Margaret both stare at her with something terrible in their eyes. Emma pretends she does not see it.

“He found out she’d been cheating. Again,” she lies. It’s easier this way.

Emma doesn’t tell them that Killian didn’t tell her about the breakup, and she just learnt about it from the mouth of Killian’s superior, doesn’t tell them they have hardly spoken since she started dating Neal again, and especially doesn’t tell them that Neal proposed three months ago and she sent Killian a text to which he never replied.

Nope. That’s a cross for her to bear.

.

He moves. Emma’s eyes shoot open. He moved . It wasn’t really perceptible, but she felt it, the small clench of his fingers around hers.

Emma sits up straight. She thinks he is frowning. This is good. This is good. He is waking up.

“Come on, Killian. You can do this. Push through this.”

And finally, finally , his eyelids flutter, flutter, until blue emerges and his eyes go wide. She smiles, and it’s the most genuine smile she’s had in months.

“Ems’,” he begins, a hoarse whisper. His throat must be dry.

She presses her fingers softly, swiftly, against his dry lips. “Shush, Killian, it’s going to be okay.”

She rushes to the small sink in his bedroom. A plastic cup was left there, and she fills it with water, before tenderly pushing it against Killian’s lips.

He closes his eyes, drinks slowly as her other hand cups the back of his head.

And then the cup is put down with her bravery, and she grabs his fingers. She sees the waves of terror in his eyes, the waves exhaustion cannot quite hide, and it reminds her of their childhood and she desperately wants to mend him, to soothe his soul, but there is so much to heal and he won’t let her.

She presses a very trembling kiss onto his forehead. She sees him close his eyes into her touch, and her entire being is screaming.

“Feared you wouldn’t come,” he manages to whisper. She watches as he swallows down.

She shakes her head. “Of course I’d come.” A pause. “You absolutely do not have permission to ever scare me like this again.”

He manages to smile, somehow. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. I’m a survivor.”

Her chin quivers then, and she hates herself because she should be the strong one. But it is exhausting to remain brave when he seems completely, utterly defeated.

“Fancy that red-leather jacket of yours.”

And he makes her chuckle, the bastard, he is the one lying on a hospital bed and he makes her chuckle.

“Thanks, Killian.” And she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and she sees it. The glint of her ring under the yellow ceiling light. And he sees it too.

And he stares at her ring then, that glints, glints, and a lightning bolt shatters the blue of his gaze and she wants to throw it away so that she will never have to stare at this deep, dark blue sea of sadness.

Instead, she smiles. There is not much else to do but smile.

.

“Neal?”

“Emma, I’m so glad you called. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I understand, I really do…”

“Don’t bother apologizing. I just wanted to warn you that I’m going to stay a while with Killian. He needs me.”

“…He needs you? He needs you? What about your job? What about me, Emma?!”

“Graham agreed to this. He owes me so many days off. And I will ask you this once, Neal: quit talking about Killian as if he doesn’t matter, or I swear to god, I will give you back your ring. And there will be no third chance.”

“See? See how you react, Emma? As if I’m the villain in this stupid little story of yours and I am tired of th—”

She hangs up.

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

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Little Bird: Chapter 20 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 19 here. Part 21 here.

Summary: You wonder where Ren got his teaching license. His education strategies are unorthodox.

Words: 4800

Warnings: snowballing, Commander Ren’s a Nasty Boi (tm)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi and welcome to Anna makes herself Sad. I love y'all so much--so happy to hear you enjoy Ren in this fic. I love writing him! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. I'm deeply appreciative of any and all feedback.

(p.s. sorry but snowballing is hot, deal with it)

You pushed open the two curtained French doors and walked into the den, easing them shut behind you. The lamps in the room were out--the only light spilling from a blazing fire at the hearth. A warm orange glow filtered through, an incandescent film, the room transformed into a sunset. Tall shadows stretched across cherry hardwood, now bubbling with a magma aurora, grazing the ivory wallpaper, revealing the tiny golden threads woven through its curling pattern. Gold-trim paintings gleamed at the sides of heavy maroon curtains, their inlaid marble settings flickering with the fire’s breath. Its heat crawled through your toes, up your ankles, inspiring sweat at the backs of your knees. 

Or maybe what was making you sweat was at the opposite end of the room--your Commander, Kylo Ren, seated behind a large, chestnut desk, its thick Cabriole legs appearing delicate against the background of his enormous frame. In front of the desk was a single Chesterfield chair, upholstered in a luscious blue velvet. Ren, impassive, met your gaze, focus dipping over your figure before he straightened, directing you to sit with his eyes.

Throat dry, you obliged. 

Under the pressure of his presence, even the scratching rustle of your dress as you sat seemed ear-splintering. You focused on the desk--across it was the Bible, open to Samuel. More notations in the margins in that loopy, lovely handwriting. Only one word was identifiable, underlined at the bottom of the page. 

Obedience.

Ren’s stare lingered in the silence. You weren’t willing to break it. It was a rush of relief when he finally spoke.

“You’re not happy here.”

You raised a brow, studying the folds in your gloves. “No. I’m not.”

“That needs to change.”

“You’re saying you care about my happiness?” You still refused to meet his eyes.

“No.” He sat forward. “Your willingness. Your compliance.”

“My obedience?” You held back the snark in your voice.

Ren shifted again, thumbing the page in front of him. “It’s not enough to be obedient,” he said. “We strive for acceptance. Understanding. The end result is happiness.” He paused. “Tell me what needs rectifying.”

The words floated like buoys in your mind. He was, in his own bizarre way, asking your opinion--but what you wanted to say was never going to be what he wanted to hear. Finn’s words, distant, echoed: You’d have to get on his good side. Here now was an open opportunity to endear yourself to Ren, to bathe yourself in pliant understanding, to assuage his concerns and, with any hope, use your increased proximity for your own gain. All you needed to do was lie. You glanced at your hands again, tracing the seams of your gloves.

“I’m not sure if anything needs rectifying,” you said. “Some Handmaids are just… defective.”

“Defective.” The word shriveled on his tongue. “Is that how you classify yourself?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t really seem to get this stuff through my head, you know? I don’t think that means there’s anything wrong with the system.”

“You believe that the fault lies within your own shortcomings.”

“I do.” Your tone was even. Cool. And, hopefully, convincing. “There are plenty of Handmaids who don’t do the things I’ve done.” You sighed, as if frustrated with yourself. “You have to leave room for human error. The problem is with me. Gilead… I mean, what else could you do? There’s been a lot of thought put into it as it is.”

Ren sat, considering you, your heart a timpani in your temples, the distant echo of your concussion rapping the edge of your skull. Silent, he snapped to his feet, circling the desk. Then circling you. Every breath drawn into your lungs wilted in the silence of the den, his attention a laser, searing the perimeter of your skin. He stopped--you felt his powerful grip at the back of your chair.

“That’s not what you believe.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t believe you’re defective. Or that Gilead is errorless.”

Clearing your throat, you shrugged again. “How would you know that, sir?”

Ren swooped and pinched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’ve told you to use my name.”

His eyes, live coals glittering with the fire’s reflection, disintegrated the oxygen in your chest. Warmth licked a line up your spine to your nape.

“Kylo,” you corrected. You kept your neck straight. “How would you know that?”

He released you. “Because it’s not what I believe.”

“What?”

He returned to the head of the desk, looming over it, palms planted on either side of the Bible. His eyes roamed, searching for something either intangible or invisible, before looking at you. 

“You’re not defective,” he said. “It’s precisely because you’re not like the others that I want to know what you think.” His jaw tightened. “I want to know what you want.”

You blinked. “What I…”

“If Gilead was errorless,” he said, “then you would accept your role. You would want for nothing.” 

“You want me to want for nothing.”

A pause as he held you, briefly, in silence. “Yes.” His eye twitched. His lips trembled. “I want that.”

Your palate was more arid than a desert. His admission battered your guard. How could it be that both of you could sit, drenched in your desire for the other, each attempting to justify it through your politics? Here you were, pretending that you craved a connection to him only for the benefit of the Resistance. And here he was, using Gilead as an excuse to secure your safety, your happiness. 

Perhaps he’d been right. You and Ren were separated by a mirror’s edge--one and the same, both bound by shame and fear. Honesty could be your only respite from this misery. Whether he was ready for it or not.

“I want you, Kylo.” To speak the words into existence, acknowledge their truth with your tongue felt more dangerous than anything you’d done since entering his home. “I want you in ways I can’t have you. To know you in ways I can’t, ever.” An ache throbbed its way to your skin, pulsing raw and red from your belly. “And all of that is Gilead’s fault.”

Ren watched you, chest swelling with air, his shirt buttons straining with each breath, his shoulders crowding. The tendons in his hands tensed like violin strings tightened to the tune of his conflict, the tips of his fingers paling as they scraped the desk. His lips parted, his tongue darting to wet them. He’d caged an animal behind his flesh--an animal that, having heard its name, wanted nothing more now than to ravage you.

“I was right.” His mind pared you, an apple, sinking teeth into your tender core. “You are me.”

“I am,” you breathed. “God forgive me.”

Kylo Ren rose to his full height. “Oh, little bird,” he said, meandering toward you. “Forgiveness isn’t our lesson, tonight.”

Lust grew a thick knot in your throat. The question of whether or not you were going to fuck him didn’t even enter your mind--now that this forbidden longing, the one beyond pure lust had been named, it burst, a storm surge, washing you both in its riptide. So you swallowed.

“And how will any of this engender obedience toward Gilead?” you asked, only half-serious.

He sniffed in amusement. “We’ve said it ourselves. Gilead is flawed.” A large hand encircled your wrist, tugged you from the chair and against his solid frame. “I want you obedient to me.”

“Oh…” If breath were steam, your eyes would’ve fogged. “Fuck.”

Ren leaned forward, hot exhale whispering over your ear, his palms gliding along your sides, snagging the fabric of your dress--you shivered, a familiar burn kindling between your thighs. His teeth grazed the helix of your ear, and a whimper escaped you as you inched closer to him, grasping the lapels of his jacket to remain steady.

“I can’t stop thinking about your body,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about how you taste…”

You nestled into his chest, heat streaming into your face. “How I--”

“Mm.” He nipped your ear. “Since I had your cunt last night, it’s all that’s been on my mind...” Ren pressed his lips to yours in a firm kiss and tore off your bonnet, your hair rolling free. “Take off your clothes, and get on my desk.”

Stilling your lungs, you nodded. It was a process--first your gloves, your shoes, your socks, then your dress, then the slip underneath that, your undergarments--but from the corner of your vision you saw Ren studying you, mesmerized, the entire time. You hadn’t the courage to look at him while you stripped, the reality of your red uniform still chaining your boldness, but when you stepped out of your underwear (hardly sexy enough to be called panties), you met his gaze--and suffocated under the gravity of it.

In Ren’s eyes, you could see nothing but complete and utter worship, as if your body was an altar, and he’d arrived for his blessing--or, maybe, his flagellation. This was a benefit of Gilead, you thought, the starvation for connection so intense that your nakedness had the power to bring Commander Kylo Ren to his figurative knees. And his hunger resonated--your pussy twinged with need.

You only basked in his admiration for a moment before you hoisted yourself onto his desk, the cool wood pimpling the backs of your thighs, and in seconds, a large hand seized your hip, another coiling itself in your hair as Ren pressed his mouth against you, plush lips smothering yours. Whimpering, you scooted forward, pinning your knees together to put pressure on the growing ache between your legs.

He drove his tongue in your mouth, slipping it over yours, the hand on your hip skimming your skin and finding your breasts. The feeling of flesh on flesh drew a moan from his throat, his grip greedy, possessive, kneading your tits while his kiss turned primal. Ren pinched your nipple, rolled it between his fingers, mouth moving to attack your neck, tongue tracing heat as he nipped at the sensitive skin, another shiver rippling through you.

“No--” If he left a hickey, you’d be dead. “Please--”

“Quiet.”

Grunting, he moved lower, licking a long line across your collarbone before lancing you with lust-addled eyes. Holding you in his stare, he teased the tip of his tongue across the tender tissue--and then growled, drawing it up between his teeth and sucking a harsh, dark mark into the skin. You whined, fighting the urge to let your head fall back; instead, you dipped forward, gripping his shoulders, burying your face in the thick waves of his hair. His smell--smoky and wooden and wintry--scrambled your brain. Taking in a long breath through your nose, you held it there, stupefying yourself in his scent.

Ren’s greed grew--he dug his teeth into your clavicle, breaking blood vessels, birthing a network of bruises across your upper torso. Electricity crackled in your veins, hips bucking toward him, clit growing stiffer with his aggression--in response, his hand left your hair, wrenching your thighs apart and smoothing over the soft, exposed flesh. 

Your mind spun with how quickly this had escalated--mere moments had passed and now you were naked, on your Commander’s desk, body screaming for him--but the fact that you’d both charged forth, possessed with passion and unashamed, was liberating. Within this tiny prism of space-time, Gilead’s hold had vanquished, its roles banished to irrelevance, the raw nerves of instinct exploding to the surface like cicadas--a hungry, blind swarm. 

“I need to taste every part of you…” His mouth drifted again, pressing kisses across your sternum until he reached your breasts, gazing at them in awe. “You’re beautiful...”

This dunked your brain in desire, left it to swim--you crumbled in his grasp, shuddering with want. Ren flicked your nipple with his tongue, relishing your full-body squeal before sucking it past his lips, a lewd, desperate moan escaping him. Pleasure buzzed over you, and you inched closer, your sex seeking any scraps of his touch it could manage, core throbbing wildly. He laved your peak, his other hand skating over the lips of your pussy, two digits testing you, peeling you apart by millimeters.

“Fuck.” Fingers foraged his mane, seeking purchase while he suckled at your tits. “Fuck, yes…”

Ren snickered, releasing your bud, trailing his mouth lower still, strong hands prying your thighs wide as he littered hot, furious kisses down the roll of your belly, streaks of saliva in his wake. Your blood pulsed with an insistence that dizzied you--or maybe it was the fact that Kylo Ren, your fucking Commander, was growing dangerously close to putting that beautiful fucking mouth on your cunt.

His two digits opened you wide, a third feathersoft on your clit, and you gasped, limbs jerking, nails biting into his scalp. He growled and snatched your wrists, tacking them to the desk, gazing at you from between your legs, a mask of deviancy on his face. It occurred to you then--Ren, not only figuratively, but literally on his knees. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose, brushing the tip over your folds before his lids fluttered open. “For me to make your pussy cum on my tongue?”

Face hot, you could do nothing but nod. 

“Say it.”

You groaned, tucking your chin to your chest. For all of this egregiously illegal intimacy, he hadn’t lost his desire to humiliate you, it seemed. “Please,” you said, “please… um, please make me… um...”

“Go on.”

“But--”

Ren pinched your clit in reprimand, and you squeaked. “Go on.”

“Please…” Embarrassment scalded you, flesh in flames. “Pleasemakemecumonyourtongue.”

The corner of his lip curled in the slightest acknowledgement. “Almost.”

Kylo Ren purred in anticipation and pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, leaving soft, slow kisses there, warmth flooding you as he worked his way toward your wet, pulsing heat. Stuck under his control, you squirmed when his lips grazed your cunt, ghosting your folds, moving to your other thigh, nuzzling it and nipping the skin. Your walls clenched, and you whined, desperate, strained to snapping in your need for him.

“Please,” you gasped, “please make me cum on your tongue--God!”

He huffed. “No need to deify me.” He licked a flat stripe over your slit, and you snuffed a scream. “Desperate little thing.”

With that, Ren placed a deep, vulgar kiss to your pussy, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness. His eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

Your mind attempted to flash to the last time a man had his face in your cunt; the memory was hazy, forgettable. But this--the heat from the fire stoking sweat down your back, your breathless, wanton whimpers, the tickle of Ren’s hair at your thighs and the soft, urgent pressure of his tongue exploring your sex, the waves of pleasure cresting over you as you strained in his grasp--this was, would be, indelible. Resistance and its sacrifices be damned, you could die with this memory being your last, satisfied that you’d had the most beautiful man you’d ever seen place his lips to your pussy.

It was as you thought this that a spear of infatuation pierced your heart, and you gazed at Ren, chest tight with the distant reality that your temporary tryst could never flourish outside of these four walls, that beyond them, Johana was sleeping--or maybe sobbing--beyond them, Poe was dead and the Resistance was waiting. Beyond them, you were his Handmaid, a womb in his service, and your life, infinitely expendable, laid in his hands.

Thankfully, his tongue, expert enough to interrupt your exi-sexual crisis, fluttered over your clit, effectively wiping your brain blank, and you released a whining breath, hips jolting into his face when he drew the stiff nub into his mouth. Your head tipped back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Ren was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy. His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, calves wrapping around him, tugging him closer, your lungs emptying rapidly. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck--” 

Biting your lip, you fought yourself, your walls clenching with your impending climax. Ren slicked your folds again, pressing another greedy, rough kiss to your swollen pussy, gathering the cum at your core and gulping it down. Your clit twitched, screamed for him--he soothed it with the hot cavern of his mouth, the beating of his tongue--you almost cracked, hands fisting at your sides.

“That’s right,” he muttered into your flesh. “You know what I want to hear…”

“Kylo...” It left your lips without hesitation. “Yes, fuck, Kylo--”

Ren sucked fast at your clit, so deep in your pussy his nose flattened against you--and you broke, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin. He swallowed it hungrily, clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity. 

With a satisfied gasp, he released you, still stroking the sides of your hips, mouth glossy with your juices, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high. “As perfect as I thought you’d be.”

The cycle of anxious air in your chest slowed, and you allowed yourself to sigh, internally panicking at the level of tenderness that was trying to settle into your heart like a tired puppy. A tremor crept over you, evidence of the dangerous game your mind wanted to play. You ignored it. How horrific your desire to nurture feelings for this man, this murderer, manipulator, misogynist--how horrific that in this moment, you didn’t care. And how horrific that he’d guided you here, with his soft mouth and terrified eyes and need to hear his name.

Fuck, you hated him. And you wanted all of him, from the bottom of your accursed, wretched soul.

Ren rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before cupping your head, pulling you to his lips. Humming, you allowed his tongue--still coated with your cum--in your mouth, the tingling of your post-orgasm skin lapping up the physical comfort. Your legs wound around him again, your palms resting at his chest while he kissed you, his other hand petting your side before pushing your pelvis toward him, the steel urgency of his clothed erection grating your sensitive cunt.

You broke the kiss with a whine. “Kylo--”

His digits gouged your flesh, and he tensed, back swelling. “Needy thing, aren’t you?” He squeezed your ass, shoving you to his body. “We can fix that.”

Ren stepped back, keeping you attached as he moved to his chair and sat, leaving you naked, on his lap, covered cock grinding into your heat. It was automatic--you dropped your hips, seeking friction, and his hands seized your face, your fingers finding his hair. Your mouths met like magnets, your bodies writhing in rhythm, his tongue wrestling with yours as you groaned, smearing your cunt over his slacks.

His kiss was rabid, almost angry, teeth clacking, hands groping your ass, your thighs. The memory of his body from the night before blinked in your brain--you fumbled at his neck as you loosened his tie, pulling the ends apart and tossing it to the side. A moan escaped him, muffled by your mouth while you then worked at the buttons on his shirt, popping them free.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it, skin-on-skin sending a clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory--the strength of his breast, his firm, powerful abdomen, all of it hot with need--breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms. Your touch sent a quake through him, and he released you, trapping you in his stare while he grappled with his belt, face flush with relief when his cock sprung free. 

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, ribcage still as he split you wide. God, you couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe you were in your Commander’s den, riding him at his desk; you’d ask to be pinched if he hadn’t done it already. You felt shameless, naked but not exposed, only exalted, only desired. 

Your fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, seeking air, and he snarled, setting a brutal pace from the very first thrust. Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs from the force of his hips, and Ren consumed you, sucking at your tits, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment--pain ripped through you, pleasure hot in its wake, foaming in your veins, an effervescent euphoria. 

“Oh, Kylo…” Now his name spilled from your lips unbidden.

He seethed, muscles rigid for only a moment. “Fuck--” 

Ren buried his face in your tits, biting the bouncing flesh, decorating you with desire. His cock pumped into you, summoning another orgasm from the bottom of your brain, and his hand wiggled between your legs, teasing your over-sensitive clit. Squealing, you squirmed on top of him. 

“Mm, I want you to cum again,” he muttered. “I want to make you cum over and over…”

“Jesus Christ…” Lava flowed through your bloodstream, scorching you from the inside.

“This is what obedient girls get...” Ren’s voice was ragged, shorn with lust. “Have you learned enough, little bird?”

You smirked. “I don’t think I have.”

With a growl, he stood, holding you on his cock with one arm as the other swept across his desk. The Bible, pens, wooden organizers stacked with paper clattered to the floor--and he slammed you on the open surface, crushing you with his weight and fucking you hard. You wailed, nails scraping his chest--this drove him wilder, and he grunted, tearing into your shoulder with his teeth. The wail became a scream, and you curled around him, cunt clamping his pulsing length as it slammed you, the rest of the world whittling to waste. You and Ren were the only extant beings on the planet, both enthralled by the unspeakable, terrible force between you.  

His fingers went to your clit again, toying with it. Ecstasy splashed at your toes, a tsunami at the horizon. “Filthy thing,” he muttered. “You love this.”

“I--I do.” Your words came out strangled through your hiccuping breath. “But y-you knew I’d love it the m-moment you met me…”

“Fuck…” The head of his dick smacked you deep, and you yelped. “That’s right--you were begging for it in your sleep.” His hips moved faster, length plunging into you. “And you’re still not satisfied.”

Satisfaction seemed foreign in the world of Gilead. But that’s not where you were, right now. You were in some other world, a world where getting fucked on a desk by a married man wasn’t the result of months of suppressed emotion.

Well, maybe that particular world didn’t exist.

“Oh--Maybe I’ll n-never be satisfied…”

“We’ll see.”

Ren threw the heft of his frame into you, pounding your pussy, sucking at your neck, his hair brushing your face. His digits rubbed at your sore, swollen clit, pleasure ricocheting through you like lightning, overriding whichever system was pleading for pause. Your face screwed in bliss, and you sobbed, witless, a body broken by the ruthless ramming of his dick. Another breath, another, heat flashed your flesh--you quailed, so fucking close--

“Do it,” he hissed. “Cum.”

A violent orgasm ruptured through your thighs, and you quailed, submitting to it, cunt convulsing, tightening around his cock. Ren choked, cursed, his hair spilling over your throat as his hips stuttered, desk creaking across the floor with the throes of his orgasm. The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and collapsed--a spent, sated beast. 

You stared into the ceiling, lungs heaving, skin veiled with sweat and sparks. Wood snapped in the background, a shower of light cast over the room as embers sprayed into the hearth. Ren returned to reality, peeling his sticky chest from yours, glancing at himself as he rose and slipped out of you--half naked, painted in pleasure, a shining example of the results of oppression: furious, exhilarated rebellion.

Two large digits dug into your cunt, scooping out the concoction of your cum--you winced, but raised your neck, watching while he guided it into his own mouth, sucking his fingers clean. Heat raced over you, and before you could respond, he tugged you forward, catching your head and pulling you into a deep, slow, kiss. The viscous, salty mix, blended with his spit, spilled into your mouth. It was repulsive, delicious--you moaned, rolling it over your tongue before you passed it back, threading your hands through his hair. Ren sucked in a breath through his nose, swirling it a final time before forcing it over your lips, a demand for your obedience. Grateful, you swished it from your teeth and swallowed.

He pulled away, lips gleaming. Silence settled in the separation of your bodies, each staring into the other, processing the connection. Your chest constricted--shame. Yearning. Despair. His face was wiped clean of emotion, the only hint of his confusion a flicker in the shadows of his eyes. Then Ren broke away, adjusting himself back to decency. Sound returned to your ears. You could move.

“This is insane.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him, or yourself. After all--you still had to expose him to the Resistance. “We’re going to get killed.”

Ren’s face was stone. He’d moved to buttoning his shirt. “No.”

Deciding you needed to redress, too, you eased off the desk, searching for your clothes. “No?” Underwear first. Socks. “Easy for you to say. Johana knows.” Dress, now. “Why are we doing this?”

“Why?”

You threw your hands in the air. “We can’t be together like this, Kylo.” Where the hell was your bonnet? “And the reason we can’t is by your design.”

He sniffed. “Not mine alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “Is your design to destroy Gilead?”

A pause--he glimpsed you before pulling his tie from the floor, measuring it under his collar. “No.” With practiced ease, he flipped the fabric around itself. “My design is to perfect it.”

“You can’t perfect what’s inherently broken.” You found your bonnet, started to wrap your hair and tuck it onto your head. Ren was gathering the items from the floor, replacing them on the desk. “What’s your goal, then? To--to what, have me and Johana and a baby? To fill your home with resentment?”

His jaw tensed. He pulled the tie tight, dusting off his jacket.  “My goal is to have you,” he said. “And you alone.”

You swallowed, heart clenching. “What?”

“As we agreed.” Ren turned, stalking toward you. “The system is broken. And I will correct it.” He reached out, fingers grazing your chin--you flinched. “Johana is irrelevant. You will belong to me.”

The fire seemed to have incinerated all of the oxygen in the air. You shook your head, imperceptibly. “I don’t want to belong to anybody.” 

His gaze passed over you, assessing, before he plucked the Bible from the floor, flipping through it. “Hm.” His eyes met yours. “We’ll see how you feel when our lessons are complete.” 

Ren’s hand enveloped the back of your skull as he pressed his lips to the lump at your hairline, igniting a shock of pain. “I trust you can get yourself to bed,” he murmured against your skin. “Goodnight, little bird.”

Tucking the Bible under his arm, he stopped at the fire, shuttering it to its death, then opened the doors to the home. The air of Gilead rushed in, stiff and cold, stealing the warmth from the room, extinguishing the lingering joy in your belly. You stood, listening to Ren’s footsteps down the hall, a statue until the flames in the hearth guttered, drowning you in darkness.

Good Dog: Chapter 16

Warnings: None

Notes: I had this in the works earlier this week but got caught up in family problems and couldn't finish editing it. Needed something to take my mind off things. Its a bit shorter than normal but I couldn't find much energy to add more.I'm putting this story on hiatus, I'm just too tired to really continue writing at the moment. I hope someday I can come back to this. Shout out to my dog, JoJo, though. He's the goodest boy, I don't know where I'd be without his comfort and love.

Christophe was unaware how long he slept, but he found himself waking to comfortable warmth wrapped around him. It was tempting to let himself be lulled back to sleep, having the strange feeling of safety blanket over him, as if nothing could reach him. That was what bothered him though, he never felt safe or comfortable enough to allow his defenses to fall. His mind fought through the fog of his brain so he could focus on reality, a bad choice on his part as instantly he was flooded with a dull, aching pain. It served as a reminder as to what had happened to him.

Being shot was no fun ordeal, no matter how many times Christophe had been shot, he'd never really get used to it. The best solution was simply not to move until he was healed, he was moderately safe, recalling somewhat that he'd been in the presence of Kyle and Gregory. He was as safe as he was ever going to get, but that wasn't saying much really. Gregory was the biggest danger to Christophe, not even a trained hitman posed as much as a threat as the Brit. Gregory knew all of Christophe's weaknesses, knew how to hurt the Frenchman without even raising a hand. The man was every form of torture designed specifically for Christophe.

The current torture was the secure feeling of having those perfectly defined arms curled about him.

He could feel Gregory's slow and easy breath ruffling his dark brown hair, the feel of those broad chest pressed against his shoulders. Long legs tangled with his own, keeping Christophe from pulling away, not that he really wanted to at the moment. It was so rare to have this moment, where Christophe was almost tempted to believe that they lived in a different reality. One where everything fit just right, straight out of some romance novel. Not that Christophe would ever admit to having read one before. In moments like this, it was easy to fall into the illusion, where Gregory was a caring boyfriend that only had eyes for him. They'd wake up, Gregory giving him a good morning kiss before making breakfast.

It was sickening and... Christophe could see why people found it appealing. That life wasn't for him though. He wasn't deserving of it.

"Mm, thinking of me, 'Tophe?" A whisper of a voice brushed against the back of his ear, he should have know Gregory would be aware of Christophe waking up, the tension in Christophe's body was always a dead give away. Still though, Christophe didn't respond, not bothering to humor the blonde. He was too tired to deal with his antics, but Gregory took Christophe's silence only as an invitation. Soft lips pressed against the back of his ear, a deceptively gentle kiss. One Christophe would not fall for, gentleness had never been given to Christophe except to lure him into relaxing before Gregory got rough with him.

Those lips trailed down, pressing feather-light kisses down Christophe's neck until Gregory buried his face into the crook of it. Christophe could feel those arms tighten around him briefly before relaxing again when Christophe grunted from the pain of his bandaged wounds.

"I thought I lost you again..." Gregory's voice was barely even a whisper now, muffled against Christophe's neck to the point Christophe barely understood him. Christophe understood though, no matter how much Gregory posed and did his best to keep his composure, Christophe was also his weakness. Christophe tensed, remembering what it was like the time he died, how he'd woke up to a sight that was forever branded in his memory. Of Gregory crying. He'd never seen Gregory cry again after that, though he felt like right now that Gregory was doing his best not to succumb to saddness once again.

Crying? For him?

Tears were better wasted on someone else, not him. But... Christophe couldn't help but to fancy the idea that maybe he was loved deeply enough by the blonde that fear and heartache could effect him. Maybe in another life they would have been lovers, tied together by some invisible string, maybe even destined soulmates. Christophe found some sort of peace in the idea, enough so that he dared to reach up with one hand and brush his fingers into those silken stands of fine spun gold. Gregory wouldn't have tolerated such under any other circumstance, but now, they were experiencing a different reality, a dream for as long as they could before it slipped through their fingers.

Gregory's fingers were gentle, stroking slowly back and forth over the uninjured part of Christophe's abdomen, tracing over scars as if his touch alone could erase them physically and mentally. Lips pressed kiss after kiss on olive skin, worshiping Christophe, praising him for staying alive. How could Christophe ever leave? He could never abandon Gregory. Not even God themselves could pry him away from the blonde. Against all odds, Christophe would always find his way back to Gregory, as romantic as that sounded.

Love. Romance.

Two words that Christophe avoided the best he could, but he'd never escape it. He should run from it, shun it with everything he had. He couldn't though, deep down, he yearned for it. Maybe not the love that was pictured on films, he could never live a normal life like that. However, Gregory could offer him a place... but would he?

No.

If Gregory wanted him like that, Christophe would be living in his home, not some girl that clung to Gregory's arm like a trophy. He wanted to hate her, to give in to the jealousy that clawed inside him, but he couldn't. He was aware of the truth, Gregory's lifestyle demanded someone of higher caliber than Christophe could offer. Christophe couldn't smile, didn't have that pleasant look in his eye. Not to mention the wrinkles and the bad habit of smoking whenever he was stressed, and he was stressed a lot. All in all, Christophe and Gregory were complete opposites in reality. It simply wouldn't work.

"You're getting tense again." Gregory murmured, reluctant to give in to reality just yet as he brushed his nose against the underside of Christophe's jaw. Dark green eyes peered down at the mass of golden hair, so beautiful, so perfect, like a ancient Greek god who crawled into his bed. Christophe wouldn't praise Gregory in such a way, it would only feed the other man's ego and would never let Christophe forget it.

"What are we, Gregory?" Christophe rasped out, making him realize he probably needed something to drink soon, his throat was dry.

The question made Gregory still, pulling him out of the dreamworld they shared for such a brief moment. It was best they not dwell too long there, or else what little sanity they had left would be lost. Gregory didn't respond right away, letting silence fall like a winter's chill in the bedroom. Still though, Gregory didn't let Christophe go, didn't pull away, still locked in his fear of losing Christophe. Golden brows furrow, soft lips thin as Gregory was losing himself in thought, puzzling this out, trying to find the right words to say. Thinking. Always thinking too much.

"I can't lose you again." Gregory replied as if that was a satisfactory answer, but it wasn't. It solved nothing. Christophe was on his wits end after near death. Could he possibly kept this up? He wasn't certain, but he was tired, tired of being a good dog who came at Gregory's beck and call without hesitation. He was tired of receiving nothing in return, tired of his leash being yanked and his collar tightening around his throat to the point he couldn't breathe. It was time he demanded something for himself and if Gregory taught him anything, it was to sink his teeth in and never let go.

"Implying you ever had me to begin with." It was a statement, an accusation tossed out there to hit Gregory and pin him down with a choice. He could feel Gregory's arm tighten around him, muscles like lean cables of steel locking him in place. In Christophe's current condition, he'd be hard pressed to fight back, but he didn't need physical strength to hurt someone, Gregory had taught him that much. "I'm just some stray you occasionally feed scraps to, but I've never been yours and at this rate, I never will be."

"Careful what you say, Christophe." Gregory's voice was dangerous against his ear, but Christophe wouldn't be pressed into obedience. Not this time.

"When have I ever been careful?" A sour response. "I'm drawing the line here. I'm not some side piece, some toy you can play with. Not anymore. Either you completely dedicate yourself to me, or else this will be our last job." He hated Colorado, hated the people from South Park, hated how everything crumbled apart when they were involved. It had to be this way, if Christophe did die and stay dead, what was his point? Would anyone really remember him? He'd be left having accomplished nothing in this hell of a planet. He wanted something, something for himself. For once, he wanted to be selfish.

"What do you expect me to do?" Gregory was backed in a corner now, his defenses down from stress, of being reminded of how he found Christophe. He'd rushed to find Christophe both times, and both times he'd found Christophe alone and bleeding on the ground. Everyone gone, forgetting about him. Except for Gregory. In all honesty, Gregory could never forget about the Frenchman. Forget the way those dark forest green eyes stared in defiance at him, saw right through all his charades. Christophe had never cared about looks, about manners, had always pressed Gregory to be more independent, to stand on his own instead of chasing after his father's coat tails.

"The same thing as you expect from me. Loyalty and dedication." It was simple, or sounded as such, and yet so complicated. Nothing had ever been easy for them, such a tangled mess of their lives that they tried so desperately to hide or ignore. Christophe was tired of getting tangled up in it all, he needed something stable to stand on. He didn't want this fantasy he caught brief glimpses of to remain that way, just fantasy. It would never be perfect, but at least it would be something he could work towards, something that would help him continue fighting to live.

"I shouldn't..."

"Why not?

"It will only hurt me more if... something did happen to you."

"Coward."

That got a response out of Gregory, Christophe was well aware of how much the Brit didn't like being called a coward. A cheap tactic, but Christophe wasn't one for beating around the bush or succumbing to cowardice. A firm hand came up to grab a hold of his jaw, jerking his head roughly to the side without warning but Christophe didn't resist. He knew Gregory's aim even before those addicting lips crashed onto his own. There was no waiting as a tongue suddenly delved past his chapped lips and conquered his mouth, Christophe didn't have the energy to fight back, simply letting Gregory lose himself in the moment.

This was a good enough answer for him.

AVP: Alien vs. Predator (2004)

“Mr. Weyland, what I told you in there wasn’t bullshit. If you rush this, people will get hurt. Maybe die.”

A strange energy reading leads a team of explorers to an ancient extraterrestrial pyramid located underneath a remote island in Antarctica. But things take a turn for the worse when they learn that the structure is actually the battleground for a race of extraterrestrial hunters and their deadly alien prey.

Fright: 1.5 / 5 Crossover Events

To the movie’s credit, when it tries to generate horror it actually does an alright job. That being said, it almost never tries. The majority of the time it sacrifices scares to go for a more Action-flick kinda vibe.

Gore: 3 / 5 Incidental Alien Autopsies

Okay, so there’s certainly some gore. But it’s not the usual sort.

I mean, sure, there’s some impaling, bits are chopped off, chests are burst, organs are seen, etc. But the gory stuff is almost always one crazy alien doing something gory to another crazy alien. Outside of getting stabbed, there’s an oddly minimal amount of anything being shown done to a human. Some messed up stuff is implied to have happened to them, yes, but you almost never see it.

Jump Scares: Light

There’s certainly some potential startles, but it’s more of an action flick than a horror one, so it never bothers attempting any serious jumps.

Review:

While it certainly delivers a lot of Alien and Predator action, it never fully grasps onto any of the deeper elements from the respective franchises. If all you want is some Who-would-win-in-a-fight-between style action, it certainly delivers. However, it doesn’t really offer anything much beyond that.

Thoughts:

There is something weirdly human about wondering who would win in various bizarre fantasy fights scenarios.

And what deeper expression of that is there then the weirdly long-running existence of Alien vs. Predators stories.

But the big question on everyone’s minds is whose decision was it to name it “AVP”?? I’m dying to know who was in charge of that decision.

Am I wrong here? I think we can all agree that “Alien vs. Predator” is a much better title. There’s just something about a “AVP” that that screams old people trying really hard to sound “cool.”

Anyhoo, before we get into it I should let you know a couple things:

I have only seen the theatrical PG-13 version of this one. I’ve heard word that there’s an extended unrated version, but I think it’s only available on fancy home media versions and thus I’ve never seen it.

Despite the fact that the filmmakers wanted AVP to be canonical for both franchises, both Prometheus and Alien: Covenant chose to completely disregard it. And I honestly can’t blame them, because this movie is so clearly meant to just be ridiculous action fun. So please don’t waste your time trying to figure out how this thing fits into the timeline.

Okay? So with that out of the way, here’s why AVP bugs me: it pays homage to all sorts of memorable visual elements of its respective franchises, but doesn’t even attempt to pay homage to any of their themes. So yeah, there’s predator heat vision and sneaking around all invisible. And sure, there’s chest bursting, facehugging, wee-little-mouth frenching, and all that good stuff.

But…that’s about it. If you look past those flashy actiony bits the film is rather thematically hollow.

The original franchises had very different styles, but like all horror movies they were both stories of survival. A big part of what makes stories of survival so intriguing is the excitement of seeing characters being pushed to their limits only to overcome them. We want to watch with rapt excitement as people are put against impossible odds only to keep going through sheer feats of wit, skill, and sheer determination.

And yet AVP basically puts all the characters into a death trap from which escape is more or less impossible. Characters are put up against impossible odds and then...well, then they just die.

It isn’t a story of survival so much as it is a string of people/aliens dying in X-treme ways. Everyone kind of feels like a redshirt more than a flesh-out character, because their choices never really have any impact and they’re really only there as meat for the grinder.

Now to be fair here, lots of movies sacrifice story and fulfilling character arcs for the sake of hardcore action. But this one takes it to such an extreme that they don’t even bother letting you know what most of the characters’ names are. And yet a while into the movie someone will be all like “WHATSYOURFACE! NOOOOO!” and I’m sitting over here thinking “wait, that dude had a name?”

When it comes to a movie like this the real question is who is this movie for? The way I see it there are three types of people that would be intrigued by AVP: 

People who want to see a movie that delves deeper into the lore of these respective franchises.

People who love bizarre B-horror movies.

People who just want to see xenomorphs have crazy fights with Predators.

If you’re in the first category and are looking for a movie that provides an interesting addition to your beloved Alien and Predator franchises? Well, you should probably lower your expectations.

But what if you already know the premise is inherently silly-good-fun and just want a crazy action fest, chalk full of predators (aka Yaujita/Hish-qu-Ten) and Aliens (aka xenomorphs) taking out humans and each other with signature style?

Well this movie certainly has lots of that!

Is it a quality example of that though? Well...that’s up for debate.

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content warnings: ummm...shockingly I don’t think there are any serious ones here.

after-credits scene?: None.

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Directed by: Paul W.S. Anderson

Written by: Paul W.S. Anderson

Country of Origin: USA...

[also the United Kingdom, Czech Republic, Germany, and Canada? I’m really not sure of what the story behind that is.]

Language: English

Setting: Bouvetøya Island, Antarctica

Sequel: Alien vs. Predator: Requiem (2007)

If you liked this you might also like: Aliens (1986), Predator (1987), Tomb Raider (2018), Freddy vs. Jason (2003), Cowboys & Aliens (2011), Sadako vs. Kayako (2016)

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Context Corner:

Although it may seem odd, the connection between the Alien and Predator franchises actually goes back decades.

So the basic timeline goes like this:

Alien was the first one to hit the scene way back in 1979.

Then 7 years later (1986) its sequel Aliens was released.

A year after that (aka 1987) we got Predator.

The two franchises had nothing to do with one another, but they were both distributed by 20th Century Fox. Then later both franchises were licensed to the comic book publisher Dark Horse Comics.

The first time the world saw the two extraterrestrials cross paths was in a Randy Stradley and Chris Warner’s “Alien vs. Predator” chapter in Dark Horse Presents issue #36 in 1990.

Shortly thereafter the connection resurfaces as a pretty great easter egg in the 1990 film Predator 2, wherein you can see a xenomorph skull on the trophy wall in the Predator’s ship.

And ever since then it’s been a thing. Way before this movie ever came into being there were tons of Alien/s vs. Predator books, comics, video games (including a pinball video game), and even board games.

If you think Alien vs. Predator is still a slightly whacky concept, I feel compelled to mention that the crossover madness could have gone so much deeper! There are MULTIPLE examples of comics wherein the xenomorphs and predators encounter Batman...and Superman...and sometimes BOTH!

[I’m 100% serious. Look it up.]

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“I wish you’d reconsider coming with us, Lex. Come on, don’t make me pull out pictures of my kids again.”

“Your kids aren’t that cute.”

“What if we got pictures of other peoples’ kids?”

“Want my advice?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Stay on the boat.”

Chapter 1

"Justice," I heard my sister call out to me, but I didn't say anything just to get on her nerves. "Jus!" Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at her yelling through the house like she was crazy. Our mama taught us better than the ratchet shit she sometimes portrayed but that didn't stop her from acting like she knew any better. I couldn't really say much though, cause there were things I knew she wouldn't be proud of me doing. Justice and Justynne Gonzalez born to Richard and Angela Gonzalez just one year apart with me being the oldest. I've always thought it was amazing for us to be carried by the same woman, born and raised by the same parents, live together all those years and yet we could be so different. She was more of the outgoing, love attention type while I could settle for just a few friends and being invisible to the rest of the world. She loved the idea of saving herself til marriage, while I..well, I have a three year old daughter so that should say enough. She preferred weed, while I preferred to drink. She's been in multiple relationships, while for the longest I was with my daughter's father. She has friend after friend, while I've had the same two, outside of her, since middle school. But through it all, she was my sister and we loved each other through our differences. "Okay bitch, I know you hear me. Fuck you at? Niecy pooh tell mama, fuck you a-" "I wish you would Josie," I scolded while stepping out of the kitchen. "Make me hurt you Justynne" I watched as she stuck her tongue out, stepping around me with my daughter in her arms. My daughter, Josie Marie Jones, or Bugz as I called her, is the single most important reason of my being. She's my blessing, my miracle child and my heart. It was because of her I was back home, and able to push aside my ill feelings towards her dad. She had no part in our choices, and deserved to know who helped create her. "You just gone pass me up Bugz? You don't love mama?" My heart fluttered, watching her big doe eyes dart to mines with a smile as bright as day lighten the room. "Juice!" "Yeah, auntie getting her baby some juice." She clapped, waiting patiently on the counter after she sat her down to retrieve the juice. "So, tonight-" "Nope," I wasted no time in cutting her off, already knowing she was only trying to invite me out. "Don't look at me like that, no Nene. I'm not going out" "Oh yes you are hussie! Ma and daddy already said they'd watch Bugz since ya'll are back in town soooo, get over it" Bugz was now humming as she sipped from the juice carton she'd gotten from her auntie, oblivious to the conversation being held before her. Innocence was something I wish I could have back. "Nene, I haven't been out in over a year. I-" "Chile please, that's why ya ass is coming with me. Now feed my niece, give her a nap and take her to the parentals so we can get ready." "I guess me saying I'm not going out means nothing?" "Nope, now chop chop booski" Sighing, I watched her retreating figure before turning to face Bugz. "What we gone eat Bugz?" "Shiken nuggets!" I nodded, returning her smile. "Chicken nuggets it is..." **** Bugz had only been gone an hour and half a bottle of the Crown Apple had been finished along with two blunts. Even though I didn't like to party, it didn't mean I didn't like to or know how to turn up. I could get lit just like the next person could, and could probably hold my liquor better than most. Now when you mix the two substances, I was sure to be live at this club she had dragged me to. Gio's Palace was her choice tonight, a spot for twenty-five and up to enjoy good music and hopefully good people. The parking lot was packed, so when we entered to see the crowded establishment I wasn't even surprised. "Ayyy, -smoke something one time. Drank something one time, tear the club up one time. Smoke something one time-" "Smooooke," I smiled, bobbing my head to the beat while joining in with the adlibs. "Drank something one time-" "Draaaank, ayyyy get it bihhh" I laughed, grabbing ahold of her hand as we made our way up to the VIP section to get to the table she reserved for us. "Let me see stamps" My eyes traveled up the long frame belonging to the security guard blocking the entrance into VIP before sticking out my arm for him to shine his light over my wrist to see the invisible ink that we received upon entry into the club. "Thank you ladies, enjoy your time" We both mumbled a quick thanks before making our way to our table. "Yooo, this shit is live!" I nodded, not speaking a word as I looked around taking in the many bodies around us. "We need more drinks, shots orrrrr-" I turned to face Nene, giving her a knowing look as we both stated. "Bottle" "Be right back," she spoke in my ear then stood and briskly made her way over to the bar with my eyes on her the entire time. I was only alone about five minutes before I felt an intense gaze diverting my attention to that of a beautiful pair of brown orbs. I gasped, truly taken away by the force that hit me once our eyes connected; My heart rate increased, my stomach seemed to turn flips, and my thighs clenched at the sight of the man across from me. He was gorgeous, to say the least. His medium brown skin appeared smooth and scar free, his lips nice and plump, and to top it all off his possibly 6 foot stature screamed of confidence and a self assured boldness that I'm sure had yet to be turned down by anyone he had approached in the past. Which, just by looking at him, who in their right mind would turn him down? The man was sex on legs, a true God given gift for anyone attracted to the male species to ogle over. I've never seen anyone so...damn...sexy before. "Excuse me beautiful," without a care in the world, I took my time allowing my eyes to travel from his feet that were covered by what appeared to be a fresh new pair of white and black retro 12s, to a pair of light gray 501s that hung just right off his waist that led to the white polo fitting his frame before gazing over the strong neck that held up his perfect face. "Yes?" His eyes beamed brightly as the corners of his mouth lifted north, showcasing an award winning smile I'm sure would win any contest. "I've been watching you since you came up these stairs here, and I had to come speak-" "Oh?" My brow now lifted in question. "To say what?" My eyes dropped down to his mouth, watching as his tongue slithered out to moisten his lips, before lifting back to meet his gaze. "Well I was gone get ya name, and usually I don't do this but seeing how you damn near fuckin' a nigga in ya head-" he sat down beside me, getting close enough to let me smell the intoxicating fragrance he wore before leaning over to speak in my ear. "Why don't we head to the back and skip the introductions" What he stated was just that, a statement, and far from a question that he would allow me to answer. Did I mind? No Clearly not since I had allowed him to grab ahold of my hand and assist me up from the couch I was sitting on. And I still didn't mind as he led me past the envious stares of men and women, or even my sister who now held a bottle of apple Crown in her hand as she watched with a curious glare as I walked away with this stranger I had yet to figure out why I was allowing him this control. Control I'm sure he was used to. Control that I wasn't used to allowing a man to have... but I can't say that I would mind submitting to him. The hallway he led me to was dark and empty, probably a sign that I should snatch away from him and head back the way we'd come from. For all I know, he could be a serial killer. Or a rapist even...but I didn't care. Just like I didn't care as he let my hand go so he could unlock the steel door we stood outside of. Or once he pushed the door in and stepped back to allow me to enter the darkened room, and I damn sure didn't care once I felt his hand at my waist, pushing me against the door. Within a second, the light was flipped on but I wasn't allowed a chance to look around because soon as the switch was flipped, the door was locked and his lips were attached to my neck permitting a low groan to escape my own. His body leaned against mines, trapping me between him and the door as he continued to lick and suck on my hot flesh bringing me to a point of no return. There was no turning back now, he had released the part of me I had hidden for months now but this fire he had started needed to be tamed. Quickly "Strip" It was indeed a command he spat out, one I abided by in a matter of seconds. "All of it," he demanded after watching me step out of my black liquid high waist shorts and black g-string. I stood frozen, unable to perform the task I was given. His eyes had me locked in and momentarily stuck. A knowing smirk soon graced his face, his tongue slipping out again to wet his lips as he took two steps to stand in front of me. "I see you need help" I opened my mouth, but nothing came out so I settled for not saying a word..allowing him to take that as his cue to continue on with whatever he chose to do to me. For whatever reason, I trusted him to do as he pleased. "Can't speak now?" No, I thought while watching his hands undo the buttons of my blouse before slipping it off and down onto the floor. "Guess not, s'all good though baby. Imma have that ass screaming in jussst a second," his warm breath caused goose bumps to spread across my skin, or it could've been the feel of his rough yet gentle touch against my heated, awaiting mound. His hand cupped my love, "mm shit," he paused, allowing a finger to slide down the slit of my bare lower lips. "That pussy faaaaaat" I shivered, feeling his lips upon my skin. Fuck me!!! I screamed in my head, I wanted this man now. Right now, but for whatever reason he was taking his time and I wouldn't dare act like the fiend in need of her fix, even though I truly was. I gasped at the feel of coolness beneath me, when did he carry me over to this desk? The question wasn't even of importance, especially not once he stepped back and removed his polo, giving me a glimpse of what I would be scratching up- Hopefully. I watched as he undid his belt, his eyes trained on the task at hand. His movement was slow, now tauntingly unbuckling and unzipping his jeans before letting them drop in a pool around his feet. My eyes darted back to what he held between his legs, the bulge he hid wasn't one I could've guessed he held. It was large. So large my tongue decided to make an appearance, wetting the flesh of my lips as he pulled down the cotton material of his boxer briefs. "Mm" I hissed at my betrayal moan, not wanting him to know just how much I liked what was before me but it was too late now. The smirk he held let that be known. "You moaning?" I know he didn't expect me to answer, he heard me just as well as I heard myself. His body, just as naked as mines, approached me with my eyes still trained on his member standing at full attention. "Grab it," he commanded, and of course I obliged. His bottom lip now prisoner between his teeth, my hand gripping as much as I could of the hardened piece of art. Because that's what it was, art. A flawless; long, thick, slightly curved, and not too dark, piece of art...with a fat head. "Mm," I moaned again at my thoughts, feeling my girl cream at what I thought he could do. "You want it?" I nodded. "Talk to me then, tell me what you want me to do." Fuck me! I screamed again, now only if he could hear inside my head. That's where I was bold and said what I wanted, but since I didn't know him, the shy side of me spoke up. "I-i don't know" "Oh?" I was curious of his tone, it was as if he was quest-ion-ing. "What are you doing?" His lip was still hidden behind his teeth, but his hands...his hands were on my thighs, carefully spreading my legs apart as if they were precious cargo. "You nuttin' for a nigga already, tells me exactly what those pretty lips up top won't say." "Which is?" His head lifted, those pretty brown eyes said enough but what came out next was nothing but the truth. "You ready to get this dick wet" I groaned at the sound of his lust filled voice, definitely ready to do just as he said. "You want this dick?" His questioned went unanswered as I watched him grab ahold of himself and slowly slide it down my slit. "Huh?" I nodded. He smirked, shaking his head. "Guess imma have to teach you how to use ya words, yea?" "N-oooooooo," my eyes closed, my back arched, and my mouth dropped at his sudden invasion between my legs. "Fuuuuuuck," I hissed at the feel of him knocking against what felt to be my cervix. He was just that deep. "There you go baby, words" His hips rocked against me, giving me a chance to adjust to his size. He knew what he was working with. "You ready?" "Mm- for- for what?" "You ready?" My eyes opened at him asking again, gasping once I saw he was already looking at me. "Are...you...ready?" "Ye-yes" There was that damned smirk again, it was a look that made me nervous. His body retreated, but slowly pushed his way back in, adding a roll just before burying himself deep inside. "Remember, words" I nodded feverishly, anticipating his next move. "They can't hear you out there, so let me hear you." I nodded again, watching him pull out a little before his eyes met mines. "Words" Now even though I'm a freak and loved it rough, I wasn't prepared for what he had to deliver. He had my legs spread wide, damn near in a split as he gave relentless strokes to my awaiting core. His pumps were messy, just like I liked it. No use in going slow, my secretions were evidence of my eagerness. "Fuck this pussy tight" My moans sounded loudly throughout the room, each stroke producing a slushing noise showcasing my wetness for him. I tried my hardest to do more than just lay here, meeting about every other stroke of his with one of my own. "Shit, you tryna fuck me back?" His back arched as he continued to fuck me on his desk. He had my right leg perched on his shoulder while he leaned slightly to his right, allowing him to fuck me at angle and hit a spot that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head just a few minutes in. "Ohhhhh fuu-u-u-u, oh shit," I sounded out loud and proud, hell, it felt too good not to. "Yea, keep nuttin' on this dick, baby" He placed my leg back down on his desk only to pick my left leg up and on his shoulder to provide the same attention as he did to the other side. By this point, I was out done with how good he was dicking me down. My hands went from scratching his back, to tryna grip his chest, abs, and even his arms. But even his strong biceps weren't enough for me, my head turned side to side, unsure on what to do with so much pleasure. One hand slid down my face while the other gripped ahold of my hair, grabbing and pulling a handful at the feeling whirling in my toes. His light chuckle could be heard faintly but the wave of heat that rushed my body, seemed to cloud all my senses as I felt myself nearing my peak. Just a few more strokes and I'd be there. "Yo ass bout to cum ain't chu?" I nodded feverishly, letting my body relax so my orgasm could take over. "Fuck you grippin' my shit" "Ahhhh-" My eyes closed, his left hand gripped my neck giving a light squeeze, taking away all sound as he showed no mercy against my pussy. Within seconds I was cumming.. Cumming hard on his shaft. His hand left my neck, now rubbing back and forth against my clit as I squirted my release with him continuing to fuck me through my orgasm. "Yeaaa there it go, baby. Give me some more" His hips kept going, "no-no I can't" He ignored my panting, ignored the pushing of my hands, and when I tried scooting away he only picked me up and did the honors of slamming my body up and down his pole. "Mmhm, you gone do it again?" "I can't" "Oh?" There it was again, that questioning tone from before. "Guess imma have to-" He laid my body back down on his desk, only this time a little further back giving him space to climb up on it with me. "-show you I run this shit" As soon as the words left his mouth, his hands gripped my legs and once again spread them wide before he pushed back inside and picked up the same hypnotic stroke as before. "Got dammit!" "You gone give it to me again?" "I-" my mouth closed, unsure of what to say. Clearly no wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Shit girl" I moaned, hearing him broadcast how good it felt to him. His hand went to my neck, applying the perfect amount of pressure sending me toppling over the edge again with my juices squirting out of me. "Look at that shit, got a nigga soaked-ahhhh" My muscles contracted around him, involuntarily, at the low groan that escaped his mouth. "Fuuuuuck, ahhhh-" my body jerked up and down the smooth surface of his desk as he pumped rapidly against my core. His panting mixed with the sound of our bodies connecting was the only sound heard, my jaw dropped being literally fucked into silence by the handsome figure before me. "A nigga bout to-mm" My eyes shot down between us witnessing his semen shoot out onto my stomach, leaving a trail down to my thighs just as my fluids landed against his desk and I'm sure onto the floor. He kept his head hung low, his hands planted on either side of my face as he hovered over me. Even with my body still jerking beneath his, I could feel the weight of his thick member resting against the lower part of my stomach, just as I could feel the soft kisses he placed across my collar bone. We laid that way for a few more minutes before he slowly moved away from me. I took a moment to sit up, taking my time to slide off the desk with his assistance. "I uhh, got a bathroom right over there-" his hand pointed to the right, "-got some towels in there if you want to freshen up." I nodded my appreciation before moving around him to gather my belongings then headed to the bathroom to take him up on his offer. This stranger had entered my life and made me break a rule I'd created for myself and now stand in front of a mirror, his mirror, and judge myself for what had just taken place a mere five steps away from where I stood. "Look at you," I sighed, giving myself another glance after redressing, turning side to side to fully examine my being. "Turn up wit' a fuckin' thottie, huh Jus" Three quick taps on the door had me whipping my head around. "Yeah?" "You aight in there?" Hearing his voice on the other side, I bit my lip while moving to open the door, giving myself a final few seconds of solitude to prepare. I watched his eyes travel my body, the right side of his face lifting slightly into a smirk as his orbs landed on mines causing me to shift my weight onto my left leg. "I'm good" His brow rose in what I assumed amusement since he now smiled as he took a step closer, putting him directly in front of me with no space between us. "I know you good baby, but say-" He paused, glancing behind him and towards the door before looking back at me. "I gotta get back out there, what's ya name baby?" "Justice" "Justice," he repeated, nodding his head as if he approved. "Sexy ass Justice, I'll make sure you're taken care of but if any problems just let me know, coo'?" Up and down my head went, letting him know I understood. My cheeks heated at the feel of his finger rubbing smoothly amongst my cheek, no chance to hide the blush he produced. "Wait-" I called out as he opened the door. "What's your name?" He smiled, taking his time to respond. "Giovaughni, but call me Gio. Welcome to my club baby" My eyes shot to his, not believing I'd just slept with the owner. But seeing him wink before he turned and opened the door wider, I could see just how serious he was. "Come on, let's go" Slowly, I nodded, making my way towards him and soon out of the door. The sound of the music coming from the end of the hall was much louder on this side of the door, hopefully it was enough to drown out my judgmental thoughts along with a few drinks. Before I could escape the dark hall, I felt someone grab ahold of my hand causing me to turn and face whoever it was. "Biiiiitch, the fuck you go?" My jaw dropped once my eyes connected with my sister's, how could I forget about her? "I need-" my eyes traveled behind her at the tall figure approaching. He was already looking at me, smiling as if he knew something, which I'm sure that something was him adjusting my insides like he didn't have a business to run. He winked at me again, causing me to release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My eyes followed him until I couldn't see him anymore, only bringing brought back to what was around me by the feel of my sister grabbing my hand again. "Justice!" "Huh?" "You said you need something" I glanced behind me, wanting just one final look of the man who called himself Gio but he was long gone. "J-" "Drink, I need a drink. Now!" The look she gave me was a curious one, I'm sure there'd be questions later but for now, I just needed music and drinks. Anything to take my mind off of what had just happened, if not, there would be another meeting taking place behind that steel door of his...