* / soak into this

       “last i checked that only applies to people with rings on their fingers.” having gigi lean back into him, he hums and slightly rocks them both as he stares into his wardrobe. god, the way in which everything has begun to tangle into emotional barbed wire neither one wants to get cut on. the constant promise of just using each other between the sheets being fogged over by something far deeper.

angelo knew he was head over heels for the woman in his arms. but angelo also knows love is a sham and therefore wishes to never allow it to get a hold of him. what a terrible job he has done on that. it didn’t help that they were practically living together this moment in time and the temptation to slip gigi a key to the place had been growing exponentially. 

but there’s still that stubbornness mixed with fear that has him keeping that key in his sock draw. pressing his lips to the top of gigi’s head, he refrains from letting his brain wander anymore and a slight uptick takes over his lips. “you’ve worn all my good ones, it’s navy or grey today, baby.” he makes a note to do his laundry eventually but he hasn’t exactly been keeping his clothes on lately. the use of we and our causes a warmth to spread through his chest and a warm smile to form over his lips. he lets out a slightly dramatic sigh and shakes his head with nothing but complete and utter fondness. “fine, guess we’re going shopping for a new wardrobe. though i’m making rules right now, no print, and no light colours other than white. if you pick out any animal print you’re not wearing any of my shirts again.” 

with all the casual grace of a self-assured twenty-something, gigi held her hand up and waggled her fingers — the rings she adorned glinting in the pale morning light. “rings, meet fingers.” gigi grinned. “what’s yours is mine, orsini.” of course, she knew it wasn’t what he meant, but god forbid they ever get to that point. ( it wasn’t so much that gigi would have minded being married, persay. much less to someone like angelo, who seemed to be cut from a similar cloth. but it was the fact she knew what marriage did. she saw what happened to her parents — two people who’d by whirlwind or circumstance, ended up together. two people who never really should have had a kid, much less gotten married in the first place. how many evenings had she watched her parents argue, peering through the bannisters, when she was supposed to be asleep? how jealous had she been, seeing other kids parents be loving and soft and affectionate? ) no... marriage was a blight. a plague. something that wasn’t worth the associated risk.

but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t rile angelo up on the occasion.

         “we, huh?” rubbing the sleep from his eyes, angelo lets out a low gravelly chuckle. this shouldn’t be so- easy to fall into. it’s almost hitting levels of domesticity that both are quite conveniently ignoring. a week spent waking up with gigi in his arms is making him believe he has stolen a little bit of heaven. it should send him into a panic, it should have him running for the hills. but instead, he’s lying in his bed, usually cold brown eyes all soft and living as they gaze at gigi as she hunts for something to wear.

it’s an entirely new level of adorable with every clothing item she steals from him. angelo is six foot two, gigi an entire foot shorter. a t-shirt to him is a dress for her. there’s also a deeper feeling of possessiveness when he sees the other in his clothes, like somewhat of a claim. 

“you’ve worn all the ones that ain’t grey already, how’s that my fault?” he raises a brow before getting out of bed, sheets slipping back to the mattress as her pads over to gigi. angelo wraps his arms around her from behind and rests his chin on top of her head. “well- they’re not all grey… that one is navy.”

“what’s yours is mine, or so the saying goes.” gigi drawled, a faint grin tugging at her lips. she knows it’s a pointless sentiment — given she tapped out at 5′2 on a good day and could probably wear most of his clothes outside instead of in... but she likes teasing him. ( it’s too easy sometimes. whenever she lays some sort of trap... the way his brow furrows, and his eyes light up — the way he recognises that she’s playing and then follows her down the rabbit hole. it’s a heady, addictive feeling in a way. knowing that he’s maybe a little more gone for her than he likes to pretend. )

a hum slips past her lips as he makes his way over, arms wrapping around her, chin resting on-top of her head. she leans back into him all too easily, far too comfortable for someone so insistent on this being just sex.

( in truth, it hasn’t been just anything for a while now. )

like in many aspects of her life, she was choosing to ignore the fact she’d spent basically the whole week at his apartment — of course, in amongst shifts at the vinyl store and the diner; grabbing food and few changes of clothes from her own apartment here and there. ( to analyse it meant gigi had to face facts, to accept the truth of what had been going on for the last handful o months... and that was not something she was prepared to do. ) and it wasn’t even as if she was a coward, or a fraud, or trying to lie to protect someone — gigi merely already knew how complicated their whole situation was. easier and better it was to ignore, shuffle it aside and focus on the here and the now.

what did any else of it matter? ( it wasn’t like this was love. )

the words hurt more than he meant, she hoped. harley had no doubt that she still knew levi to his bones, to his core, and her chin raised stubbornly. eyes daring him to protest as she stepped closer. “a year can change a lot, but it can’t change you, harrison. not enough for me not to know who you are.” she scoffed, thick brows knitting as she shook her head. the mere thought was ridiculous, that he could have lost what made him so utterly him. the snark and kindness, the heart and the charm that lay beneath those dark curls and even darker eyes. but they’d never been anything but kind, at least until that last argument. ( then there’d been no kindness and she could barely recognise him — could barely recognise them. they’d been so caught up in childish bickering in the end, they’d never thought there’d be an end until the end ). 

( there’d been only a few since him. none so memorable either. it’d been enough to calm her, but only for a while. a day at a time, a week for another. levi had been her home though, where she felt most safe was by his side. if not as his partner, as his friend. and she hadn’t even had that anymore. her studies became it for her, more than anything else. she hadn’t touched paints in months, her sketchbooks, which there were many, had gathered dust in her desk. she felt lost and alone and without any of those familiar comforts that she’d held so dear. )

he’d always been the best of those comforts. now there he stood, looking better than ever, claiming to be a stranger to her. 

her lips twitched, deep red lipstick impeccably applied, not budging an inch even as she licked nervously at the flesh of her bottom lip. “you always have been too smart for your own good.” she said dryly, fingers of her left hand resting in the crook of her right elbow as she took a hearty sip of her drink. “welcome to the world of academia; where good grades are used as an excuse to flaunt wealth.” she shifted, a kitten heel swivelling on the carpet as she cast a look around the room. ( her fingers itched to reach out, fix his collar, stroke his cheek and reassure him. but she as much wanted to tell him off — for pretending he was okay, for pretending all sorts of things. she knew him better than that. )

harley’s expression soured, her tone along with it — all as she turned away from her man candy with disgust. “lovely. suppose i can’t be too surprised, he flirted with our waitress at dinner last night.” she sighed, looking up at levi with undeniable exhaustion, “i never was busty enough for the nerds. or the jocks.”

in a way, he wanted to throw her own words back at her. if a year couldn’t change someone — then why did she look so different to who levi knew her to be? dressing up to the nines wasn’t the issue and it never had been. but it was the look in her eyes that was different. gone was the natural sparkle. the warmth and amusement, as if she knew a secret the rest of the world didn’t. even her signature red lip, applied flawlessly — looked different. there wasn’t a loss of pigment, because levi hadn’t spent half the cab ride over here kissing her senseless.

“time’s a funny thing, deaver.” levi mused instead. “it has a way of surprising us. especially when it comes to those we know.” with a sigh, he reached for his soda water and took a sip, relishing in the hydration and the simple distraction.

for her dress that night had to be designed to torture him. the only possible explanation, really. long sleeved and short in the same measure; made of some sparkly fabric that meant almost all eyes were on her. the hint of her breasts, the length of her legs — all of ti serving to remind him of another time and in another life, where those dresses like hers would end up on his bedroom floor — her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the soft curve of her breasts under his mouth.

and try as he might, — try as he might to be a friend, and not someone who was desperately, painfully still in love with her — levi’s gaze still dipped down, down from her eyes and over his nose; following the column of her neck and the smooth skin of her chest, through the v neckline of her dress --- to finally rest on the subtle curves of her décolletage. ( he remembered what they had felt like in his palms — smooth, soft and just this side of firm; perfectly sized to fit, naturally, like they were made to be there. levi had had something of a... fixation back then; right alongside his seeming need to be eating her out at all hours of the day — or whenever he managed to convince her to forgo studying. ) in his mind, harley’s breasts, her cleavage, was perfect. he didn’t see the need to change it, amplify it, mould it to please someone else’s idea. because she already was. 

she hadn’t been home in two days. the reality had only occured to her some hours earlier — that she had been here for two straight days. had ignored all warnings from supposed friends about seeing him again. had gone and done what she swore she wouldn’t do — and then went a step further. ( checking her phone had showed no notifications. no one asking where she was, if she was okay. she was willing to wager that sam was under a pile of work and hadn’t noticed she wasn’t even home. was welling to bet her not being home was a source of relief — he didn’t have to worry about her for a change. he could just work. )

in truth, kayla wasn’t sure what to make of all of it. that her friends and family weren’t worried. that she wasn’t worried either — that being with alex and spending the entire weekend in bed was the best use of her time in months, if not years.

with another hum, she rolled over in bed, dropping her phone face down on the bedside table, — decided that alex had been up and about for far too long. it simply wouldn’t do. tugging his previously discarded shirt from the floor and pulling it on, she wandered down from the bedroom and towards the sounds of his puttering in the kitchen. with a warm smile, she leant against the door jamb... and simply watched. ( and she realised with a startlingly fresh type of clarity why it was she didn’t want to go home. because this, right here — was home. alex was home. wearing his shirt, watching him in the kitchen, spending two straight days in bed... that was home. more than anything else ever had been in her life. when they’d started this, that hadn’t been the plan. it had been to blow off steam. a high school fantasy come to life. but what it had turned into might have been the best thing ever to happen to her. )

“they said they’ll lend us a room. second level, away from the crowds.” gendry shook out the wet droplets from his hair, — already too long and in desperate need of attention from the barbers in flea bottom. ( but that was naught but a distant and dim memory of a life left behind. no longer his reality. ) now, it was hard rocky beds, mud on his boots, hair falling into his eyes — rain soaking his leathers, a horse that listened to his travelling companion more than it listened to him.

( he couldn’t blame the animal. not really. he’d listen to arya more too, if it came down to him or her. he never really was one for giving orders --- an irony, given his former status as prince of the realm. )

marco would’ve sooner died than miss anything so important to his dear alia; a girl sharper than many thought she had any right to be. but, she was the apple of his eye in all respects, even when said sharpness resulted in stern words. it was near impossible to argue with someone as stubborn as he was, the dark slash of her eyebrows atop eyes that were so much like his own. it seemed that stubborness extended to the classroom where she’d become known for her ferocious debating skills. marco was proud, if not mildly amused by how much like him alia had come to be. ( but it was times like that he worried their similarities would doom her to much the same fate. working a sweaty, thankless job to support herself; support whatever family she ended up having. the mistakes he’d made were plentiful and while he certainly couldn’t take the blame for his darling diedra’s passing — it was easy to feel like every choice had led to now. his daughter without a mother, he without the one person who’d loved him flaws and all. )

he smiled with ease at margot’s exasperation, unable to resist the temptation to prod her further. she challenged him in and out of the field — keeping him on his toes, knocking him down several pegs when he most needed it. there were reasons for his ego, of course, and it was a sure-fire way to preserve the few redeeming features he had left. he was a damn good father, one hell of a treasure hunter, an eloquent teacher — a pain in the ass for margot. “shame, coulda fooled me for a while there.” he followed her, “downside to us bein’ at odds, though, i suppose. your defenses are up somethin’ fierce.”

aila’s report cards were still in hand, preaching her diligence in academic everything but she fell short in english. dyslexia was an asshole like that; another earned trait from yours truly. 

margot’s question had dark eyes flicking up, smile widening; but not smugly. it was soft, enough to make his eyes crinkle in the corners. “quite. alia’s flourishing, hard not to be delighted by that. i suppose clem is no different?” 

“a true shame.” margot drawled sharply. “and to think you could have been getting laid semi-regularly before stealing my cut out from under me.” would she ever let it go? most likely not. she was like a dog with an old bone — that was her job, marco had been a dick and gone ahead with it anyway. ( she was ignoring the fact she would have done the same to him if the situations were reversed, of course. because such a feeling was inconvenient in her desire to hate him — in her desire to be better than him. and god only knew hating him was a hell of lot easier than admitting it hurt to find out he was her professional rival. ) because she’d done something she hadn’t done in years around marco. she’d believed in him. she’d wanted him. now, it was naught more than distant and dim memory. a road not taken.

she was trying not to feel so cut up by the reality of her own feelings.

“guinea pigs, not hamsters.” marco retorted, brushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. he’d been ahead of her again and smugness creeped into his tone — as much as her anger poured into hers. ( that didn’t help his amusement at the whole situation, for there was nothing more thrilling than competitiveness in this field. he cared little for the politics of it all, but there was something about having one up on her. she challenged him to be at his sharpest, a refreshing change after what felt like years of complacency. it was better to be out here in the dirt and sun than to be milling around a lecture hall, attempting to reason with those who thought these relics belonged half a world over in the hands of colonisers. ) “see, i’d agree — but repeat business is everything.” 

margot had definitely made an impression on him, with her sharp tongue and soft, shiny hair. he’d found it scarily easy to fall into step with her, flirt, and grin as she doted on her daughter. it helped that alia adored her, much the same, asking when next she could stay over at her friend’s. perhaps he should’ve known, from his rival had always sparked a similar feeling of excitement in him. but, here he was, surprised nonetheless. 

“polo.” he grinned, annoyance at having been caught waning slightly. “i’d say it’s good to see you again but —” he heaved the ornate box up off its pedestal and shrugged, “different circumstances and all that. i’m sure you understand.” 

“you realise there’s like. one genome of difference between the two? they’re basically the same fucking animal.” she was tired, testy — annoyed that something which was supposed to be an easy job had turned into so much more. ( and further frustrated that the cute guy she’d met at her daughter’s school, the first decent man she’d met in months and months — had turned out to be the one person she never could have. too much in her professional career rode on the fact. credibility was hard to come by in their line of work — a fact that drove margot to charge such higher prices. not that marco never bothered to ask or understand that fact. it was always down to one simple idea with him — she overcharged, he didn’t. when they virtually did the same job, it was his opinion that he was the better choice. )

margot scoffed, her head shaking and annoyance rolling off her in waves. “yeah. funny. but half your clients in the last financial quarter used me for their excavations, so please, continue telling me all there is about repeat business.” the truth was that they were both pawns in this game — neither of them was really better than the other. ( but they weren’t going to let truth get in the way of a good rivalry, were they? )

there was no love lost between ethan and the ramirez woman, for even after the loss of luisa, ethan still hadn’t seen his brother in the state he’d been in following rosamund’s betrayal. she was clever but fickle, leaving things in a bad state without a word – now she’d returned? she had wooed evan once with her silky black hair and warm words, warmer embrace, but ethan would sooner die than see his brother hurt again. he knew what it was to fall in love, that it could be all consuming, terrifying, thrilling. he knew the temptation and desire to chase love, risk it all for the promise of that person and their forever. rosamund wasn’t worth it, couldn’t be when she’d done nothing but deceive from the first day. rosamund reyes didn’t exist, never had.  she wasn’t a pretty little thing evan had stumbled across in his club by accident – rosamund ramirez was dangerous. santiago ramirez had always presented a threat, now his daughter had information that could have sunk them all. permanently.  

“for that, i am ever so grateful, big brother.” ethan grinned widely, “and i can’t help it if some pies are so damn delicious. they demand to be eaten, though i believe you know that feeling very well.” of the many things he envied his brother; his strength, resilience and more, his romantic past wasn’t one of them. nor were his past escapades, scars a plenty to prove as much. while evan was dealing with traitors, ethan had been galivanting around europe, documenting his travels – sunning his face and eating his weight in pasta.  

his brows then rose, surprise evident as he shifted forward in his seat. “she’s come back to help you?” it was hard to believe; what will all she’d done to try and fuck evan over and fuck the entire operation over in turn. “wonder how her old man feels about that. though, the ramirez brood never were so tight-knit.” ethan pursed his lips before taking a long, hard sip of his drink. “what’d you say? nothing is ever simple with her, she’s probably here for triple the reasons she says she is.”

there was always a catch with rosamund – always secrets, hidden agendas, and a whole lot of hurt for anyone caught in the crossfire. on the few occasions they’d met, ethan hadn’t not trusted her. in fact, he’d quite enjoyed her company. she was personable, bright, kind to ethan – kinder yet to evan and his girls. which is why, perhaps, her betrayal hurt all the more. ethan hadn’t seen it, anticipated it. he’d failed to do what evan had done for him so many times. with that in mind, “i can keep an eye on her, if you wish. as you may well remember, i’m quite adept at blending into… well, everything.”  

“apperantly.” evan hummed in affirmation. rosie hadn’t expressly told him not to go sharing the secrets she’d spilled on the sidewalk that day — but she hadn’t agreed, either. but this was ethan, perhaps, outside of luisa — the only person he truly trusted with every part of his life, every part of his heart. “...she’s the youngest. and her mother’s favourite. tight-knit didn’t apply to her.” he knew that ethan would pick up on the implications. the call-back to their own family dynamics. his brother wasn’t a writer for no reason.  “i... suspect that’s why she did what she did. because when her mother died, and there was no else, well. she did what she had to do.”

his fingers idly filled with the wedding ring he still wore, though, not on the same finger as he once did. ( for the most part, evan had moved on from luisa. he looked back on their time together and their girls with nothing but a nostalgic heart and a fond memory. it still hurt in some ways, the way loss always did — a pang here, a pang there. mostly it was for the girls, though. that xiomara and anita would never have their mother for such big milestones; like their weddings, their children, their first heartbreaks, dances and dates; college and school and graduations. it was that she missed it, that made evan sad. everything else he’d long ago laid to rest — largely in part thanks to rosie’s help. ) “i’m letting her in. letting her help.” evan murmured after a long moment. “the way i figure, if she’s lying i’d rather keep her close and where i can keep an eye on her. if she isn’t, then great. works out well.” he shook his head slightly, head leaning back against his chair. he’d pondered the whole thing for weeks, unsure of what to do and how to do it. the only answer he came up with was this. because technically, she knew everything already — and technically, if anything came down from santiago, rosie made a good bargining chip. a chance to keep himself and his family out of harms way — and test the theory that she was as well loved as her brothers. “but... even with all that. i don’t think she is.”

evan pursed his lips. “there was so much she could have told her old man. about you, about the girls. there wasn’t a secret i didn’t tell her. and it’s been years, and nothing has come of it.” all there was the usual fbi detail, and the occasional spat in the club. everything ran like clockwork. “santiago isn’t the kind of man who waits on information and then strikes. he gets the minute he has it, which is largely the reason why i own this city; and he doesn’t.”

“oh, i hope so.” isaac retorted softly, nosing at her cheek. every touch melted him further, left him leaning into her as if his life depended on it. he wanted nothing more than to spend his days and nights with her, plus everything in between. it showed, in the way his face couldn’t form anything but a grin, in the way his eyes sought hers out constantly. ( as zara grew handsy, he grew lyrical in his adoration – wanted to and probably could fill notebooks with how the moonlight caught her hair and face. left both aglow in a way that begged attention, from his hands and mouth alike. isaac wanted to leave a kiss along every inch of her, wanted to spend his time taking her apart and putting her back together again. ) “who? i’d like to know who’s lying to my best girl, insinuating something that is very untrue. the only thing between my ears is air and maybe a lil dust.”  

as zara leaned back, isaac followed her without hesitation; one hand resting against her arm as she touched him some more. “i couldn’t dislike any story that has you as its protagonist.” he dragged a thumb along her cheekbone, below the wide brown eyes that were framed with the thickest lashes he’d ever seen. some part of him, a large part even, still struggled to believe that zara was real. that she wanted him and loved him, that they were here after so many afternoons at black cat’s, sorting through vinyls – right through to the nights she’d hover by club’s edge, smirking as their eyes met. he liked zara at her softest, at her sharpest, messy and tidy. he loved all of her. “besides, your story led you here. can’t be mad about that.” he grinned, eyes crinkling as he leaned in to kiss her shoulder.  

loud, booming laughter burst out of isaac’s mouth then, his hand squeezing hers as he shook his head. ”oh yes, me. notoriously, ridiculously rich. you’ll find the jewels in a safe downstairs and don’t forget the gold.” their future wasn’t cemented, wasn’t planned out, but he still felt it in his gut. they had a future, stability, a fuck tonne of love.  isaac had never felt that before – the certainty in another person, in his feelings for them. it was easy to imagine that future in the sun, dogs running around their legs, maybe more. ( no matter what, it was a good future. it was something to look forward, something more than the pressure of working to get where he wanted to be. evading the future his father wanted for him. making music, spending as much time with zara as he possibly could. the simpler, the better as far as he was concerned. )   

she’d first said those words to him on a night that felt like it had happened eons ago – they’d stuck with him, clearly. it was so rare that he couldn’t articulate in some way how he felt, but it felt like around zara everything faded away. she had managed to sum up that feeling perfectly and he would never forget it.  

he loved zara’s taste in clothing – the short skirts, the soft sweaters and thigh high boots. it had caught his eye from day one and it still drove him crazy, even more so considering how easy it was to touch her. soft, warm skin beneath fingers that were rough from years of playing instruments. their hips aligned with little effort and isaac sighed happily, his eyes closing. “perhaps?” he squeezed, turning to bite gently at her chin before he laughed. the warmth in her cheeks was encouraging, her words even more so. “i loved what you did with your tongue, always do.” his fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, tugging the fabric down as he nipped at the sharp edge of her jaw. “much like you love what i do with my fingers, yeah?”

it was when he said things like that — i couldn’t dislike any story that has you as its protagonist. — that zara dared to think of a future. one ull of honesty and trust, where she didn’t have to lie through her teeth for anything and everything. where she wasn’t pretending to be this or that, where she knew herself before she knew her covers. it was a dangerous thought to have, directly against everything she’d ever been taught or ever learned the hard way. but with isaac, even the impossible seemed daringly possible. ( she was aware that she was going to have to make a choice sooner rather than later. was going to have to bet all on isaac loving her as he claimed, loving her as much as he claimed. it was either that, or disappear from town and his life for good. but the latter wasn’t an option, not really — not when she was as startingly addicted to him as he was to her. the only choice was to be honest and to hope, even if he turned her away — that maybe one day they’d find their way back to each other. ) “i think if anyone’s lying it’s you to yourself. there’s a brain in there. i know it.” zara giggled, a lil hum leaving her lips. her whole body seemed to thrum with energy whenever he touched her — and the weekends they spent in bed, shut behind a locked door were the perfect way to rest and recharge. ( it didn’t matter that they didn’t really do much of the resting on those weekends. ) she beamed with a quick wink. “oh good, i knew there was something in this for me. wanna hand the code over while you’re feeling generous, baby?”

when she’d first arrived in town, that had been her whole entire plan — loot the place, bleed it dry, access safes and bank accounts and funnel it all into her own. she’d hit the gold mine with a town like this — rich people and politicians, all too dumb and all too stupid to notice a pretty blonde girl and all that she could achieve. at first, she’d dressed the part, too: the floral dresses and the jean jackets, plugged in extensions to lengthen her short curly hair. but when she’d seen isaac, she didn’t want to be some part she’d put together. she wanted to be more herself. ( really, she should have seen the signs. even then she was done with all of it. and all it took was one look at him. ) so she gave it up. put it all in the back of her closet and pulled out what she felt the most her in — short skirts and thigh high boots; soft sweaters and over-sized shirts masquerading as dresses. the minute zara had caught his eye she knew she had him — and didn’t plan on letting him go, either.

almost without thinking, her hips lifted just enough for isaac to tug her panties down, slipping off and around her thighs, dropped casually and carelessly somewhere else. ( zara had stopped counting the amount of panties she’d lost in his bedroom — how many mornings and how many nights that she’d gone home without them, because it was easier to do that then spend hours looking for something she, admittedly, bought at the local target in a ten pack for seven dollars. the special lace she only broke out when she really wanted to torture him — or reward him. his birthday, her birthday. the small anniversaries and special moments they’d already managed to rack up in the short amount of time they’d spent together. ) what zara loved the most was that he didn’t care what she wore underneath her clothes. that he looked at her as speically and as lustfully no matter what — whether she was wearing plain cotton, or expensive lace.

it seemed incredibly them that they should find some sense of stability and committment after the world ended. bygones left where they should be, wounds tended to, and trust restored. it had taken time, tough conversations, and a lot of work — but it was worth it. elena was worth it. they’d made a space for themselves, a shabby bookcase one of the few decorations in their room, holding the books they’d saved and ornaments they’d found along the way. it held one of the last photos connor had of his mother, a photo of him and elena, the two people who mattered to him most. he’d lost his mother, nearly lost elena too, and some part of him needed that reminder. 

it was as good a reminder as elena’s warmth at his chest, her legs tangled with his. she always smelt of flowers and earth, in a way that made his mind wander whenever he walked through the gardens. her skin was soft, warmer from all her days beneath the sun — freckles dusting her shoulders, her nose, all of which he traced each night before he slept. another thing that had changed; he was sleeping again. peacefully, or as peacefully as he could when infected lingered outside and the settlement’s status rose and fell like the sun. 

connor thumbed at the corner of her mouth gently, his eyes still hooded with sleep, but his smile wide. then her nails met his scalp and he hummed, leaning into her touch — immediately seeking more as elena kissed him. he leaned down and kissed her gently, tasting the wine from the night before with a quick swipe of his tongue. it elicited a contented hum and he nuzzled her nose, pulling away reluctantly. “quite.” he ran one finger beneath her eyes, lips tugged down slightly, “i passed out early, huh? as for you… i’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

she feels the reluctance as he pulls away — and intimately understands the feeling. ( moments like this have been few and far between these days. there was so much work to do with the harvest this month, and planting for the next one next year. there was food to count and food to store; there was things to bring out from storage in order to work through them. there were days where elena wanted to cry from the stress — was kept up late in planning meetings and when she did finally make her way home, connor was usually asleep — or out himself on guard rotation. ) putting her foot down the week before was the only logical option, really. she would have gone mad if she didn’t have the time off. — didn’t spend more than five minutes in the morning with him. 

elena turned slightly, lips pressing against his wrist — feeling the slight thrum of his pulse beneath her lips. a reminder that they were alive, and that they were one of the lucky ones. there was a safety in numbers — in the settlement, even when the food ran scarce and the in-fighting broke out. it was always better than the alternative.

he played better with ellie in his corner, he knew that. she looked after him, kept him in check — even if noah was quick to bite back in the moment. after games, his knees ached less, his head was clearer. he was more himself, perhaps an even better version. less cross, more driven, friendlier. ( it was amazing what looking after yourself could do for your personability, he was brighter in interviews, press conferences saw him in the headlines for positive reasons. cracking jokes had done more for his image than scoring goals ever had, though the relief ellie brought him in her sessions helped both. )

noah grinned, always certain he’d hit a nerve when that raised brow made an appearance. that’s how he liked her, at her bluntest. she wasn’t out to appease him, to win him over. it was her job, he had to remind himself of that frequently. but it wasn’t every day he came across someone that genuine. it wasn’t often that he wanted to be in the company of someone who wasn’t his cat — but ellie had chipped away at his hard exterior. “we did, but i can’t resist when i know the reaction it’ll get out of you.” he moved closer, rolling his shoulders absently as he scooped up a cold bottle of water and uncapped it. “you know i love it when you call anders a moron, it’s like you understand me.” he took a long sip of water and sighed softly, head tipping back as his throat bobbed. there was nothing like cold water after a game, unless it was a warm shower. especially after the rain, after the cold mud sloshed upside his legs as he ran.  

“i do hope you know that i always listen. i just like to piss you off, it keeps me entertained.” his lips twitched, gaze following her phone as it disappeared. some part of him wanted to ask after tommy, though he knew it wasn’t his place. he wasn’t there for a reason, there’d be other times to talk to the young boy — answer his excited questions and hand off more merch that he’d acquired over the years. with a hum, noah hopped up onto ellie’s table, legs stretched out as he snorted. “you’ve long earned the nickname, or have you forgotten our first session? it felt like i’d been hobbled.”

what he didn’t know, of course — was that ellie, long before she’d landed in this job and in this career, was apart of it’s world. sure, she’d played a little here and there, but it was the giant shadow of her father that was the most dominating connection to this world. ( a beloved hero in some, if not most, circles — a nightmare of a person in others. ellie barely remembered him for all he wasn’t there when she was growing up — and then once she became less of a handful, less of... a child — suddenly he was everywhere and so was she. thrust into the limelight that she had to pry herself out of; she hadn’t spoken to her father in years because of what he did. changed her last name and invented a story all on her own — because the minute people in this world found out who she was, everything would change. ) so yes. ellie knew a little more than noah thought she did, than the average sports therapist — but she chalked it all up to general know how and smarts. it was funnier, throwing him for a loop. watching that little twitch in his eye as he tried to figure her out. not being known was miles preferable to the alternative.

“that’s cause anders is a moron. i’m just stating the truth. what kicks you get out of that is your own business.” ellie snorted. it was a wonder the guy hadn’t run the team into the ground yet — and that they managed to still pull themsleves out of the dirt and into serious contention for the finals this year. his methods of pushing hard and pushing fast we’re bullshit — even at the best of the best, top of the top, athletes ran out of stamina and tolerance.

magic always was a fickle beast, natalya supposed, her lips pursed, hands bound — watching as the camp as the camp got itself set up, tents pitched, swords speared in the ground, — making sure to keep a careful distance from where the witch kept her own company. ( usually, her spells went off without a hitch. usually, she never had trouble with tugging at the threads that bound the world’s fabrics together. usually, she wasn’t ostracised from the groups she travelled on quests with. usually usually usually. it all came back to fucking usually. )

unwittingly her eyes drifted across the camp, resting on anton’s tall, heaving frame. usually she wasn’t preforming magic in such close proximity to a former romantic partner, either — so maybe she could blame it all on anton. it certainly wouldn’t have been the first time she blamed him for something — even when natalya was aware it was more than a convinent excuse.

with a huff, she dragged her strawberry red hair up and up, tying it loosely with a leather strap — before making her way across the camp. people whispered and gazes followed, by natalya paid them no mind. wasn’t the first time, wasn’t the last.

there was a time where theo thought she’d never leave her old small town, with its one diner and two bookshops; the grocery that always closed on sundays and the church bells that range every hour on the hour. ( there was a comfort there. a place for everything, and a label for everyone. she felt... safe. ) but it also wasn’t hard to admit that her art had grown stagnat, and the more time she spend, the more frustrated she grew. it was her own idea to eventually move on: much to the town’s sadness. she was their daughter through and through — every inch belonging to them as she did her foster parents.

but some years later, an arts and business degree later — and now with a shop and her own mortgage to boot, theo couldn’t help but admit that it was a good choice to leave. 

starting up at the front of her next door neighbour’s flower shop, theo pursed her lips. ( as a general rule, she usually avoided introducing herself to new people. she was someone who liked to exist — who didn’t like to answer questions about why she was so quiet; it all ended up being more hassle than it was worth. but her therapist had made the valid point, in that if she was really going to commit to this adult lifestyle — theo couldn’t put off what everyone else did. she had to be the adult, and go ahead and introduce herself. )

time always did blur together in the end. it had when he was a child. it did when he was a young man — all of it only made worse when he was changed into what he was. ( all that time, and cassian still wasn’t sure, exactly what had happened that fateful day. legend said it was a witch, a curse under the full moon. some groups, some factions, religious leaders: they all said it was god’s penance. ) but cassian never had much use for curses or for god. instead, all that was left was the truth: one day he was supposed to die, and then he didn’t.

wandering down the quiet new orleans street, cassian remembered the last time he was in the fateful city. the time of the louisana purchase was a thankless, lawless place — filled the brim nay-sayers and do-gooders, everyone hustling for a peace of the power. in a way, such a time was easier, simpler. people asked less questions of whatever it was you did, and so long as it was behind a closed door — none of it much mattered. ( sure, friends had been lost. enemies forgotten. family decimated. but rhysand stood in the middle of it, the one constant outside of time. ) in a way, wandering this same street brought back a sense of warmth and comfort — the only that thing that would have made it better was his love. but it had been decades since their paths crossed, letters gone unanswered.

maybe that was why he ventured to the city. to regain something of what was once lost. to make sense of what now was.

however, time and fate were always fickle creatures — and cassian paused on the sidewalk; a familiar silhouette lurking just across the road.

@dcvious​​ // eleanor

award nights weren’t normally noah’s thing, the combination of loud music and constant drowned out conversation with people he barely knew  – it wasn’t appealing in the slightest. not until a young boy with wide, ridiculously blue eyes asked, pleaded, begged noah to take him along. it’d been a year since he and eleanor had met, nine months give or take since they’d kissed and the rest was history. the kind of history that endeared noah to tommy’s pleas and had ensured noah spent the night with his best gal on one arm and an excited tommy talking his teammates’ ears off for the entirety of dinner. 

the ceremony had been far more nervewracking for him, as he was up for two awards, neither of which he felt he deserved. but he had the support as he lost out on both, a small hand tugging at his shirt, a beaming eleanor assuring him it meant nothing. and it brought forth an idea he’d been mulling over for weeks already, the idea that he didn’t want it to be a once-in-a-while occurance. he didn’t want to drop eleanor and tommy off in the morning after breakfast, he didn’t want to say goodbye. not anymore.

he turned the tap off and sighed, looking up to meet ellie’s gaze in the mirror, grateful for the quiet of his ensuite as they got ready for bed. tommy had climbed into his bed, in what was formerly one of the guest bedrooms, and fallen straight to sleep. noah sincerely doubted he’d be much different, which was why he needed to get it out now. 

“hey, sunshine?” he walked back into the bedroom, hands dried and tie loosened, a shy grin pulling at his lips. “can i run something by you?” 

ellie had been to a fair few of her own awards nights through the years — and by this stage, had her own sense of routine when it came time. the makeup, the dress, the shoes; the pretty date and the babysitter. all of it lined up perfectly. usually. this time around was startlingly different — noah being the key feature; ensuring tommy, for a change, came to one of these things. her boy was on his best behaviour tonight — looking like a charming devil in his little suit, grinning widely as he met every singly one of his heroes. ( though none of them held a candle to noah, and ellie doubted they ever would. ) 

it was a good night — and ellie didn’t feel the bone-crushing tiredness she usually did after things like this. she felt... at ease. safe. at peace. knowing it was because of noah — that he’d given tommy a safe place after so much uncertainty, after loosing his own father to the new shiny family he had two towns over — knowing it was because she felt loved and cherished for the first time in decades, well. that was a heady feeling if there ever was one. having rinsed off the last of her makeup moments before, moisturising, leaving her dress in a ball on the floor — donning a shirt of noah’s and crawling into bed mere moments later — she was half curled up and ready to sleep; wondering idly if she could walk back on her promise for commiseration sex if noah didn’t end up winning anything that night. 

it was another one of his. for the first time in a year, he was perusing a crime scene undoubtedly the work of a master   — someone testing themselves and the authorities. it had been a while, a break much needed after the chase. his former employers had condemned him, stripped him of every qualification in english literature, of his doctorate. but it was little more than a source of laughter to hugh as he found himself embracing his true calling. 

the denizens of this world, those with muddied pasts and impure futures, called to him. made his fingers itch for a blade, sharp and thin, to pierce below the ear. or, in blessed, exciting opportunities like the one he’d had the night before  — sweet, slow torture. they all deserved it, but some were oh so stubborn in their sanctimonious morality. 

still, he left the crime scene, his head ducked as he weaved through the crowd  — following that familiar head of blonde hair to a park. it was a nice, lively park, not unlike the ones he’d spoken to her in before. before he was discovered and his shiny veneer fell, his true nature revealed for all to analyse. astrid harcroft was the only one who presented him as he was, not as some monster who loomed in the shadows to slaughter women and children. but as someone who viewed themselves as a cleanser. 

it was easy to slip past a crowd and sit on the same bench as she had, one long leg crossed over the other. 

“see, i think you best start with the victim’s background.” he began, his tone erring on fond  — for veneer or not, there was a fondness underlying each of his interactions with her. “what sinister proclivities might have attracted the killer’s attention?” 

“...i was wondering when i’d see you again.” astrid replied after a long moment. she only ever had theories about this man, about hugh — as he claimed to be named. there was too much in common with the person she was seeking, too much insight, too much talk, too much politics. she was the profiler, and this was what her career was built on — it had to be him, didn’t it? ( but no one listened, and all she was left with was comments from colleagues that he was just an enthusiastic podcaster or true crime buff — that if she was really worried to phone it into the department head and hope for the best. )

leaning back against the bench, her arms crossing over her chest — astrid merely watching. “it’s been what? six months since last time?” she paused “that i know about, of course. i’m not putting anything past you these days.” unlike those same colleagues who thought her own theories bullshit — astrid had never much bought into the theory that he was a cold-blooded killer, going after the defenceless and the righteous. no, there was too many holes in that theory for astrid to be comfortable with it — to accept the nice, neat little bows that the fbi wanted to tie it all up in. ( for she was aware, more than most, that crimes never managed to exist in black and white, nor did the world. everything was grey and muddy and gross — never as neat as you wanted or needed it to be. murder felt smack bang in the middle of that. this case maybe more than most. )