⸻ * / SNTSLUNAS

Everyone who knew the couple were well aware of how madly besotted they were with each other — their love was intoxicating, reminiscent of some of the greatest love stories of all time. They could never get enough of each other, unafraid to flaunt their pure happiness to those around them, much to the annoyance of their friends and family who were simply sick of having to witness the love fest day after day.

He wanted to fuck you. The statement seemed utterly outrageous to her, provoking her to furrow her brows, unable to prevent a scoff to escape her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just being nice!” Despite giving her colleague the benefit of the doubt and seeing his interactions with her as innocent, she had to take a moment in an attempt to analyse all recent encounters with the man. Perhaps Jon did have a desire for her, but she had clearly missed it; a fact that made her feel a little guilty for displaying such naivety. After all, she only had eyes for her husband — flirtation from anyone else simply didn’t register in her mind it seemed.

“And even if he did, he never will.” The brunette stated firmly as she tilted her head slightly to catch her husband’s gaze. “Don’t waste your energy on him. It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed hold of his hand, interlacing their fingers together before pressing a kiss against the skin. “I’m yours. Body and soul.”

It disappoints him. His entire life he has been teaching himself complete control ⸻ of his body, his emotions, his reactions. Ever since he ran away from the orphanage, Adrian hardly allows himself moments of uncontrollable anger. Yet, here he stands, fingers curling into his palm and digging deeper into his wife's waist, wishing to hump her like he is nothing more than a dog in rut. He hates Jon, and for a man who rarely hates people, it takes him by surprise. Makes him unpredictable.

"Does he knows that?" The man thought he could touch his wife. His woman. Adrian's. For that, Adrian should have his hand cut. "It matters to me," he admits through clenched teeth, sealed lips. He hates it does, and he wishes he could prevent it. Yet, it seems the more animalistic part of him has taken over. "I should take you home. Or to an empty room. Claim you. Make sure if he dares come near you again, all he will smell is me." His head drops to her shoulder, and he growls. "I hate him."

Swiftly, Adrian appeared by her side, hands gripped onto her waist and lips against her neck as she conversed with a colleague — a man a few months her junior who’d worked at the hospital just as long as she had… they’d always got along like a house on fire, a work bond that was purely platonic and professional, for Margot at least.

“Oh, forgive me, darling. This is Jon. We work together.” She replied sweetly, flashing her husband a smile, although, she noted the displeased look that lurked under his painfully fake smile.

It was clear that Jon picked up on the energy given off from the pther man, causing him to shift in his seat, the smirk that had previously sat upon his features morphing into a scowl.

Completely unsure of what was going on, the woman let out an uncomfortable chuckle, her gaze flickering back to Adrian. “I can’t believe I haven’t introduced the two of you before—“ Her words were then abruptly cut off by her coworker getting up from his seat and leaving. A move that was incredibly unexpected, for her at the very least. For someone who was known to sniff out anything that was hidden from her, but in this particular scenario? She was utterly clueless.

“Oh. Okay…” She began as she watched him disappear into the bar. “I don’t know what his problem was. I’m sorry, my love. He’s usually very nice. Funny too.”

"Jon, eh? You never told me about him." Useless prick. He isn't one to think so ill of people ⸻ especially a man he is sure has done nothing wrong, in the grand scheme of things. But flirting with his wife is a mortal offense in his eyes. Heresy. This was his Goddess, and only he can worship her. His fingers dig in the soft skin of her hips, uncaring for the man's abrupt leave.

Yet, he can't help but feel like he failed her. Or failed to truly understand her. The burden on her shoulders is not a fair one ⸻ Adrian hates he can't do anything about it. "Maybe," he says, masking his sadness with the usual joy he feels around the kids. "You should invite me over to your apartment, so I can meet that roommate of yours. Oh! I can teach you my mom's recipes too!" Please, let me be involved in your life.

She takes the glass he offers and smiles behind her mask. No alcohol, of course not, despite the fact that she's been of legal drinking age for two years and counting. Not that Jac has gotten tipsy more than a handful of times, but Adrian doesn't need to know that either.

"Thanks, Adrian. M'not hungry though," she tells him. She ate before the party, a habit she'd gotten into when she was younger, when anxiety made her constantly worry that she might not like any of the food. It seems silly now, but at the time, Jac thought it would be the most horrifying thing in the world. "But it's fun... I think? It's okay." It's probably about as good of praise as she'd give it, when she'd rather be at home reading or baking or doing any number of other things. "How about you? Have you danced with mother yet?"

Fixing up the bouquet of flowers she'd been working on as she put it in a pretty vase for show, she pulled a face clearly for Adrian to see. ''You won't scare me! Vampires don't exist, Adrian! Just like witches, no matter how much I'd like for them and for magic to be real, there's no such thing in the real world.'' It was why she read so many books, why she sought those happy fantasies in television and in her imagination.

Sarcasm coated her voice as she hit him with the; ''ha-ha, jy is so snaaks!'' at his pornography comment, which translated into 'ha-ha, you're so funny!' Taking the radio out now, the redhead liked to inform further on the matter, ''for the record, there's a...rather explicit store not far from the library where they sell such things! So I wouldn't need to go to a bookstore for that!'' Though explaining herself with a quick follow-up, ''....not that I would go to that store, not unless someone dumps very graphic stuff at our counter and thinks we would give that stuff out at the library.''

He rolls his eyes at the face. "They might exist, you don't know. If witches don't exist, who keeps stealing my one left sockets?"

Not Margot, he knows; witches have no desire for sockets with holes in them. But maybe it is magic that keeps making them disappear ⸻ or his own clumsiness. "You know, I found a porno book once in the library. Fifth shades of purple or something." He didn't read it, merely replaced it back on the shelves and continued to search for what he was looking for. It's still fun to tease her about it. "If they don't sell spicy books, then why are you so excited about this shop? It must be special, to get you talking about it."

He'd always chosen the closest bars to his house — usually the one that was packed and lively. The wolf loved to see people having fun and dancing, laughter filling up the space. Granted, with his condition, no one was safe around him, but he was already three tequila shots in — senses were beginning to dull. Lost a couple of real friends along the way, Matteo was hoping he'd find a few new ones, in the face of someone worthy of his trust.

Then he heard him on the phone. The bartender. He had a kid as well — probably older than Addie, but a kid was still a kid. Ten, fifteen or twenty years old — your child would forever be just a child to you.

"Kid giving you trouble?" dark eyes met the other man, shot glass meeting his lips, "Sorry — didn't mean to overhear — but I've been there, man."

"No matter how much they grow, they will always be your babies, right?"

Step children always felt wrong to him ⸻ the kids might not been his by blood, but they were his children nonetheless, were they not? To care for, make sure they are okay, to protect and love. Even the headaches are welcomed, honestly.

"My daughter can't figure out how her stove work, apparently." He has to fight the urge to drop everything and run to her apartment, cook an entire seven course meal for her. Instead, he throws his cloth over his shoulder, smiling. "Burned her ramen, if you can believe it. How old is yours, if you don't mind me asking?"

LOCATION — the feng-luna love shack.

On top of the usual work stresses, Margot’s blood pressure had truly been put to the test amidst the insanity that the witches attack caused amongst Port Leiry’s covens, along with the recent revelation amongst the townspeople about Jac’s powers. Truly, it had been a nightmare of a week.

Being the head of the Feng-Lindon coven, the brunt of it was up to her to deal with — it was nothing she hadn’t experienced in the past, but that didn’t lessen the tension it brought, not only to her and her coven, but the rest of the community.

The moment the dark haired woman returned home, a sigh of relief escaped her lips — ready to kick back and relax after such a gruelling day. Her husband was her remedy for times like that; he just had a way about him that a simple touch from him was capable of ridding her of any worry in the world.

Stepping out of the master bedroom and closing the door behind her, Margot pulled her baggy black sweatshirt over her head, the sound of keys jiggling in the door captured her attention — a signal that her husband (unless any of her children decided to make a surprise visit) had returned.

“Is that you, my darling?” She called out, her voice sounding almost melodic as she turned the corner into the living room, her eyes landing on her husband, her lips curving into a bright smile — the kind only he was able to provoke. “I was just wondering when you’d get home! I’ve been missing you all day.”

He knows the stress placed upon his wife's shoulders must feel like Sisyphus's boulder, Atlas's universe. He is unquestionably proud of Jac, despite the strain it causes on the family dynamic he has always been careful not to disturb ⸻ that's his baby girl, the light of his eyes. He wants her to be as powerful as her mother, just as respected, shine brighter than the sun.

But he is well aware of the dangers it presents, with the recent attacks worrying him out of his mind. His family was in the eye of the hurricane, and he couldn't do shit to protect them.

He knows his wife must be under a lot pressure, so he wishes to make something special for her tonight ⸻ freshly baked dinner, a huge bouquet of flowers, wine and scented candles. It took him longer than expected to gather it all, but when he finally enters his house, he can't help smiling as he throws his jacket in the closet. "That's me, my love. Sorry, the store ran late tonight. "

If possible, he beams even more when he catches a glimpse of the smile she saves only for him. He is a lucky man ⸻ to be chosen and loved by her. He vows to cherish and worship her every day for as long as she allows him to. It's why he presents her with the bouquet, assembled by him from his personal garden. "Flowers for my flower," he jokes, approaching her for a kiss.

''Looks like the weather's clearing up already, didn't I say so?'' she teased Adrian with a swift tap against his elbow, the twig of willow catkins she hit him with softened the blow. A 'told you so' kind of chuckle left her mouth before she shifted her gaze back to the flower bouquet she'd been in the process of putting together. The morning was still young, most of the stands weren't even occupied yet. She delicately cut the thorns off the roses, dusted some leaves in glitter and added some gorgeous dahlia's with gradient petals that went from rose to white to create some diversity. Wrapping the bouquet in store stamped paper, she added some golden colored curling ribbon for decoration. ''So - I heard there's a bookstore in town I haven't checked out before, it's not even that far from here, and it's open for most of the evening, I might just check it out tonight!''

His text was likely more a courtesy for himself, a warning for her. Kinder than outright asking if she had pants on at this point in the day, which was... not always a guarantee on days where she didn't have to open the arcade herself. Morgan would have expected that sort of direct talk from Adrian after all these years, but he'd been exceedingly gentle with her in the months since Bradley's passing.

She suspected he needed the gentleness too.

Morgan was grateful that of all the people who had drifted away from them over the years, Adrian never had. In fact, it was only a brief number of years between the Moss wedding and Port Leiry, and somehow in that time they'd all found themselves up in the Pacific Northwest together again. She loved Adrian, and loved how much he'd loved Brad -- even if sometimes she still couldn't tell if he was joking about the ass tattoo or not.

So she made herself presentable but not formally so -- it was Adrian, after all -- and let him in. He visited frequently, especially lately, where their shared grief settled over them like a weighted blanket -- comforting but oppressive all at once. Usually, Morgan would leave the door unlocked but... it didn't feel right today. Maybe she craved the company.

"Hey, Adrian. You're actually here at a great time. I bought this bread pudding yesterday I can't finish, if you want some."

But Felix was ripped from him much as his mom was, and no kind words were given to him about it either. He knows life isn't fair, knows kindness doesn't beget kindness ⸻ you are most likely to be burn, if you aren't made of sharps of broken glass.

But he still didn't expect Morgan, out of all the people, would have to go through this. He loves Bradley like a brother ⸻ often joked the man was his soulmate. Yet, his grief can't even compare to hers, and Adrian doesn't want her to go through painful loneliness that will turn her heart into a void. It's why he bakes the chocolate bread, why he buys her favorite food. The text is a mere courtesy ⸻ he has made a copy of their house key in case of emergencies.

But he knocks, and waits, and smiles when she opens the door. “Bread pudding?” He echoes, lifting the plate where a freshly loaf of bread is partially hidden by a cloth, chuckling. “Well, I brought you more food. Warm, fresh, delicious food. May I come in?”