#choicesjulychallenge

[luxurylives]

@julychoiceschallenge - Day One: Hello

Thank you @lildrawsart (@lil_drawsart on twitter) for drawing my MC and Robin from The Nanny Affair.

[missameliep]

Is This Love? - Part 2

Book: Desire and Decorum Summary: The sands of time do not stop trickling down, and Elizabeth is no longer a child. Mary reminds herself that being born poor and beautiful might be either a blessing or a curse, when she realises that love and lust will soon be a permanent part of her daughter’s life. Word count: ~3.200 words Notes: * Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The third from this chapter scene takes place at Chapter 3. * Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC; * English is not my first language;   * The series was inspired by an ask from my friend @princess-geek​​​ (I hope you enjoy it!).

This is my late submission to @julychoiceschallenge​​ - Day 14: Love.

Grovershire – May, 1808

This year’s harvest festival must be the greatest festivity since Mary moved to Grovershire. Even though the fields have not been blessed by favourable weather or an exceptional crop like previous years, the community got together these past months, supporting one another, and bravely enduring the intense frost and the arid weeks that followed. Once the worst is behind them, the townspeople found more than enough reasons to celebrate.

The sun was setting, and the square was brimming with people. A dancing crowd before the lively band with their graceful – and not so graceful – matching steps. Laughter and music filling the air, joining the inviting smell of baked goods and food displayed at numerous carts.

This evening, Mary helped her long-time friend Pavarti Daly with her cart filled with delicious pies, just like she did on previous years. While she served another piece of her friend’s famous walnut pie, she caught a glimpse of her twelve-year-old daughter standing beside the square fountain and smiled.

The green and beige summer dress, which was tailored using leftover fabrics from Mary’s creations for the townswomen, contrasted with the girl’s pale skin peppered with light freckles and hung a little loose over her lean childlike frame. Luckily, Mary ponders, it will fit her for the next two summers at least, if she doesn’t get tall as her father all of a sudden.

With every passing day, Elizabeth resembles less and less the image of the child from her mother’s memories. Soon, every trace of the infancy shall be gone, and the haunting likeness she shares with her father will grow even more evident. Ever since she was a baby, she already took too much after him, either on her looks, with the same dark brown hair, and on many other aspects. For instance, Mary enjoys reading and her attention can be captivated by a good story. Once upon a time her entire craft relied on her ability to become someone else entirely and bring stories to life. Nonetheless, Elizabeth’s fascination for books since she was a little girl is unlike hers. Her green eyes shone with the mere sight of an unread book, just like her father’s once did.

“Our little Lizzy is growing into a handsome young lass, my friend,” Mrs. Daly beamed, nudging her friend’s side. “Soon all the lads in the village shall be smitten and singing her praises outside your windows...”

Before Mary could say anything, her friend grabbed her arm and pointed. Their attention shifted to a group of teenage boys, standing a few metres away from her daughter. Mary recognized some of them as the sons of Grovershire’s richest families. Two of Mrs. Dunne’s boys were in the group, Francis, with his lavish caramel curls, and Sean, the youngest with his distinctive fiery red hair. The older boys stared at her daughter, wolfish smiles curling their mouths while her half-braided hair and skirts swayed while she mimicked the steps of the dancers.

“Oh! It seems she’s already caught their eyes!” Mrs. Daly corrected herself and did not try to stifle a chortle while they watched the scene like an act of a play.

Briar, who had returned to Elizabeth’s side, whispered into her ear and the two laughed, before walking with arms linked past the group of boys towards the fields, where the harvest games were held. Faces turned and eyes accompanied the pair of giggling girls distancing, then many pairs of feet marched towards the same direction.

Mary sighed, still looking at the place her daughter once was, contemplating the end of the act.

The fact that Elizabeth and her undeniable good-looks would eventually catch the eyes of the opposite sex was anticipated, and for years her mother has prepared herself and her daughter for that moment. Although, high-class young men taking an interest on the girl at such a young age and what they might feel entitled to considering their perception of her social status, that concerns her terribly.

A shiver ran down her spine. The most difficult conversations she shall engage with her daughter looming at the horizon.

Throughout the years, Mary witnessed – and experienced herself in a few occasions – how entitlement works and the way men relying on their wealthy and power hold their claims over poor women’s companies and favours, unapologetically reminding them that what is not given voluntarily, might be taken by force.

“That is the natural order of things, my dear.” Mary can still hear the male, low and ragged voice, uttering those words into her ear. At the occasion, she was only a few years older than her daughter, and unfortunately it wasn’t the last time similar ones were spoken to her.

At last, as if coming out of a trance, she turned around, facing the other woman.

“I am afraid both of our girls have, my friend,” she pointed out with an undeniable hint of melancholy, and her attention returned to the cart and to the people standing around. Plastering an insincere smile, she handed a piece of pie to a smiling Mrs. White, who thanked her and turned around to re-join the animated conversation with friends, oblivious to Mary’s concerns.

Mrs. Daly put the knife and plate down, and inched closer to examine her friend’s contemplative face. Worry creasing the space between her eyebrows and a sudden sadness clouding her eyes.

“You make it sound like a bad omen and I wonder why.”

“For a woman, being born beautiful and poor may be either a blessing or a curse,” Mary started, in a tone sufficient loud to not be muffled by the music and heard exclusively by her friend, “and one can never predict which way it shall go.”

Mary experienced both.

God willing Elizabeth would be more fortunate.

Grovershire – April, 1811

The sun was almost above their heads in that spring morning. The gentlest breeze blowing through the trees while a flock of birds presented their choreographed dance across the cloudless blue sky.

Up since before dawn, mother and daughter had fed the chickens, brought water from the well, watered the garden, gathered the vegetables and broken the fast, completing part of the tasks for the day. Now, side by side, they tended to the small garden surrounding their cottage.

Like every other springtime, what had been green only a few weeks ago, now has become colourful and vibrant. The flowers in bloom and their sweet fragrance filled Mary’s lung with pride and were counted amongst the most cherished accomplishments on the process of turning the ancient lifeless cottage into a home filled with happiness and love.

Focusing her gaze on the neat raised beds of herbs and vegetables, that soon will fill their steaming pots, she looked for signs of weeds and pests. Groaning, the woman plucked the roots of weeds growing next to the rosemarys, while her daughter stared with a quizzical expression.

“Mama,” Elizabeth called her softly, and Mary’s head tilted to face her. “Would you mind answering a question?”

“Of course not, my dear. Ask away.”

“It is... rather personal, I am afraid.”

Sensing the seriousness of the subject, Mary removed her hands from the dirty, sat on the balls of her bare feet, and indicated for her to continue.

“Did you and father fall in love right at first sight like the characters from the tales?”

Surprise rounded the woman’s lips and eyes and she drew in a sharp inhale.

“...You told me you loved each other very much, and it got me wondering...”

The corners of her mouth slowly curled up with reminiscences of love confessions uttered so long ago.

“Only your father,” she replied with a wistful smile. “Or so he used to say…”

“You didn’t?”

“Due to many circumstances, it took me a while longer to understand the nature of my feelings... However not that long, I must admit. Clearly Cupid’s arrows had stricken us both down.”

“Which circumstances?”

Mary paused and scratched one dirty palm. The actual worries that filled her mind at the time regarding the social abyss separating a young Viscount and an Opera singer or the fear of engaging into the kind of forbidden relationship that could only have a tragic ending like the many Operas she’s performed cannot be addressed.

“Unimportant and foolish concerns of a young lass, long buried under the sands of time.” A vague response to avoid follow-up questions.

Elizabeth tilted her head and pondered about the pieces of information received. Throwing some weeds at a basket, she dusted her hands off, cleaning them from dirt and small pieces of the roots.

“But how did you know?” she asked picking at the dirt beneath her fingernails. “That it was love, I mean.”

Mary rubbed the back of her hand on her forehead, wiping beads of sweat and removing a strand of blond hair stuck in front of her eye, and looked at her daughter with an amused expression. “Is it my imagination or has Cupid paid you a visit recently, Eliza?”

“Me? No, mama! I – Absolutely not!” Elizabeth's cheeks reddened and stumbling on words, she protested some more about the absurdity of her mother’s insinuation.

Raising her eyebrows at how vehemently her daughter wanted to deny it, she suspected that maybe some young lad has indeed caught her eye. However, if that was the case, it could be wiser to be patient for the moment and allow her strongminded daughter the opportunity to share the news whenever she felt ready.

Mary stifled a snicker, and apologised for teasing her so, but it was not enough for Elizabeth’s cheeks to return to its regular colour or to erase the vexed expression from her face.

“Tell me then, if you may, what stirred the sudden interest on the matter?”

“I was just curious, because I have been reading this book suggested by Mrs. Dunne and –”

“Ah! I should’ve known,” Mary interrupted with a knowing smirk. Anytime she started a new book, her mouth could not help but communicate the interrogations multiplying inside her mind. “And may I know what this book says that has you wondering about this particular subject?”

“It is not a specific fact, actually… Perhaps the contradictory notions... Most of the stories I have read this far insist the hero fell in love with the heroine at first sight. A glimpse of a handsome woman across a ballroom and that seals the gentleman’s fate. Which comes as an absurd notion, I think. Beauty being the exclusive aspect on which love is based seems utterly vain, do you not agree?” she inquired looking at her mother, who nodded, aware that love can at times be mistaken by desire and the urges of the flesh by young and inexperienced hearts. “While others – and this book particularly – glorify the use of reason at the moment of choosing the right man to wed, the necessity of taking under consideration the parents’ and the society’s good opinions, scrutinizing the possible suitor’s every possession to see if in the end he is a favourable match. It also seems very odd...”

Feigning scandal, Mary gasped, “Would my only daughter not want my advice?”

“I will never venture to even accept a courtship without first hearing your opinion, but…”

They shared a knowing smile.

“I have sensed a but…” the mother said, shaking her head slowly. Strong willed as her daughter is, undoubtedly, she would desire to take the reigns of her own life. “Care to explain what feels odd about this second notion? Being sensible before making a life changing decision such as marriage seems reasonable enough.”

“But should reason led when it comes to the matters of the heart? It also does not strike me as correct,” she paused and casted a glance at the chirping birds on the ground.

“Affection grows in spite of reason. That is a certainty.”

“It seems utterly odd that family or society’s opinions should matter the most, since I am the one who would wed and spend a lifetime with such a man...”

“Fortune, status and society’s opinions about a suitor are important to some…”

“Not to me,” Elizabeth stated with resolution. “A man who offers empty hands and a kind heart is preferable to one whose pockets are full of gold and the heart devoid of affection.”

“Indeed.”

The corners of Mary’s lips raised in a smirk. Another similarity bonding Elizabeth and her father. Vincent never failed to deliver a similar speech whenever she felt insecure of her low birth.

“One does not choose who to love…” Mary admitted, and her daughter’s attention focused on her. “A husband, on the other hand, that is a choice. A major one in my opinion.”

The teenager’s brows knitted together, while she pondered over those words. “Enough to one being forced to marry someone against their will?” she inquired but did not wait for a reply. “In this book they praise as a perfect son one who obliges to his family’s request and breaks an attachment to the woman he loves… He broke not only the engagement, but his own heart to obey… Is it not incredibly sad?”

Empathysing with the familiarity in this tale, Mary’s head bobbed in agreement. A lump on her throat kept her from speaking her mind for a long moment. The only conversations in the garden coming from the clucking chickens in the back.

“Then your heart may rest, since I promise to not meddle or force you into marrying someone you would not choose yourself,” Mary teased meeting Elizabeth’s gaze. “Though I suspect you had no reasons to worry about that...”

Elizabeth confirmed and they both chuckled, until Mary coughed a few times, face turning red.

“Mama,” she called softly, worry creasing her forehead, but she received a curt wave in return and when her mother finally managed to speak, she told her not to worry.

“You should visit Mrs. Clarke about that cough.”

“I will. When I find the time…”

After a little consideration, Elizabeth raised to her feet and went inside, returning a moment later with a jug and a cup. Sitting on the ground beside her mother, she watched her swallowing the water as if she had just come from the desert.

Mary thanked her and took the jug from Elizabeth’s hand to pour herself more water.

“I have one last question, if you don’t mind…” she said softly, a blush tinting her cheeks. “How does one know the feeling is actually love? What if my mind mistakes everything? I have only known the love I feel for you... and Briar and Mrs. Daly... I do not want to misinterpret if it happens –”

“When it happens,” Mary corrected her with a smile. “Love is not something easily described, though so many poets have tried... But you will know, trust me. The warm feeling inside… and the butterflies in your stomach… It shall not be mistaken by admiration or friendship. This person’s company, you will crave it like the air you breathe and, if you are fortunate enough, he will yearn yours as well…”

Mary closed her eyes for an instant, almost feeling the same fluttering in her heart just remembering those days of stolen kisses and longing. Then, her eyes reopened, and she concluded, “Some people acknowledge it very rapid…”

“Like father?”

“Exactly like your father. To others it can take time…” she replied and looked at her daughter fondly, enjoying the opportunity to revisit those memories. After so many years, speaking about the matter doesn’t feel like tearing open an old wound anymore. Actually, if she could, she would speak more often about it, afraid of forgetting everything with time. She still remembers his scent, but his voice – is it his or is it someone else the one she hears in her dreams?

“Though, I advise you to resist first impressions, they tend to be deceiving. Trust your instincts and search for honesty. Excessive flattery can be misleading…” With a smile, the woman proceeded listing advices and desirable qualities to search in a partner.

Raising her fingers, Elizabeth started speaking and counting, “In conclusion, I should trust my instincts, avoid flatterers, remember my social rank does not define me, love is a desirable thing and… And something about first impressions, possibly?” Failing to keep a straight face, she raised her shoulders and hands, holding her palms facing the sky. “Were violent passions good or bad?”

“Aren’t you impossible, daughter of mine?”

Bursting into laughter, Elizabeth asked, “How shall I remember all of that, mama? I fear I should have a paper and quill at hand to write the entire thing down!”

“You may always ask me, silly,” Mary replied, and they beamed fondly at each other. “Since I trust my recommendations are far better than any other you have read on those books.”

“Perhaps you should write your own book advising young and confused women searching for love and marriage...” Elizabeth suggested, and Mary snorted with laughter.

“Perhaps I will do just that. When I find the time.”

Edgewater – March, 1816

Elizabeth’s eyes were still marvelling at every little detail at the luxurious manor that welcomed her the previous day, from the furniture to the tall floral arrangements that invited spring inside, to the polite company and their fine dresses. Her ears could certainly get used to the music that Ms. Parsons’ long and skilled fingers create while pressing each ivory and ebony key.

If only she had the same skills... She would adore to let her fingers glide on the keyboard, producing sweet melody as well. However, a seamstress’ daughter is not taught how to play the pianoforte. Perhaps, an Earl daughter might have the chance.

Exhibiting her natural talent, Elizabeth sings the verses effortlessly and in perfect harmony with the woman playing. For the first time since her arrival, she feels like herself again. Memories from singing so many times with her mother along the years flood her mind, and she blinks away the emotions from her eyes and read the lyrics from the partiture.

Sitting by the pianoforte, Ms. Parson flashes a sincere smile, when they finish and their performance earns applauses and praises, especially Elizabeth’s voice, which have marvelled the trio of young women.

The only one who doesn’t seem content is the Countess, whose disgusted expression is not kept in secret.

Per usual, from her tongue fly unkind remarks.

Elizabeth cannot prevent her ears from listening her words, however she can and must succeed in training her own tongue to not speak harshly or out of time. The words she wishes to say are kept on her mind for now, and she does not respond the offenses.

From across the room, she casts a glance at the older woman, and contemplates if the pain of losing a loved son might have turned her into the spiteful creature who cannot tolerate her presence there, even if it brings joy to her father.

How can she be so cruel, knowing so well the unbearable pain of mourning someone we love?

When the pleasant conversation with Ms. Parsons is interrupted by the Countess, who urges her stepdaughter to return to the embroidery, in order to perfectionate the craft, she sighs at her companion and with resignation returns to the same place at the settee. Sitting beside the spot where the needle work was left moments ago.

Smoothing the skirts of the dress, fine fabric unlike anything she has laid eyes on, she catches bits of Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman’s conversation, their needlework forgotten on their respective laps.

The Countess did not conceal her annoyance at the exchange and the sound of her future daughter-in-law, stabbing the fabric harder than necessary.

“…and then I saw Mr. Sinclaire here at Edgewater yesterday!” Ms. Sutton concluded and her nasal voice ringed in the drawing room. 

“Again?” the other woman gasped.

Inadvertently, Elizabeth disclosed about being introduced to the gentleman by her grandmother and having him escort her in a tour of the gardens.

“How was it, Lady Elizabeth?”

“What were your impressions of him?”

“Tell us everything!” Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman spoke at the same time, staring at her expectantly.

Elizabeth chewed over their questions for a while and on her lower lip.

What were my first impressions?

[notworkingsposts]

Regret (Priya x MC)

Requested by @kennaxval for @choicesjulychallenge hosted by @kinda-iconic . This is the first time I’m writing for Priya but it was a lot of fun so thanks for the request friend.

Thanks @strangerofbraidwood for pre-reading. You are the best :D

NFSW, MEANING ANYONE UNDER 18 SHOULD NOT READ THIS. THIS MIGHT BE UPSETTING TO SOME READERS SO READ WITH CAUTION.

Tagging: @queerchoicesblog @kennaxval @strangerofbraidwood @crazypeanat @tornbetween2loves @politicallycorrectinnocentteen @brightpinkpeppercorn @standoutofthecrowd

Let me know if you want to be added or removed

Regret is a peculiar thing; you wouldn’t do that certain thing again, but does that mean you’re sorry it happened? Take a step outside of your “humanity” and think, really think about a “regret” - would you honestly be sorry? 

A toy is there to play with, to treat as you desire and to exercise your imagination. Some toys last forever, but other toys are fragile; they break so easily… urgh…way to easily. This afternoon, I broke one of my new favourite play things, do I regret it? Do I want to play again? Am I sorry? The events that took place are making me answer all of these ridiculous questions. Questions I buried deep, deep down a century ago. I’ll warn you now, this story is not for the faint hearted, look away now if you have a fragile human stomach, this does not have a happy ending. Or does it? I guess it depends on what kind of person YOU are. This is Priya Lacroix bitches and this is MY story…

It was a glorious day in New York City or so I heard. I was busy, knee deep in 4 of my house boys AND 5 young hungry sorority girls who were competing to be my next muse. I guess it was a glorious day! The party had just begun, I quite like to see what each individual has to bring to the table. My dress was hitched up as I sat in my thrown, one by one each participant pleasured me. The last house boy was a eager fellow, offering his neck while he fucked me. I couldn’t help but bury my fangs deep, ripping in to his artery. His blood soaked my white dress, the smell of blood everywhere was intoxicating and I wanted more. His sheer determination was marvellous as he carried on thrusting deeper and deeper. I heard a knock at the door which was startling as I was not expecting a guest. And NO ONE turns up to the mansion without an invite. Well I was busy so as expected, a house boy was sent (obviously, when do I ever get the door). I was angry with the unexpected interference, which made me buck a little too hard, breaking the poor boys manhood. He had lost too much blood anyway and what good is a man without his dick?  Regardless, we carried on and as the door opened to reveal Adrian’s doe-eyed assistant, I opened another artery soaking myself further; the walls, floors and other participants were also covered. I drank the last of his sweet blood and threw him across the room. His body crunched against the wall, every bone breaking with a “sickening” thud but Amy just stood there staring. I saw fear, but I could also sense hunger and want. Why the fuck did she not run? Such a delicious but idiotic creature. This is where the game started! I looked straight at her, wiping the blood away from my lips seductively. I didn’t want to say a word until she atleast moved or rambled. This was a game of chicken between prey and predator.Finally, she began to speak, but it sounded like a mixture of squawking sounds until she found the balls to ask me to move the discussion elsewhere. I didn’t make it easy, but I granted her wish and escorted her to the living room while I showered. Sadly, she didn’t want to help me clean up…

My mortal friends this is far from over, the best/worst is yet to come. You are fabulous for making it this far, but I’m not surprised. No one can resist Priya Lacroix!

————

Since the day I met Amy, I wanted her to be mine, my toy, my muse. Her beauty was intoxicating, there was something different about her and my body ached to fuck her. No matter what she saw of me, it seemed like the same thing was happening to her. I’ve been around for some time, it’s easy to figure out when someone wants me, but wanting me is dangerous. Whatevs, no point beating around the bush, lets get to it… 

Amy didn’t notice that I had entered the room. I took a moment to admire her perfectly arched back, her plump arse which was begging to be licked. She still hadn’t noticed me, and of course that pissed me off. I rushed behind her, digging my fingernails quite hard in to her hips, letting my breath ghost over her neck. I could hear her heart beating faster, see her skin flushing - she liked the pain as well as the closeness. Difficult as ever, she pulled away and rambled on about some nonsense regarding the council. This was the first time she visited without Adrian or the old bag; it was now or never. Amy had said yes in the past but those two spoil sports ruined it. I ran my nails up her thigh, but she didn’t stop me. I carried on going higher, until I saw fear again. I might not have a good track record with my sexual partners but  it has to be consensual. She was all to eager to say yes; I wanted to make her wait, I wanted to play with my toy properly. 

———

Urgh, so I guess I will have to explain the game I proposed for the next part to make sense. Hide and Seek was the game, of course with a few tailored changes. Every time Amy found me, she was allowed to take a piece of clothing, as well as being able to do anything to the newly exposed body part. The same rules applied to me, apart from one; I was also allowed to bite her (my mansion, my rules) BUT she could only be healed by the house boys who were tactically placed.

Before the game began, mamma needed some sugar. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against my body, I kissed her hard; using my body to grind on hers as I licked her lips and grazed them with my fangs. Her hands made her way through my hair, gently tugging, then they moved down my back; she scraped her nails down. I could already smell her desire and it was absolutely delightful. Not gonna lie, the kiss was damn hot and I was just as dazed as Amy. Obviously, I couldn’t show that side of me, so I left after giving her a hard spank. I knew for a fact there was a solid red handprint there, ready for me to admire later.  

Amy eventually found me laying by the pool. She was nervous as she approached, she didn’t say a word but her eyes were already hooded. She kneeled down, taking my shoes off slowly as she gazed up at me. She already tried to cheat by grazing her fingers up my legs, moving to take my dress off. I stopped her with a foot, placed between her full breast; she smiled sheepishly and moved back down. Mmmm, just thinking about how she took each toe in to her mouth and sucked is turning me on right now. She finished with licking the soles of each and with a kiss at each ankle. 

Now, this is where it gets interesting folks. I found Amy in my dance studio, trying yet failing to hide behind a speaker. I couldn’t help but laugh at how…”adorable” she looked. I took her from behind, which earned a throaty gasp. I kissed her neck with fervour, biting here and there as I ran my hands up her thighs to the hem of her dress. To my delight, she didn’t have a bra on. After removing the dress I pulled her closer, my breast were pressed against her back. Her breathing grew heavier as my hands glided up her flat stomach, she arched back in to me as I took each peak and squeezed. I turned her around and threw her up against the large mirror; a slight crack had formed from impact but she seemed to enjoy it.  As I massaged her breasts, she straddled me and her head fell back in pleasure. My tongue trailed a line from her neck, all the way down to her erect nipple. Taking her in my mouth, I sucked and licked until she let out a guttural moan. I was as turned on as her, but the game had just begun. Without warning, I pushed her off me, held her against the mirror while I buried my fangs deep in to her throat. OH.MY.GOD, I was so right - she was delicious. I fed more and as I pulled a way, blood began to spray everywhere. With a smirk, I left so she could find a house boy. Of course, out ofintrigue I looked over my shoulder to track her progress; she was moving but she was weak. I knew their was a house boy close by, so the game was still on…

20 LONG minutes later, she found me resting against my four poster bed. Amy was healed but the hunger in her eyes had grown in intensity; the nerves had gone. She practically ran over to me, kissing me passionately. She struggled to get my dress off so I tore it off my own body. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of me without any underwear on. Pace was thrown out the window as she fell to her knees and buried her face in my wet centre. She licked deep, sliding her tongue up and down in long strokes. This was fire, but the throbbing was getting intense. I grabbed a hand full of her hair, pulling hard. As our eyes met, I demanded her to suck. Amy was extremely obedient (such a good toy) and dived back in; sucking while she thrusted three fingers in and out, twisting and curling as my moans filled the room. We both agreed that the game was over, however, everything was still on the table. 

I lifted her with ease from the floor and threw her on to the bed; shredding any clothes that were left. Amy tried to move but I held her down by the throat with a tight grip and began riding her hard. I bent down to take a bite out of her neck. Blood spraying everywhere, but the pleasure seemed to grow more for Amy so I continued. I lost myself completely, the room filling with both of our screams of pure ecstasy. There was no stopping me now; the sheets were covered in blood and her eyes grew weaker, at that moment I didn’t care. I place heated kisses all the way down to her thighs. Biting again, not realising I went event deeper than her neck. I moved between her legs, smelling her desire as I went nose first in to her soaked centre, her moans filled the room as I began working my tongue and fingers inside her. The bucking got more insistent, until I took another bite from the other thigh. Her movements slowed…her moans grew softer…then…silence… 

This had happened more than a handful of times with other lovers, but I wouldn’t care. My house boys would take care of it. I felt something different, my stomach sank and I panicked! I have not felt this kind of emotion in years and without thinking I called Kamilah. She arrived within minutes, looking around the room in disgust. Her exact words were “It looks like 10 people got murdered in here Priya. What the hell were you thinking?”. 

With that she left with Amy draped across her arms… lifeless. Now here I am, questioning how I have lived for the last century. Why does some assistant have this hold on me? Do I go to help Kamilah? Do I stay? What is this feeling?

Regret is a peculiar thing; you wouldn’t do that certain thing again, but does that mean you’re sorry it happened? Take a step outside of your “humanity” and think, really think about a “regret” - would you honestly be sorry? 

I think this is the part where I say…yes. 

[domesticatedantelope]

early to bed

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: M

Word Count: 699

Summary: The late night one. Short and sweet for July Choices Challenge. Prompt: Love ❤️

For @brightpinkpeppercorn and @choicesarehard in particular. Love is a good prompt to express mine for the both of you  ❤️

@desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @client-327 @navigatorholmes @sibella-plays-choices @lovehugsandcandy @dr-casey-lahela  @choicesjulychallenge @kinda-iconic

Sometimes love is rituals.

The sleepy kisses Logan tucks against her cheek before she slips from the sheets of their bed in the morning.

The coffee she leaves brewing in the pot before she leaves, dark roast and strong enough to tempt him out of bed behind her.

The lunch breaks, Tuesdays and Thursdays, when Mercy has two hours free between her classes, and they steal that precious time for something reckless: joyrides in Logan’s car that lead to tumbles in the backseat that lead to Mercy rushing into her next class with mussed hair and blushing cheeks and seconds to spare.

The weekends they sleep in, and wake in phases just to chart the passing of the time by the growing glow of sunlight and the soft peaks of lazy orgasms that Logan teases so easily from her body, one after another and another. 

And every night, when Mercy steps out from the shower with her hair toweled up tight into a coil and her skin still wet and dewy with steam, and Logan prowls closer like clockwork, like the sight of her all fresh and clean and soft is some black magic spell that he is helpless to resist. 

She bites down on a smile as he hovers, dropping his mouth to the bare span of her shoulders, the slim column of her neck, kissing beads of water from her skin. “Need some help with that?”

“Hmmm.” She plays coyly at deliberation, batting dark lashes as she considers. “I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

Logan tips her head up, and amusement dances in his gaze when he grins that heartstopping smile at her. “There’s not a single thing about you that could inconvenience me, troublemaker.”

Damn it, he’s good at that. Cheeks tinting pink, Mercy concedes and reaches up to free her hair from the damp constriction of her towel, and heavy waves of shower-darkened tresses scatter down around her shoulders. 

Sitting on the edge of their bed with one hand curled around the handle of a hairbrush - his, and one of the nice ones - Logan pats the space between his knees and flashes her an easy grin. She perches with the warmth of his body at her back, and he starts to gather the damp strands of her hair in expert hands. His touch is slow and thorough and devout, rough fingers maneuvered with the utmost softness through her hair, working the bristles of his brush gingerly through every knot and tangle he can find.

Her breathing slows, eyes slipping shut as she melts under each devoted stroke of Logan’s brush over her scalp. He works in comfortable silence until the dark waves of her hair all waterfall like silk over his fingers, then for a while longer, seemingly savoring how smoothly the brush trickles through them.

She feels his fingers parting out the dampened masses of her hair, the gentlest of tugs as he begins to wind them into plaits. It never takes him long to braid her hair, but she wishes it would last forever, the calloused pads of his fingertips that tickle the back of her neck, his breath soft against her skin, and that knowing, reverent touch around her hair, like the endless waves of tresses could be holy relics in his hands.

When he’s woven every last strand into place, he lets the braid hang down between her shoulder blades, running his fingers lovingly over the ridge of each pleat. Then he smoothes it gently aside, exposing the skin of her shoulder to his wandering mouth, and the heat in the tips of his fingers as they sketch gently up her spine, and they fall into the familiar first steps of her very favorite ritual, when their hearts beat in sync and she can feel him everywhere.

In the morning, Mercy unwinds all of Logan’s delicate work and frees her hair into a halo of dark curls that frame her face, and every time she catches her reflection she will think about his fingers running through her hair, his lips against her skin. She will think that sometimes love is kisses, is joyrides, is braiding and unbraiding, and she could make a lifetime out of them.

[omgjasminesimone]

Benihana’s

A Colt Ficlet

Author’s Note: For RoD appreciation week, I’ve decided to write drabbles/ficlets with the theme of things you didn’t know about the MPC crew. And this one works for @choicesjulychallenge too! Prompt is secrets. 

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 445

Summary: Colt loves Benihana’s

Colt knows he shouldn’t love Benihana’s so much. It’s Americanized Japanese food, completely inauthentic. When his grandmother was still alive, she would make him ramen from scratch. Colt ate it with chopsticks. That was real Japanese food, and it was delicious.

Now her precious Japanese grandson regularly goes to Benihana’s, where he eats with a fork. Obaasan is probably rolling in her grave.

His inexplicable love for Benihana’s must be kept secret, because it’s embarrassing. The food isn’t even that good, but he loves it anyway. To hide his shame, he always goes alone. Luckily, being alone at Benihana’s is fine because the tables are shared so no one looks at him funny like they do when he goes to Dave and Buster’s alone. 

But then Benihana’s had the gall to change the terms of the $30 free food birthday offer. Once upon a time, you could go alone. Now, you have to bring someone else to buy an adult entree in order to get your free birthday food.

It’s not hard for Colt to decide the only person he could possibly ask is Ellie. She’ll still mock him, of course, but her ribbing will be less brutal than he can expect from any (other? Is she really one of them now?) MPC member.

Her nose scrunches when he asks. “Benihana’s? Is that still a thing? I haven’t been since Ingrid’s 5th grade birthday party. You know, back when you had to invite the whole class to your birthday.”

“Benihana’s is definitely still a thing.” Colt replies defensively. “Come on, it’s for my birthday.” He pleads.

“I already got you a birthday present though, so now you’re asking for double presents.”

“Then return the other present. I want Benihana’s.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? My present is also edible...” She walks closer to him, invading his personal space. “And risqué.” She whispers in his ear. Then, she not so gently nibbles on his earlobe.

Is she trying to tell him her present is edible lingerie he gets to eat off her? That’s appealing. He grips her hips, kneading the flesh there as she starts peppering kisses down his neck. Very appealing. He has to double check he’s not reading this wrong though before he gives up his precious Benihana’s.

“What exactly is my present?” He asks.

She loops her arms around his neck, kissing along his jawline as she answers. “It’s a secret.”

He continues to mull it over.

Ellie pulls away and sees how intensely Colt is thinking on it. “Oh my God Colt, I was kidding. Of course I’ll go to Benihana’s with you. And afterwards....you still get your other present.”

Tags: @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @choicesarehard​ @client-327​ @queenkaneko​​ @desiree-0816​ @kinda-iconic @poeticscolt

[queerchoicesblog]

Second Chances (OH, Harper x F!MC)

My @choicesjulychallenge (hosted by our lovely British beanie @kinda-iconic) officially starts with an Open Heart fic about one of my fave characters that I hope will get more screen time during book 2 that is to say Dr. Harper Emery. As I mentioned before, even though the Harper x F!MC is a slow-burn and here it's basically just implied, I decided to tag it with the pairing so that you know what to expect. Also, a special thank to @emeryharper for beta reading this & brainstorming with me and @brightpinkpeppercorn: my friend, our convos definitely fueled my imagination for this fic!

In short, after the hearing and the argument with Aurora, Harper reflects on her life choices on Edenbrook’s rooftop out of prying eyes. But after a while, Dr. Valentine finds her and eventually say a few magic words that will encourage Harper to take the decision we were all waiting for: going back to her previous post. I feel it would have been a nice addition to the final chapter: hope you enjoy it! 🙌🏻

Prompt: Regrets

Word Count: 2126

Disclaimer: mentions to racism & misogyny; also this fic was inspired by Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine, in case you haven't noticed already xD

Perma Tag: @brightpinkpeppercorn @melodyofgraves @bhavf @abunchofbadchoices @silverhawkenzie @begging-for-kamilah @kennaxval @strangerofbraidwood @crazypeanat @desiree-0816

Open Heart Tag: @korrasamixfan @bubblygothzombie @emeryharper 

If you like this, please consider a like, comment, and/or reblog.

__________________________

Regrets collect like old friends here to relieve your darkest moments

A gust of wind blew over Harper's face, drying a tear at the corner of her eye. As soon she marched off the hearing room, she made a beeline to the elevator and reached Edenbrook hospital's rooftop. She needed air, she needed space. That's why she didn't head to her office: she needed a place to hide, even just for a moment. And she didn't want anyone to see her like that.

God, what a hell of a morning. Aurora's words still echoed in her head. Ever since I got here, you've used me to feel like you're still practicing. No? Tell me how you don't miss being a surgeon. How much you love paperwork and kissing up to scumbags like Declan Nash!

And then there was Valentine's speech. The fear and the determination waltzing in her dark eyes. She reminded Harper her younger self: she was so headstrong and fierce too, so filled with that idealism that almost brought to best intern Edenbrook had in ages to lose everything. She came impossibly close to her ruin. And yet she stood there, facing the Committee, not flinching even when Mr. Martinez moved closer.

Harper envied that courage, that brave foolishness for a moment. The fire burning in Dr. Valentine's eyes when she asked her to call that hearing. Harper knew that fire too. Once. No, not so long ago yet...the truth was that she missed its warmth.

What was left of herself? Of that young woman who beamed in front of the mirror putting on her brand new scrubs? The scrubs she worked so hard to wear. Harper looked down at her elegant blue dress under the white coat, her heels. She once used to joke with her college friends that working in a hospital was tough but at least you don't have to wear heels all the time like in most jobs. Joke's on me I guess, she thought, grimacing and looking back to the horizon as if to bury that unpleasant realization.  What has become of me?

Life happened. Seven years of residency happened. For half of them as soon she was walked into the operating room she was welcomed with "oh it's you today? Oh boy, you'll cut yourself sooner than you cut the patient" or  at times even "you sure you didn't get lost, sugar?". Harper brushed the comments off and worked twice as hard to earn the respect she deserved. But she soon discovered that there were other things medical school didn't prepare her for. Rumors that she had her residency only due to her mother's prestigious name in the field or "so that the hospital can say they support diversity: maybe they will put her face on the ads so they can tell they hire Blacks". Patients refusing to be operated by "a brown doctor". Trying to make them reason as politely as you can but being forced to give up when the Head of the department intervenes and assigns the case to a colleague when the patient doesn't flinch. She took his place in the end, becoming the youngest Head of neurosurgery in the history of Massachusetts. It had been a wild triumphal ride since her first day as an intern: she never stopped nor flinched and...eventully it took a toll on her.

Before she could process it, she was at the verge of her career and watched closely by anyone. She was in command finally but life can hardly be under control. With power came responsibilities as well as the most desperate cases. "We're in your hands, Emery". "Dr. Emery we have a red code". And she did everything she could, even more. But sometimes even if you do "whatever it takes", it's still not enough and you have to call the time of death. So, as time went by, she walked out the O. R. emotionally drained, aching both physically and inside, to tell the bad news to a newlywed woman, to parents and sons worried sick for the beloved one they trusted her to save. Their tears and pain tore her apart too. Why couldn't she do best? That was not enough. Once the mother of a young boy, overcome by grief, yelled in her face that she killed her Asim: "Why are you even Head if you let people die? And you're even one of us?! My boy did nothing wrong, he wasn't even driving the car and you....he would have turned 21 in a month and it's your fault if he...you were supposed to save him! That's what doctors do, they don't kill people! What do I do now without my Asim? What do I do now?". Security had to intervene and drag her away but the woman's angry words of inconsolable grief had already cut Harper open.

That night she stopped in front of a liquor store. It took all her remaining strength to pick her phone and select a number with shaking hands as she was standing a couple of steps away from the door. "Naveen, it's Harper. You said I could call you earlier and...if I send you an address can you pick me? I hate to ask you that but...yes, I'll-ll take a seat and wait, I just could use a friend tonight". They talked for hours over the giant ice-cream Naveen bought her. "Ice-cream is better for wounds and tastier" he explained, handing her a spoon "...or so my niece said when she was little. She's no doctor, but she's a Michelin-starred chef now so she must know a thing or two, right?".

One week later Harper threw her hat in the ring for the position of Chief of Medicine.

Needless to say, she started regretting her decision very soon. She wasn't born for being behind a desk, "but sometimes you have to allow yourself to breathe. You know, like a normal person" Naveen commented, shaking her hand on her first day as an administrator.

Nonetheless, she took the new post seriously and did her job at the hearing: she spoke in Valentine's defense as much as she was allowed to, she voted nay. She finally told that scumbag of Declan off for good. But...Aurora was right. And she could hardly feel relieved for the positive outcome of the hearing.

Harper sighed and gazed off into the horizon, lost in her own train of thoughts.

Then, out of the blue, someone cleared their throat a few steps behind her.

"Dr. Emery?"

Harper didn't turn but recognized the voice.

"Valentine?"

Meredith tentatively walked closer to her side.

"I...I wanted to thank you"

"Thank me?" Harper asked, visibly surprised even if she tried to conceal it.

"Yes, for allowing me this hearing. And for speaking in my defense"

Harper winced still caught in her own thoughts.

"I only stated facts. You did a good job that night, you deserved credit for it. No need to thank me"

"You could have said nothing after all the trouble I caused to the hospital. To everyone. To you with the lawsuit and all. Yet you helped me dodge that bullet. So yes, I need to thank you, Dr. Emery"

Harper smiled grimly to herself and nodded to signal that she acknowledged it. She was too tired and emotionally drained to formulate an answer.

Silence settled between them as the two of them looked at Boston's skyline at the horizon. Dr. Emery sighed deeply, inhaling the cool air of the morning. Yes, she needed to breathe. Even if her soul could found no peace at the thought of everything that happened that morning. Teresa would have loved the show though. That last thought would have made her smile, even laugh under other circumstances but now she winced instead.

It was weird though: she was still looking away yet she could feel Valentine's concerned gaze on her, like a hand reassuringly stroking her back. The intern kept quiet and Harper was secretly grateful of the respect the young doctor showed for her need of space and silence. Just the gusts of winds cradling her forlorn thoughts.

Dr. Valentine...what a hurricane she had been at Edenbrook. Harper had noticed her from afar. So headstrong, so dedicated, so empathic. You could tell by the look in her eyes when a patient addressed her: even during the E. R. emergency she took time to calm down both patients and staff so that they could catch a breath and regain confidence. Even Rory. She had this leading skill out of instinct: delegate, motivate and work hard. Harper could have sworn that at that very moment with gurneys crowding the hall filled with bleeding and scared patients, Valentine felt the floor crumbling behind her feet...but she did her best to appear as calm as possible. Even now she was a calming presence, standing quietly at her side. However, the Chief couldn't help but considered that by this time the scenario could have been totally different. If it wasn't for Mr. Martinez and Naveen, Valentine could have been gone. And she couldn't have saved her, just like Asim. God, I'm even useless as Chief, she mentally noted to herself.

A bunch of words slipped out of her, as if Harper was speaking to herself, before she could stop them.

"It was too close, Valentine. Too close"

Since they fell into a pained silence, she added a thought that had kept troubling her since Meredith asked her to call the hearing.

"We could have lost you"

This last sentence came out as barely a whisper.

"I know now" Meredith commented grimly.

The weight of what happened must have sunk in, Harper thought, noticing how little glee and relief were in Valentine's voice.

After a moment the young doctor's phone beeped. Meredith checked it and sighed. She reluctantly let go of the railing and took a step back.

"Thanks for giving me a second chance: I promise you to grow from this. I have learned my lesson, I think"

Harper nodded again. It was still too painful to talk.

She heard the sound of the footsteps of Meredith walking back to the stairs. After the door opened, her voice came to her once more.

"Oh and Dr. Emery, if I may" Meredith started saying but immediately took a pause as if to choose carefully her next words.

"I'm not the only one getting a second chance today. Please consider this when going through what's...troubling you"

A second chance...

Harper turned as the swinging of the metallic door echoed behind her. Dr. Valentine was nowhere to be found.

A second chance, Harper repeated to herself. It sounded like a prayer, the line of a song filled with hope and promises of a better future.

Valentine was...right. She didn't have to be held down by her demons. She could fight back and stood fearless and victorious in front of them. Just like Valentine showed her. A memory suddenly hit her. When her first supervisor asked her if she was sure she had what it took to be a surgeon, a neurosurgeon, her younger self, head high and determination written all over her face, looked at him right in the eye and answered:

"Would I be here otherwise? You may try to taunt me as you wish, Sir, but I'm not going anywhere. I worked hard for this and I'm here to stay. And, in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm born to fight"

Harper smiled to herself reminiscing that episode. That day a doctor nearby accidentally eavesdropped the conversation while filling some papers. He looked up and asked her name. He gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing down a corridor nearby. The same day he requested that she assisted him in an operation. That's how she met her mentor. The wise man who taught her how to be the best neurosurgeon she could be and...to save herself first.

What he didn't teach her was to be a quitter.

She was not a quitter.

I'm born to fight, Harper repeated to herself. And I will.  I may have lost a battle but the victory, oh the victory is mine.

This is my last day as a Chief.

Harper threw one last look to the Boston skyline and straightened her coat. She knew what to do now. She needed to find Naveen. And Aurora.

And I've been a fool, and I've been blind I could never leave the past behind I can see no way, I can see no way I'm always dragging that horse around Our love is pastured to a mournful sound Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground I like to keep my issues strong It's always darkest before the dawn

[ladykateofledfordpark]

All Kinds of Magic (Jaime x MC, Beckett x MC)

This fic is inspired by the Day 4 prompt of the Choices July Challenge, hosted by @kinda-iconic under the profile @choicesjulychallenge!

I really felt like writing a crossover, so here it is! =D

This is my first draft. I planned in rewriting it but then life got in the way and apparently that's not gonna happen anytime soon. So for now you get to enjoy this draft! XD

Dedicated to @mariaoz, @itsbrindleybinch for the Jaime and @jlpplays1 for the Beckett. ;)

Tagging also the amazing @desiree-0816 and @flyawayboo! Thank you for all your support! =D

Day 4: Independence Day

Pairings: Beckett x F!MC (Kate)- TE, Jaime x MC (Charlotte)- WT

Summary: Kate takes Beckett out for the annual 4th of July party, where she meets someone a bit unusual.

-------

It's summer vacation, and here I am. It feels so surreal being back home, but the rush of nostalgia is the best experience I could wish for.

Atlas has already seen it, of course. Last summer, before we left for our "Attunless adventures", as Atlas called them, she got to meet my parents once again. Of course,e they accepted her, offering to let her stay with us for as long as she needed. Atlas still didn't really answer their question, but the fact that she's back here says only good.

A warm hand encases mine, and I smile as I meet familiar gray eyes. Beckett returns my smile, squeezing my hand, as we watch the festivities of our little town.

"So is this how Attuneless celebrate Independence Day?" He asks. His gaze sweeps the scene eagerly, taking in all the colorful decorations. Couples dance under colorful strings of lights, their laughter mingling with the chatter of the other locals. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza and anything else one can imagine sit at a table, surrounded by middle-aged people catching up on the newest gossip. Music wafts from the DJ stand, making my heart lighter than air.

This party may not be as much of a big deal as Attuned events, but something about this simplicity is beautiful.

"The music... where is it coming from?" Beckett asks, confusion etched on his face.

I laugh as I point toward the DJ booth, the speakers blasting cheerful music. Beckett opens his mouth in question, but I don't let him finish. Instead, I pull him with me to the dance floor, ignoring his objections. "Come on, let's dance."

Beckett sighs. We're already in the middle of the dance floor, so both of us know there's no other way out. "Fine, Kate. If you insist."

A slow song starts to play, and Beckett hesitantly puts his arms around me. His shoulders relax a bit, a slightly relieved smile on his face. At least this dance isn't as unfamiliar.

"You know, I'm glad you're here. I thought you wouldn't come."

Beckett doesn't answer immediately. He scans his surroundings, his hands still tense. Only once he stops checking every move he makes, Beckett meets my gaze. His hand gently cups my cheek, and his eyes sparkle in the weak light from above. "Of course I would come, Kate. Seeing this world, your world is an experience I could never give up on."

"Really?"

Beckett hesitates. "Of course, the undue pressure of meeting your parents was a disadvantage, but the potential of learning... I could never give up on that."

I bite my lips. "Is that the only reason?"

Beckett blushes. "O-of course not."

We continue dancing silently. The music is soothing, its melody caressing us in a beautiful cocoon. I glance at the night sky and smile at its beauty. I may be a Sun-Att, but something about night always called out to me.

My gaze absentmindedly drifts to another couple. It's a boy and a girl, not much older than us, dancing with all the familiarity of an old married couple. The boy whispers something to the girl, his chocolate colored eyes shining with pure happiness, and the girl lets out a laugh. From the back, I can only see her hair, which gradually changes from brown to blonde. She's dressed in a simple floral dress as if that guy is someone she will always feel comfortable around.

"I can't believe this is our first Fourth of July as a couple." The girl says.

The boy smiles as he cups her cheek. "I still can't believe that you said yes."

She tightens her hold on his neck, her voice raw with emotion. "Of course, Jaime. Always."

He touches his forehead to hers. Something passes between them before she shakes her head. "Say it."

Jaime chuckles. "I love you, Charlotte. More than anything in the world. And I'll always be there for you, no matter what."

Charlotte presses a simple kiss to his lips. "I love you too." She says in a shaking voice.

Once again I meet Beckett's gaze, and I'm shocked when I see him looking at me in the utmost affection. "Kate, you know you're the most beautiful girl in the world, right?"

I smirk. "Is that a fact?"

"Maybe."

Beckett's smile is small and adoring. His thumb gently traces my cheek and I close my eyes. This moment is perfect, and I wouldn't give it up for the world.

The night ends quickly. Beckett excuses himself to go do some research on the DJ station, leaving me alone. I stand as I wait patiently for him to return when a familiar girl walks up to me.

"Hi, Kate."

I jump and immediately meet familiar green eyes. They're identical to mine, almost as if we share the same blood. How have I never met this girl?

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe we're cousins?" Before I can comprehend how she knew my question, she carries on. "Keep that guy," she points in the direction Beckett went, a knowing smile on her face. "He's a catch, and he truly cares for you."

I gape at her. "But... how do you know?"

Charlotte winks. "There are all kinds of magic, you know. Not just the one you know of."

Her eyes land on Jaime, who gives her a sly wink. "And let's just say, I know true love when I see it."

And before I can protest, she walks off: a million-dollar smile to her face and her head held high.

I sigh. What was that all about?

[bobasheebaby]

Unwanted Guest- Lucky Number 7?: Crimson Rain 12

Pairing: Bastien x Liza; Olivia Nevrakis; Frank Moore (OC)

Written for @kinda-iconic @choicesjulychallenge Choices July Challenge

Word count: 1,098

Warnings: Angst

Summary: When the last person Liza wants to see shows up will they be able to put their past behind them or are things too broken to mend?

A/N: @darley1101 asked for the Bitterness prompt from @kinda-iconic Choices July Challenge for Liza x Bastien with Liza’s father. This is what the muse did with it, there will be a follow-up to this mess. This takes place on Mischief Night or October 30th. (It matters!)

Series warnings: talks of pregnancy loss, fear of pregnancy loss, anxiety, depression. Set within Crimson Rain but pulling the major pregnancy drama from the main series. All the fluff and angst with minimal mobster drama.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

“I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold your god damn horses!” Liza shouted as she waddled to the front door. “Usually the house is full of people but no, not today, where the fuck is everyone?!” She muttered under her breath. She paused to catch her breath before throwing the door open, her jaw dropping slightly when she saw the familiar tall muscular frame, although his hair was much greyer than she remembered, having successfully shoved the last few interactions with him from her mind. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tensing as she spoke, the words dripping with disdain. “What did I do to deserve the pleasure of your visit?”

The older man straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “I heard what I thought had to be a rumor since you left, looks like it’s true.” He sighed shaking his head. “You couldn’t just see him for the bad news he was and get out could you?”

Liza felt the rage rise in her as she fought back hormone triggered tears of anger. “Listen up dad, because I only intend to say this once. You don’t get a say in my life anymore, you haven’t had a say in a damn long time. I obviously didn’t want you to know how happy I am because I knew you’d only try to tell me I made a mistake.” She paused taking a breath. “Only I’m not the one who made the mistake ten years ago, you are. You are the one who discounted a damn good man based on his profession and tried to deem him unworthy of me.” She paused, grimace spreading across her face as a sharp pain spread across her abdomen. No not now. Where the hell are they? “Then you chose to come here not because you missed me and regretted discounting the man I love, or even because you wanted to check on me, but because you wanted to again tell me that I was screwing up my life. I’m not the one who screwed up, you are!” Her hands curled into fists at her sides as another pain shot through her. “You wrote Bastien off before getting to know him, and in doing so you lost your daughter and two granddaughters, not to mention this one.” Her hand uncurled, gently caressing her stomach. Thump. She kept her face stern and flat, hiding the smile she could feel threatening to grace her lips at the baby’s response to her touch. I’m okay tadpole, just keep put a little longer. I am not going to be forced to give birth with this man present.

“You have two other kids with him? One wasn’t enough?” Frank Moore said with deep distaste.

Liza bit back the urge to scream, who the hell was he to come here after ten damn years and criticize the life she built? How dare he come in and destroy all happiness she’d been feeling as the birth of her healthy tadpole approached? “Olivia—”

“Oh yes the girl he raised. She’s still around?”

“I think you mean Olivia, our daughter. He stepped up at twenty five years old when her own aunt wanted nothing to do with her, he adopted her six years later. She hated me at first, I had to win her over and prove to her I was worthy of her trust and love and now she is as much my child as she is his. Blood doesn’t mean a damn thing, but then again I think you would know that wouldn’t you Frank? I mean it was so easy for you to walk away from your only daughter when she wouldn’t allow you to control her any longer!” She bit her lip, to hold back a scream as another pain shot through her.

“I wanted better for you than this!” He shouted gesturing at the large home, though she knew he meant everything that came with it.

“Why? It’s a damn good life. I have two girls now, a husband who loves me, a child on the way, who the fuck cares what he does. Besides you always taught me to protect myself and fight for what I wanted, so did it really surprise you when I fought against you and your control?”

He stared at her unsure how to answer, questioning why he had come across the country in the first place. Did I make a mistake in pushing her away? “I guess you’re right, I shouldn’t have been surprised that you would fight even me for what you wanted. I—” He shook his head. “ I should go.”

Liza doubled over, hands clutching her round stomach as she let out a pained scream as another pain shot through her.

“Liza!” Olivia sprinted up the path, hand instinctively going for her concealed dagger, eyes wide with fear. She rounded on the stranger. “What did you do?!”

Liza straightened slightly, gritting her teeth through the pain, one hand still clutching her abdomen. “Liv, I’m fine, he didn’t do anything. I’m nine months pregnant, Frank’s appearance just surprised me and now tadpole wants to come.”

“Okay, how close are the contractions?”

“I have no clue I’ve been here arguing with him!” She gestured at her stunned father.

Olivia shot Frank a look, considering if she could get away with stabbing him. She turned back to Liza. “Let’s go sit and we’ll track them, and I’ll call Bas.” She ushered Liza back from the door.

“Where the fuck is he?” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to focus on anything but the pain. “Where were you?”

“Hope and I convinced him he needed to run a special errand and Hope went with him. I was putting the guys through the paces.”

“What errand?”

“Don’t worry about it, couch now.” She turned back to the door, quirking an eyebrow at Frank standing awkwardly before she slammed the door in his face. “Where’s Buttons?” She asked looking around as she guided Liza down on the couch. “He would have chased Frank away.”

Liza lifted her brow in question. “He’s in the bedroom. He and Pickles were sleeping and I closed the door.”

“Yes I know that was your father, don’t take me for a fool.”

Liza let out a laugh that turned to a pained scream. Further in the house they heard scratching and loud whining. Olivia looked down the hall as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m not leaving you when you’re in pain, just know your door…”

“Yeah, I know, just call Bas and tell him to get his ass home!”

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