#‘ oh yes we have all this renovation money so instead of making desks a more suitable height or making more comfortable chairs or anything

[theyaoiconnoisseur]

Call my school tumblr high the way they make the stupidest desicions that literally everyone hates and also how half the school is high

[wolken-himmel]

In which Crewel drags Crowley along to spy on his dear adoptive daughter as she goes out on a date with Malleus.

Someone has to make sure that Malleus doesn't accidentally kill (Y/n) or makes any moves on her, after all.

Idea by @tsunotaro-san.

"Dire."

The doors to Crowley's office being pushed open with such vigour that they slammed against the walls, causing some of the framed pictures to fall of the wall and sail to the floor, made the headmaster jump in surprise. The crow had fallen asleep at his desk, with his head comfortably nestled into his arms, due to all the work he had managed to get done today — which wasn't much.

"Divus, what are you doing here?" Crowley asked in exasperation as he quickly grabbed a random book from his desk and held it up to conceal the fact that he had been slacking off again. "I'm busy."

Crewel rolled his eyes at the way Crowley held the book upside down, but didn't bother to really comment on it since the headmaster was quite sensitive more often than not. "Don't kid me," Crewel merely said in a stern tone, glaring at Crowley and making him think that something serious had happened. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted your father rights back — talking about (Y/n) of course."

Crowley immediately jumped up from his chair and threw the book in his hands at the wall across from him. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" he cheered as he fell to his knees in front of Crewel, clasping his hands together and bowing down. "I'll do anything to be the father of my little crow again!"

Crewel hummed in satisfaction and wasted no time in grabbing the headmaster by his collar to drag him out of his office. "Great, then you're coming with me," he said, his eyebrows scrunched up in concern and anger. "My little puppy has a date with a certain Diasomnia dorm leader in an abandoned building, and we have to make sure Draconia doesn't kill her or makes any moves on her."

Crowley laughed as he was dragged out. "Ah, what amazing fathers we are..."

•••

Hand in hand, Malleus and you entered the backyard of a ruined building, the location of the date he had asked you out on yesterday. You had made sure to keep everything a secret from Crewel, but you couldn't help but glance around the area every now and then, fearing that your strict adoptive father had managed to find out nonetheless.

At least Malleus seemed at ease, more so than he usually was. He noticed your anxiety and sought to calm you down by cupping your cheek with his other free hand and tilt your face back to him. Once your gazes met again, you exhaled in apology and smiled up at him meekly. "Today's night sky is really pretty, Malleus," you said, laughing softly.

Malleus hummed but shook his head. "Not as pretty as you are."

The two grown men hiding behind one of the crumbling columns peeked out from behind their hiding place, one glaring at Malleus while the other stared at the building, aloof as ever. The professor looked at you two with angry eyes, muttering protests under his breath when he saw how close you stood to the dragon fae — did you forget the times where Crewel had lectured you about always keeping a one metre distance to other boys?!

Crewel's fingers pressed against the marble of the column as his stare remained fixated on you and your lover boy. "How cheesy..." Crewel rolled his eyes before ducking behind the column again at the way you let your nervous gaze wander across the area again. Pressing his back against the column, Crewel turned to Crowley. "He could have come up with something else— Dire, are you paying attention?"

Crowley wasn't focused on Malleus and you at all and instead found the ruined building behind you much more fascinating. Rubbing his chin, he looked the ivy-covered walls up and down. "The building really is run-down," he whispered to himself, deep in thought. "I should really either bar down the entrance or renovate it... but oh well! I'll just let (Y/n) and Grim do it! That saves money and—"

Crewel let out an exasperated sigh at the incompetence of his boss — this wasn't the reason the two of them had come here for! The headmaster had his priorities set wrong; he should care less about that ruined building and more about the danger of losing his daughter to a possessive and maniacal dragon fae.

Grabbing the headmaster by his shoulders, Crewel glared at him and let out an intimidating snarl. "No, you won't do that or else your father rights will be forever gone, Dire," he barked quietly, like he always did when disciplining his dogs during alchemy class. None of them proved to be as hard to discipline as this incompetent headmaster of a crow. "Do you want that? Lose her?"

"N-No!" Crowley cried out, finally having come to his senses again. "Just let me be (Y/n)'s father! That's all I want!"

Crewel hummed in satisfaction, but the suspicious frown on his face never really left. "Being (Y/n)'s father is a privilege that comes with responsibilities," he explained, glaring at Crowley with narrowed eyes. "And you're the far opposite from responsible, but you can prove yourself tonight."

Before Crowley could speak up to defend his dignity — who knew if he even had any — Malleus' voice cut through the cold night air, saying, "(Y/n), I think I need to tell you something—"

Crowley and Crewel tensed upon hearing those words. The latter peeked out from behind the column again, finding you two holding hands, your fingers laced intricately; that made him panic. "Oh no— we need to do something..." Crewel muttered, his breath hitching. Crowley in return immediately grabbed a pebble from the floor and threw it at the ruined building. When the rock collided with the wall, you immediately jumped away from Malleus out of surprise. Crewel sighed in relief and shot Crowley a smile. "Good job, Dire!

"Ack! What was that—?!" you cried out, shaking. "A monster?"

Malleus looked at you, concerned. "Don't worry, my treasure," he muttered as he stepped closer to you and enveloped your trembling form in his arms, shielding you from the darkness and the cold — and from any monsters lurking around the area. You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him with glossy eyes. He returned a smile. "I will protect you. Just stay close to me, alright?"

Crewel hissed curses under his breath upon seeing the outcome of Crowley's action — how the tables had turned. "You idiot of a crow," Crewel muttered while wacking poor Crowley over the head.

You giggled while resting your head on his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh as you eased into his embrace. "Malleus, you're so strong and handsome..." you blurted out, only for you to shoot up upon realising what you just had said. Covering your mouth with your left hand, you looked up at him with embarrassed eyes. "Oh— I shouldn't have said that!"

Crowley let out a little sob at the sight of you having left your father's nest. "They grow up so quickly..." he muttered while blowing his nose with a handkerchief.

"Shut up!" Crewel hissed, incredibly angered by the sight of you getting all touchy with Malleus. He gritted his teeth when the fae placed a hand on your cheek to guide your face up to his own. Crewel, panicking, turned to a sobbing Crowley. "We need to do something before we lose her forever to that dragon—"

Suddenly, someone fell down from a tree, more like hanging upside down with his eyes playfully glaring at the two adults. Crowley almost screamed upon seeing the Diasomnia vice dorm leader appear in such a frightening fashion, but Crewel could clasp his hand over Crowley's mouth just in time. Lilia let out a small giggle as he asked, "And why would you want to do anything like that~?"

"Vanrouge?" Crewel asked with narrowed eyes, begrudgingly letting go of Crowley when the headmaster bit into his palm. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

Lilia shrugged ambiguously as he floated down, his feet finally hitting the ground. "Making sure my boy gets a girlfriend," he replied smoothly, grinning from ear to ear while crossing his arms. "And you?"

Crowley laughed at the coincidence before explaining, "We're here preventing that—"

"Dire, why must you tell Vanrouge about our plans?!" Crewel interrupted the headmaster before he could spill every detail of their plan to the enigmatic student. Once again, Crowley received another wack on the head. "You idiot!"

Crowley let out a few groans as he rubbed his head. "Oh, wasn't I supposed to?"

Before Crowley and Crewel could start fighting, Lilia jumped in between them to point at Malleus and you in the near distance. "With all due respect, please hold your tongue—" Lilia said in excitement, quivering happily as he energetically pointed at you two. "They're kissing!"

"How beautiful!" Crowley cried out, the tears running down his cheeks anew at the beautiful sight. "Hand me a handkerchief, please, Vanrouge." Lilia obeyed happily and absent-mindedly handed his headmaster what he asked for. Crowley dabbled with it on his cheeks while letting out shrieks and cries.

Crewel buried his face in his hands and wept for his failure. "I wouldn't have failed if I hadn't brought you along, Dire."

Far away from the three males that caused a loud commotion, Malleus and you still stood enveloped in one another's arms. Your head resting on his chest, your eyes were trained on the three spies that were thinking themselves slick and stealthy. "They're loud," you muttered and clicked your tongue.

Malleus laughed while running a hand through your hair. "Fathers, right?"

[tennessoui]

49!!!!!! Please

finally!!!! baby, finally!!!!

49. Boss/Intern (35yo!Boss!Anakin, 19yo!Intern!Obi-Wan)

(2.4k)

Obi-Wan rubs his hands rapidly down his face. He feels distinctly like he’s about to burst into tears, which would be a very bad thing to do here and now. His supervisor had come in fifteen minutes ago to tell him everyone was going to lunch. She’d invited him along, but he’d said no.

He always says no.

Lunch for the rest of the office means he gets to have a scheduled breakdown at his little cubicle.

He just. He just doesn’t know anything.

He’s only had this internship at Temple Tech for one week and already he’s floundered and fucked up more than anyone else probably has put together in their lifetimes.

He shouldn’t have ever applied, but he had been getting so desperate for summer employment, any sort of employment and, yes, this internship was out of his career field, and yes, he did have to lie at least five times on his resume, but it was an internship and it was paid.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. But then he actually got the job by some stroke of hellish luck, and he’s been learning every day since that it was actually probably a terrible idea. The learning curve is too steep. Obi-Wan is trying, but wow is he bad at it. Tech. Data stuff.

On his open computer, the sound of an email pinging rushes through his ears and he takes his hands off of his face to look. It’s from Anakin Skywalker. The boss.

Obi-Wan thinks he can feel his fingers grow numb. His heart feels like it’s stuttering in his chest, like it’s about to stop once and for all.

Temple Tech is a start-up company, still small but growing quickly. At its head is thirty-five year old Anakin Skywalker, which shouldn’t be any sort of a problem because Obi-Wan’s nineteen now and he can keep it in his pants, even if Anakin is hot as hell, smart as well, and so terribly kind whenever they run into each other.

Which happens a lot. Because it’s a small company, operating out of one renovated warehouse turned office. The floor plan is open enough that Obi-Wan’s able to see Anakin’s space--he gets a proper office, as part of being the boss, but he’s chosen to make the walls glass so it doesn’t feel as if he’s cut off from everyone else--from across the room. And Anakin is big on making everyone who works with him feel like family. A lot of companies say they do that or support that, but Anakin actually does. For one thing, he tells them to call him Anakin, not Mr. Skywalker. For another, he’s open about his personal life, but not so much that it makes anyone feel uncomfortable.

He’s quick with a smile and so understanding, and if he ever gets mad—and from his stories of his younger days, Obi-Wan knows he must have a temper—it’s never been in public.

And Anakin has never commented on how often Obi-Wan blushes around him, or how hard it is for him to focus on his work if Anakin sits on the edge of his desk to talk with him. Or any of the other employees, Obi-Wan has had to remind himself many times. Even though Obi-Wan feels hypersensitive and like a schoolgirl whenever Anakin is in his general vicinity, Anakin is a professional. He’s Obi-Wan’s boss. Nothing could ever happen between them. Not while Obi-Wan works under Anakin.

Even if Anakin is so nice and so kind and has asked to meet him now when everyone else is out of the building. It’s not suspicious and it’s definitely not cause for concern of any kind.

He thinks about shooting back an email, confirming it, but he’s never been good at the whole office environment thing. Instead, he logs off his computer and stands up.

It’s a short walk to Anakin’s office, hardly enough time for his palms to get sweaty.

Anakin’s typing something when Obi-Wan enters the room and he looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, aghast when he realizes he’s forgotten to knock. “I’m sorry, I--”

“Obi-Wan, come in, please,” Anakin gives him a slight smile and gestures for him to sit on the couch next to his desk. Obi-Wan takes a seat hesitantly. It’s as soft as it’s always looked.

Anakin types for a few more seconds on his computer before pushing away from his desk all together and taking a seat next to Obi-Wan on the couch.

“I’ve noticed you never go out to lunch with your coworkers,” Anakin says, positioning himself so he’s facing Obi-Wan completely. His body language is open, like he’s read one of those business books on how to sit so everyone knows you’re nice but you have an agenda.

It puts Obi-Wan on edge, and he fidgets around on his seat.

“You’re not in trouble, b--Obi-Wan,” his boss murmurs. “I just want to know why. Do you not like them? Have they been mean to you?”

“No!” Obi-Wan denies immediately, looking up at Anakin and biting his lip when he sees that the man’s attention is fixed so squarely on him. “No, of course not. Everyone here has been amazing.” He widens his eyes and raises both eyebrows. “Really, sir.”

Anakin looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I’ve told you to call me Anakin,” he criticizes, and Obi-Wan blushes more.

He’s really messing this up.

“Sorry, sir, I mean. Anakin. Sorry. Anakin,” he coughs. His palms are sweaty. He’s sitting on his attractive boss’s couch when everyone’s gone on lunch, and his palms are sweaty.

He doesn’t even want anything to happen.

Alright, so that’s a lie. He definitely has spent a lot of late nights thinking about something happening between them, just like this, but those are fantasies and Anakin is his boss. More than that, Anakin is a good man. He’d never take advantage of an intern in that way, no matter how frequently Obi-Wan feels as if he’s walking around with a sign around his neck that says, Take Advantage of Me, Mr. Anakin, Sir!

“Why don’t you go to lunch with them, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks softly, gently.

Obi-Wan’s hands clench down on themselves. It’s really the moment of truth, now. He really can’t keep lying, not when Anakin sounds so concerned. He has no right to be concerned! He shouldn’t care about Obi-Wan at all; hell, he shouldn’t even know him!

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbles, staring down at the stretch of fabric on his knees.

Anakin hums. Obi-Wan wonders if he learned that from his fancy How to Run a Business books as well: don’t say anything, just let the other person talk until you know everything you need to know to crush them.

Damn if the silence doesn’t work to get Obi-Wan speaking again though.

“I...I’m behind on the work,” he admits. “I don’t have time to go to lunch because I need to figure out how to do my work.”

Anakin makes a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. “If...if your workload is too heavy, Obi-Wan, we can look into cutting it. I don’t want to be known as the company that runs its interns into the ground.”

Obi-Wan’s throat tightens too much and he shrugs. He can’t cry. He really shouldn’t cry. He did this to himself. “It wouldn’t help,” he whispers.

“What?” Anakin asks, leaning forward to hear him better.

“It wouldn’t help,” Obi-Wan says again, louder this time. Anakin blinks at him, and Obi-Wan finally tells him the truth. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I...I lied on my resume. I needed a job, for my student visa. I needed the money to keep it while not in school. And...and internships are supposed to look good on your resume, so I...I thought I could figure it out, I’m smart, sir, I’m so smart. I don’t know why I can’t figure it out.”

He drops his gaze to his hands again and breathes out shakily. He’d been carrying the weight of that secret for far longer than he should have been. It should have been a relief of the utmost degree to give it away. But instead he’s waiting for the punishment. Anakin will have to fire him now. Anakin might even get mad at him for lying.

When his boss doesn’t say anything for several long seconds, Obi-Wan chances a glance up at him through his lashes. Instead of anger on his face, there’s only a confused sort of sympathy.

“I’m...not sure I understand, Obi-Wan,” he says slowly. “You lied on your resume to get this internship, but...why couldn’t you have just applied to an internship in a different field? One you actually want to study? I know you like biology, you’ve told me more about biology in the past few weeks than you’ve told me about yourself.”

“None of them wanted me,” Obi-Wan sniffles and hates himself for it. “I tried, I promise. I promise I didn’t want to lie, but I needed the money, and this internship paid so much better than working at a coffeehouse would.”

Anakin puts his hand gently on his shoulder and Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from turning into the pressure of it. “It’s alright,” Anakin murmurs. “Oh no, please don’t--please don’t cry, b--Obi.”

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan wails.

Anakin hushs him. “Alright, Obi-Wan, alright. Let’s see what we can do.”

“You’re going to fire me,” he says with absolute certainty. He doesn’t even much like his job at Temple Tech, but how is he supposed to find another one on such short notice?

Anakin is quiet. He doesn’t say no.

“Look, I’ll try harder, I promise,” Obi-Wan stutters out, turning to look up at Anakin with wet eyes. What a picture he must make. Nothing professional about him at all. Nothing worth keeping around either. “I promise, please, don’t--I’ll--I’ll stay after hours, I’ll work late, come early. I need this job, sir.”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow and he looks genuinely regretful, which is little comfort. “Obi-Wan, it’s not about...your work ethic. I promise, your work ethic is stronger and better than most of the people on my team.”

Obi-Wan wipes at his eyes hastily. He knows there’s a but coming soon.

“But I can’t...if you’ve lied on your resume, you can’t put Temple Tech there later. That’s not fair for anyone else who applied and was rejected in favor of you. The spot you have...I need someone there who knows what they’re doing with computers. Who wants to be there. Obi, it makes sense that you don’t know anything about tech. You never look like you really want to be here unless you’re talking to someone else.”

Obi-Wan’s bottom lip trembles and he can feel another wave of tears coming. “I understand, sir,” he mumbles, standing up and preparing to leave the office and Anakin Skywalker behind forever. He’s never been fired before. He doesn’t know what the decorum really is in this situation.

Being tugged back and into his boss’ arms doesn’t feel like how it normally goes, though.

But he can’t resist melting into Anakin’s tight hug, rubbing his cheek on the man’s nice shirt. He wants to give him something to remember him by, even if it’s just tear stains on expensive cotton.

“Lemme help you,” Anakin suddenly says, voice very gruff. Obi-Wan freezes in his arms and tilts his head to try and see Anakin’s face. Help him?

“I don’t understand,” he admits, biting his lip.

“I like you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin confesses. “I do. I’ll be sad to see you leave. I was already going to be sad to see you leave when your internship concluded, but this is much sooner. I…”

He trails off as if trying to make up his mind. It doesn’t take him long to nod to himself.

“Be honest,” he warns him, but there’s a joking lilt to his voice. Obi-Wan, personally, thinks that’s a little too soon. “Do you know how to clean house?”

Obi-Wan pulls out of Anakin’s arms to stare at him.

“Or walk dogs,” Anakin adds.

Slowly, Obi-Wan nods. Cleaning up a house and walking dogs feels like something he can figure out how to do. Feels pretty self-explanatory for the most part. The only thing he’s confused by is why Anakin is asking this of him.

“Would you...that is, just for the rest of the summer, until your classes start again--how would you feel about cleaning my house? And walking my dogs?” Anakin seems to hold his breath.

Obi-Wan feels like he’s stepped into the Twilight Zone or something.

“You’re...firing me,” he says slowly. “But...you’re offering me a job? As your….maid?”

“‘We should call it housekeeper,” Anakin says quickly, a pained look flashing across his face. “Too...many connotations with maid.”

“Why?” he has to ask. “I mean. I lied to you, sir. I...you’re firing me.”

“Because I need someone in that position who knows what they’re doing,” Anakin explains slowly.

“Do you want me in another position, sir?” Obi-Wan asks. He blushes furiously as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Anakin’s eyes darken and he clears his throat. He doesn’t say no, and his silence, the double entendre of his silence, makes the breath catch in Obi-Wan’s throat.

“You said you needed money to keep your visa,” Anakin says. “I’m trying to offer you an honest means of employment. I need someone to keep up my house and walk my dogs. If you can do it, I’d hire you over anyone else in a second.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan whispers, suddenly so very aware of how close they’re still standing to each other, how nice Anakin smells, how handsome he looks with just the beginning of a silver streak at his temple.

Anakin sweeps his gaze over Obi-Wan’s face and chest, and Obi-Wan has to wonder what he sees there. Whatever he does, he must like because he smirks. “Work ethic,” he murmurs.

[chocolateheart]

Twenty Minutes

Title: Twenty Minutes

Word count: 3088

Pairing: Professor!Dean x Reader

Summary: Online school sucks but your professor is worth the torture. 

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos), oral sex (male receiving), office sex, desk sex, sex from behind, biting, hair pulling, a hint of choking, professor Dean Winchester (yes, it’s a warning), student-professor romance and so on.

A/N: This one was inspired by “Pay Attention” written by my dear, lovely friend @winchest09 who also happened to be my beta once again and one of the best people I know. Thank you honey! <3

A/N:  @talesmaniac89 once again, thank you for those amazing dividers! <3 Guys, go check her stuff, she’s a talented devil! 

Lockdown sucked. Since the very beginning you knew it'd be a pain in the ass. Stay away from people, sit at home, wear a mask. Dammit. So many plans went to hell; your photography classes, your friends birthday party, visiting your parents in your family town. You knew it was safer like that but hell, you hated it. Your own apartment seemed to be getting smaller and even the flower on your window sill became annoying. Not to mention your online classes; sure, you didn’t have to get ready and drive almost half an hour to get to the Uni but sitting in front of your laptop had started to get on your nerves. 

Your eyes were heavy and red after hours of looking at the screen, your body yelled to be stretched and you wanted to scream every time your internet lost connection. Headache became your best friend, so did coffee. You were pretty sure your addiction just deepened and instead of blood, there was caffeine in your veins.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes as you were sitting in on the first period of your last classes. The whole day on the same chair, you were sure you used every possible sitting position to try and remain comfortable. Glancing at the clock you growled; it’s been almost 10 hours. 

How long can one day be? 

Thankfully this subject was one of your favorites. And it wasn't because of the handsome man in white shirt who helped in enjoying the last two hours of this nightmare; at least that's what you've been telling yourself. 

You like the subject, Y/N.

You smirked seeing how he brushed his longer than always hair with those beautiful hands; forearms exposed and tempting because of the sleeves being rolled up. His stubble was more visible due to quarantine and he just simply got hotter; you honestly thought it wasn’t possible. But there he was, behind his desk in a soft light; black watch on his wrist as usual, ring on one of those long fingers. Knuckles, little bones and veins, all making you lick your lips. This sharp jawline you dreamed to kiss, eyes so green that you could drown in them even through the screen. Arms hidden under the shirt that gave him a more casual, domestic look which made him even more attractive. You bit your lip seeing a gorgeous smile spreading on his face as one of his students said something funny. 

Those teeth; incredibly white and sharp… the way they could sink in your flesh, leaving marks all over your body as his hands travelled up and down, raising up your temperature.

The things you could do with this man… The thought itself was bad but you couldn’t stop daydreaming about your professor. He was too tempting, too beautiful to hold back your imagination. You didn’t remember most of what he said during any classes, too mesmerised by him and even though his deep, smooth voice was so listenable, you weren’t able to focus. You caught yourself staring at him or closing eyes just to feel those vibrations running over your skin. 

You missed sitting in class on his lectures. There was a reason why you chose the first row and it obviously wasn’t your ambition to learn more. 

“Okay guys,” Dean started when you stretched. “I think we can take a break now. In the next meeting we’ll finish this Unit and I’ll let you free earlier. Um… so let’s make it twenty minutes and I will send you an invitation. Just don’t drink yet, I know it’s friday evening but I want you all sober just a little bit longer,” he joked and you smiled seeing few people laughing on muted. 

Then he simply said “see you” and ended the meeting. You stretched again, taking a deep breath and stood up. Before leaving your room you opened the window to let in some fresh, evening air and then went to the kitchen. Filling cups with some sugar and tea bags, you waited for water to be boiled. 

Leaning against the counter, you focused on the wall in front of you. The pictures hanging there were way too old and there were some stains marking the paper. This lockdown made you crazy; you already painted your bedroom and the office, and you made some renovation in the bathroom. All in all, you spent more money without walking out of home. Ridiculous. 

You jumped a little, detached from your thoughts by the whistling kettle and soon your tea was ready. Humming some random melody, you turned off the light with your elbow and headed towards the office room. Using your elbow again you opened the door and smiled.

"Hey there, professor," you put one cup down on the desk. "How's your class going?" 

He turned around on his chair and flashed you this charming smile. You were smiling at yourself from his laptop wallpaper; he took this photo almost a half year ago in his apartment, just two flats above your head. You still could feel the softness of his white sheets you had been tangled in on this picture.  

"All fine," he took a small sip and frowned. "Just… one of my students seems to be off today." 

"Oh, really? How?" You asked, leaning against a desk. He played with the cup, shrugging, visibly holding back a smile.

"She stares blankly, lost in her thoughts. She's not answering any questions willingly, she seems to be away." He acted like he was talking about some random girl. 

You felt his knuckles briefly touching your naked thigh; it was way too warm indoors to wear something else than shorts. The delicate movement tickled you and your legs jerked uncontrollably. You looked at him, deep in the eyes and suddenly the air thickened. The tension between you two shot up; his intense gaze pierced into you like a sword, forest green eyes making your breath lose its track. 

"Hmm, maybe it's your fault," you managed to suggest, putting down your cup. His eyebrows raised along with mouth corners.

"My fault?" 

Now both his hands gripped your legs and sharply pulled you closer to him. You sifted his fluffy hair between your fingers and scratched the back of his head. He hummed in response closing his eyes as his palms sneaked under your shirt, making you shiver a little.

"You can be very distracting, Mr. Winchester," you purred standing between his legs. 

Dean was looking up at you with sparks in his eyes and dimples caused by a pert smirk. Your shirt suddenly lifted up, exposing your stomach that he gladly kissed. Slowly and wet, using his tongue first, squeezing your hips at the same time. Hot, soft lips pressed to your skin, slightly sucking, heated breath fanning over your flesh, causing the ocean of goosebumps. You felt your insides tremble at the feeling. Closing your eyes you let yourself enjoy him; his strong hands now caressing your back, mouth placing open kisses across your belly and going up.

He knew how to build you up, how to turn you on. You swallowed hard and gasped when he licked your nipples; you didn’t bother to wear a bra at home. He smiled against you and backed away; you immediately looked down and kissed him. Deep and hard, cupping his cheeks, pushing on him so he leaned back on the chair as you straddled his lap. His grip tightening on your sides, fingers dipped in your flesh. 

"How much time did you give your students?" You jokingly asked when his lips dropped to your neck.

"Twenty minutes," he answered and stopped, looking in your eyes again. "How much did you get?" you smiled and kissed him once.

"Twenty minutes," you whispered as you played with his ear. 

"I like your professor," he whispered back, staring at your lips from under the hooded eyes.

"I like him too… A lot."

Smiling at your words Dean stood up, then dipped down just to catch you under your ass and lift you up. After sitting you down on the desk, he took away the cups and placed them on the floor; for safety.

Spreading your legs you allowed him to stand between them. Brushing your hair away he cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply, squeezing your thigh with his second hand. You didn't waste any time and kissing him back, you started to unbutton his shirt. When the material fell loosely, you caressed his strong stomach, feeling muscles rippling under your touch as he inhaled sharply. He sucked on your lower lip in response, then switched to your jawline, neck and collarbones; forcing you to close your eyes at the pleasurable feeling. When he reached this one, specific spot between your jaw and ear, a trembling gasp escaped you and your head fell back, revealing even more neck which he attacked immediately. 

"Dean," you breathed out heavily, glancing at the clock. "You have to speed up." You noticed how his eyes fired up in a second. "Do your magic baby, or I'll have to help you finish in front of my friends." You flashed him a devilish smile as he wiggled his brows on you.

"Would be interesting, we have to try it one day." He winked at you and helped you stand up so he could take down your shorts and panties. 

Then you dropped to your knees, taking down his pants in one move, freeing his cock. He moaned deep in his throat when, without waiting, you sucked on the tip. Looking up you saw his exposed neck as his head was tilted back. You licked the sensitive spot under the tip and smiled when Dean shivered and his body swayed a little. Taking him almost whole at once, you scraped his stomach; he instinctively gripped the back of your head which only made you growl. You bobbed your head a few times, hollowing your cheeks, tasting his flavor. Nipping on the apex every so often, dragged sexy noises from Dean what only made you weaker. You loved every tiny sound he made, you could listen to it all the time; that's why you enjoyed going down on this man so much. He was not holding back at all and it was such a turn on. You were easily losing control; wouldn't be the first time he finished like that because you couldn’t stop.

"Not today, sweetheart," not being able to take it anymore, he pulled you up, turned you around and with your front pinned to the desk you heard a low growl next to your ear.

"You have no idea how hard it is to focus while having you on the screen, knowing that you're next door, so close to me." 

Strong chest against your back, pressing down your body; you could feel his heart racing.

"Vice versa, professor," you panted, feeling the weight of his cock resting on your lower back. 

He fisted your hair, scraping your head and slightly lifted himself from you, kissing your shoulder blades and spine. You inhaled loudly, suddenly feeling his fingers on your clit, making small, sharp circles; drawing quiet whines from you. When his index slid inside, your body jumped in surprise. Dean chuckled low and sucked on the crook of your neck from behind; you couldn't help but smile, already drugged on him. And Dean Winchester was a high quality drug.

The last hour had been a torture. You knew he kept making moves that were waking up the corbes in your brain. Licking his lips, smiling straight to the camera, playing with his hair, "casually" flexing his body; this bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

Placing his palm on your lower back, Dean made sure you were trapped and a moan flooded out  when he entered your pussy. Inch by inch he was going inside, stretching you in the most pleasurable way. You both moaned when he bottomed out, his fingers tightened even more on your skull. Your eyes rolled back with his first hard thrust; you clawed the edge of a desk. He pulled slightly on your hair and grabbed your shoulder, then started thrusting firmly, causing you to greet your teeth from the intensity. Every move, every push and pull, every squeeze and kiss was so delicious. Dean’s hot, fast breathing tickled the skin on your back, creating waves of chills that shook your body. 

Dean started slamming his hips stronger, hitting your sweet spot, making your head spin. None of you were quiet anymore; the mix of your voices, moans and skin slapping on skin, filled the room. His hands appeared on your ass and he squeezed it; you expected to see red marks from his nails later. Dean's muscles were flexing with every move, his face grimacing from blissful sensation. 

Even after almost a year, his game was a mystery to you; you had no idea what he was doing but the way he was moving was just different, making you feel some spiritual stuff you couldn't explain. Dean Winchester was the only guy who could make you feel like you weren't yourself; he was the only one you were completely losing control with. And with every bite you wanted more.

“Ah, Y/N,” he breathed out when you arched, giving him even better access, changing the angle a little bit.

“Five minutes, Dean,” you said almost out of voice, checking the time. “Faster.” 

He growled and fastened; slamming into you with more speed, pulling you to him with every push. He was close, you could sense that by his more and more erratic movements. He couldn’t decide where to hold you, where to touch; hazed by the pleasure and the smell of sex filling the air. His voice got higher and every moan was a slightly higher pitch.

“Come on baby, let go,” you encouraged him, reaching behind you to claw his side. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath and scraped your back, leaving red lines on your body. 

Then he bent over and his sharp teeth sinked in your arm at the same time his fingers found your clit, rubbing fast. You choked on your voice that got stuck in your throat; it was too much. He was filling you completely, scrapping every spot inside and outside that you needed. Warmth radiating from every inch of his powerful figure heated the air. Sweat broke across your bodies; a lonely drop rolled alongside his spine, strands of hair stuck to your forehead. 

You managed to lift yourself up almost to a standing position; Dean palmed your throat, slightly squeezing it and kept working on you with his second hand. You started twisting, your knees sagging, eager for the relief you felt coming.  

“Y/N, baby,” he licked your earlobe. “Please come with me, I need you to come, please,” he literally begged, craving for mutual finish.

“Oh my… Dean,” you warned him feeling the knot in your lower abdomen tightening unbearably. “Dean!” fiercely gripping the back of his head you leaned back on him as he kept pounding into you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he stammered and thrusted forcefully two more times, then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck one more time, leaving yet another mark. 

“Oh, yes!” 

All of your muscles tightened to the max and then let go. Your pussy started pulsating along with his throbbing cock; it was like your bodies didn’t need any information from your brains, they knew exactly what and when should happen, they were connected. 

Dean coated your walls with a hot cum; hugging you tightly, panting against your nape. You were shaking, your heart racing; breathing was problematic and if Dean didn’t hold you, you would surely hit the floor. Your nails left half-mooned marks on his forearms, so did his teeth on your neck. 

You usually were slow - all touching, feeling every little inch of each other, moving smoothly but deeply, steady rhythm, building the other to the breaking point, to the edge. So when you needed to go quick, you would get crazy and high kind of easily. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

You rested your hands on his desk, chugging, unable to stand on your shaking legs without any support. The blood in your veins was still boiling, rushing in your ears pumped by your hammering heart. Hissing, Dean slipped out of you and his seed dripped down on the floor. He showered your back with small kisses, caressing your sides and arms. You purred and turned around, softly pressing your lips to his.

“We have two minutes, baby,” you said and laughed when he moaned unsatisfied. 

“This hour will be torture.” You both rushed to put your clothes on. 

“I know, but then we will order pizza and watch some horror movie.” Smiling at him you opened the window and smoothed your clothes; he quickly cleaned the floor. 

Standing in front of him again, you adjusted his hair and pecked him a kiss, thinking that people from your class will surely notice his blush and glassy eyes. 

He looked at you with adoration and gentleness, his orbs shimmering. You knew this look; he gave you it when you first bumped into each other on your staircase, unaware that you were living in the same building. You were already crushing on your professor back then, so the fact that you were about to see him way more often than just in class made your stomach clench. That’s how it started. Later he offered you his help in some housework and studying, you became his healthy food service and after realising you couldn’t stay away from each other you opened the whiskey and let fate do its job.

You both had the feeling like you had known each other for years and you understood the other, not to mention how honest the two of you were, you still couldn’t fully believe that you were the one his heart had chosen.

“I love you,” he spoke almost like he could read your mind. 

Your face lit up with a smile but the moment he bent down to capture your lips in yet another kiss this evening, you avoided it, biting your lip to shoo away a wide smile that wanted to break free and turned around heading to the door.

“See you in class, professor,” you said over your shoulder and smiled hearing his low chuckle.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

Tags: @deanwanddamons @jay-and-dean @katehuntington @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee @lady-pswrld @rvgrsbrns​

If you want to be on my tag list, shoot me in asks or DM’s! :) 

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH33

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW, but also so much angst. I’m sorry.

WC: 3799

A/N: I posted two chapters back to back. Please read CH32 first if you haven’t yet.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N’s busy with class for the next two months, finishing four paintings for a school exhibition and of course Dean ends up buying one of them (he wanted to buy all four but she told him that they only have space for one painting at the apartment), and spends a ridiculous amount on it, too. But the money is for a good cause so she let him. 

He shakes hands with her teachers at the exhibit and she thinks it’s ridiculous how everyone is fawning over him, teachers and students alike. She can’t blame them though, Dean can turn on his business persona like a switch and he’s charming, too. Which, in hindsight, put her in this position as his girlfriend in the first place. 

The girls of her class corner him, and she just laughs when he looks over to her as she talks to another male classmate, his eyes are screaming for help. 

She decides to help him after a long while, goes to his rescue and pulls him to the side, ignoring the eyes of the girls because they are clearly shooting her daggers. 

“Thanks, but you could have come sooner.” He places his hand on the small of her back, guides her out of sight of spectators. 

“Dean Winchester the gangster needs help?” She grins cockily and he bends down to steal a kiss.

“Oh my god, they are really together?” Someone hisses through their breath and it sounds like someone from her class that she doesn’t really socialize a lot and both Dean and her grin into the kiss when they heard it.

“You’re stealing my thunder, Dean.” Y/N laughs, braces her hand on his firm chest and pushes him away a little.

“‘M sorry.” He chuckles, brushes over his lips with his thumb, checking if she left lipstick traces on them. “I overheard a girl telling her friend that she wants to call me daddy and wants me to wreck her pu—”

“—Oh my god,” She huffs out, clasps a hand over her mouth for a brief moment, “Please tell me you didn’t say anything weird.”

Dean shrugs, “I winked at her and she ran away.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I guess it’s time to go home before you scare all the people away.”

“Awe, come on, not everyone!” Dean wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. “Only girls who bite off more than they can chew.”

“Did I bite off more than I can chew, too?”

“Oh,” He pecks her lips. “You can chew perfectly and swallow it all down too.”

She groans with an eye roll, making Dean laugh out loud.

***

“This will be our last meeting.” Y/N says as Linda sits down on the bench next to her. 

“Yes.” Linda agrees. “It just pains me that I’m not able to say proper goodbye to you.”

“I still have your number.” 

“But I won’t have yours.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll contact you if I will need you to bail me out.” Y/N jokes but Linda’s not laughing.

Linda sighs, “Look, I know it’s us who make you do this, but you can still back out. I just want you to be absolutely su—”

“—I am.”

“Good.” Linda nods.

“One week, Linda. I’ll send you the details.”

“As soon as I have that, you’ll get the details for your part of the deal. All your records will be erased.”

“And you will give Dean a fair deal.”

Linda nods, “I promised and you signed the papers.”

“You won’t dig for other crimes. And it means that he can walk free.” She has to make sure, even if she already knows.

“You have my word. We’re concentrating on the corrupt mayor.”

“Good.” Then with the next breath she adds, “Anything new on Ketch?”

“No. Nothing. It’s like he disappeared from the earth.”

“I’m sorry I could be no help.”

“That’s okay, you have enough on your plate right now.”

Y/N parts with a courtesy nod, her eyes are teary. She’s never going to see the woman again who took care of her as if she was her own.

Back home, she starts on writing a letter, crumbles up each and every page she starts because there are just no words that she could write that would make him understand what she’s going to do. 

She abandons the letter pretty soon and instead, she draws. This time, she draws both of them. They’re in bed, with him holding her, the two cats snuggle up to them. She leaves the drawing by her bedside table.

 ***

 Dean’s been in high spirit in the week that leads up to their coup. He’s away more often but he’s always in a good mood when he comes back.

Like tonight, when he comes home and waves a black manila folder in front of her face. “Take a look.”

“Will I find dead people in there?” Y/N asks suspiciously, “Because I just had a big bar of chocolate and I don’t think my stom—”

“—Jesus, just take a look.” He laughs.

Bubbles sits on her lap and she has to readjust to look at the folder without disturbing the cat. She opens it to find different pages of property listings. All of them are somewhere remote, with a huge backyard. The houses are different sizes, but they all have the same style. They’re mostly old and need a lot of renovating and they are spacious. They’re also all fairly priced. 

One of them she really likes, it has four bedrooms, a big attic and there’s a porch that goes around the house. It also has the old style window shutters which she guesses it’s more for decorative reasons. The house used to be white but the paint is coming off. Also the shutters used to be dark blue but the color’s been washed off as well. On the next page she sees the aerial picture of the house. The backyard is a huge meadow, dropping down to what seems like a large pond. 

Dean has since leaned over the sofa and watches her as she looks through the pages and then he asks, “What do you think? You like it?”

“Yeah,” She replies. “They’re all beautiful. They need a lot of work, though.”

He shrugs, “I’ll have time.” Then he adds, “Which one do you like best?”

She feels guilty and doesn’t really want to choose, if she’s honest. “I can’t choose.”

“Come on,” He smiles and it’s genuine, she can see that, “I like this the best.” Dean points his index finger to the listing that’s also her favorite. The house with access to the pond and space in the backyard to hold their own music festival.

“Yeah,” She agrees. “That’s beautiful.”

He inches closer to her, his breathing a mere inches from her ear and she looks down at the listing, hoping that he doesn’t notice the flush of her face. “Can you imagine? Living there? I mean, with me?”

“Dean,”

“Not now, but if you can imagine it, I’ll buy it, fix the place up.”

“It’s not right for me to tell you what you should do with your money. If you want to buy something it should be because you want to and my opinion should not matter.”

“But it does to me.” He noses at her temple, kisses her there after.

“I know.” She mumbles and then she sighs and answers, not because she wants to but because it seems easier that way. “Yeah, I like that one the best, too.”

Dean grins from ear to ear. “Awesome.”

Thankfully they couldn’t talk about it more because Dean has gotten a call and has to go. He kisses her forehead, then her lips. “When this is all over, I’ll have more time, okay?”

“Okay.” She tries to smile.

 ***

 Dean’s in his office, decides to spend the last night before the coup at home because he had the feeling that he was neglecting her, which he really didn’t but she guesses that he too could feel something coming up.

So instead of going out, he excused himself to make a video call from his office. “I’ll be in there for about two hours. If I should not come out by then, please come get me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I wanna spend the night with you.”

He gets up and adjusts his pj pants. She has to laugh, kind of hopes that the people in his video call would see his pants. Hopefully, he has to get up and get something and then someone who has some balls will call him out on it. 

 *

 Two hours came and went and Dean’s still holed up in there. 

She decides to go get him but she gets out of her clothes first, drops them along the way to his office and knocks twice before she goes in there naked.

Dean’s jaw drops when he sees her and for a moment she has to laugh because he just stares.

“Dean? You still listening?” 

She knows that voice. It’s Cas.

“Huh,” Dean looks back at his screen, “Yeah, I’m here.”

Y/N grins cockily and lowers herself to her knees, crawls under Dean’s desk.

She’s kneeling below the desk and places her hand on Dean’s knees, pushing them apart and she looks up to see Dean still staring at his screen, his lips between his teeth. 

He risks a glance down and looks at her grumpily before he rolls his eyes but he doesn’t stop her as she works her hands up his thighs. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of his pants. He even helps her, lifts his ass so she can push the pants down to his knees.

“Yeah,” Dean clears his throat. “We should go through the timelines again one last time.”

She grins as she kisses the tip of his dick, it’s already half hard and she hasn’t done anything yet.

“Tomo— holy!” Dean shouts as she takes him into her mouth and sucks him. “Sorry, the cat.” Dean apologizes and then he goes on. “Anyway, tomorrow our trucks will leave an hour earlier than the train.”

She gobbles him down, tries not to make a choking sound.

Dean has a poker face but one of his hands comes down, strokes her cheek as she looks up at him with her mouth full of his cock. 

Taking it out, she holds his dick up, works her tongue on his balls and goes deeper to his rim. He leans back a little, giving her more access. 

“Ffff,” Dean hisses through his teeth before he asks a question into his screen. “Everyone knows when they have to be where, right?”

There’s a lot of Yes and Yeah’s in reply to Dean’s question. “1.30AM the train’s gonna leave.”

Cas takes over and she’s back at licking and sucking him and even though he shouldn’t, Dean’s stealing a glance down at her, licking his own lips as he sees her sucking at his cock his hand takes the strand of hair that has fallen into her face and tucks it back behind her ear.

“Thirty-six hours, gentlemen. Thirty-six hours from the start to the finish line.” Dean says and she knows that he means that it’ll take thirty-six hours for the last truck to reach its final destination and from there on, it gets loaded into other vehicles but that won’t be Dean’s concern anymore.

“We’ll work in shifts to track everything,” Dean goes on and she tickles the head of his cock with her tongue, making him pause to take a breather. When Dean has himself under control, he goes on. “I want everyone holed up in the bunker. And I swear if someone screws this up, he won’t live to see the end of those thirty-six hours.” The last syllable came out as a little choked moan. 

“You okay, Dean?” Cas asks and she’s trying not to laugh out loud. Thankfully there’s a fairly huge cock in her mouth. 

“Yeah,” Dean looks down at her, his expression unreadable. “Anyway, gotta go, this cat is driving me crazy. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

He doesn’t wait for his men to say goodbye, instead he clicks on disconnect and slams the cover of his laptop down, his large hands grab at her arms, pulling her up and she has to let his dick pop out of her mouth.

Dean places her on his lap so she’s straddling him and he lays his forehead on hers. “You’ve been a naughty little kitten.” He mumbles and kisses her, his arms wraps themselves around her middle. 

“You said I could come get you.” She says as they part and Dean chuckles.

“Not like that.”

“Well, did you not like it?” Her arms are around his neck, and she nibbles at his ear, sucks in his earlobe.

“Love it.” He says and then he lifts her up a little, “Put it in before I’m dying here.”

She giggles as her hand finds his throbbing cock, positions it below her pussy and sits down. She moans out in pleasure and throws her head back when she feels him filling her.

Dean takes the opportunity, leans forward to suck at her throat, kisses down to her chest.

He lets her choose her own pace, kisses her and talks to her like he always does. It’s nothing hard and fast this time. It’s slow and sensual — love making, not fucking. Dean takes her nipple into his mouth, sucks at them, making her arch her back. He praises her, tells her how beautiful she looks when she comes on his cock. It gets slippery and wet and she’s sure that the chair needs some serious cleaning after. 

It’s good, so good and she cries into the next kiss. 

Dean comes deep and hard. Holds her close and stays like that for a long time. “I love you.” He whispers and she buries her face into the crook of his neck. 

He’s about to move when she tells him to stay like this. “Just a while longer, please.”

He relaxes in the chair, letting her lay her head on his chest as he trails his fingertips over her back, traces along the bumps of her spine.

“Come on,” Dean says, and turns his chair around, gets up with her still in his arms and her legs wrapped around his middle. She cringes as his soft dick slips out with a squelch. 

Dean kicks off his pj pants as he proceeds to walk out of his office. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Taking a bath.” He says with a bright smile but then he notices the trail of clothes she left behind. “And then we clean up the mess.”

She laughs against his throat where her face is still buried.

 ***

 Y/N zaps through the channels while Dean paces around the apartment, he’s on the phone as always. Understandably so, as tonight’s the night.

He hangs up, fetches his overnight duffel and walks over to her, takes his time to sit down and she abandons the remote, climbs onto his lap. It has become her favorite place throughout the months.

“What’s your plan?” Dean asks and she knows he means for the time he’ll be gone which will probably be around forty hours from now on.

“I don’t know, the usual, class, eat, sleep, repeat.” She lies.

“Just no partying when I’m not here, okay?” He has that amused look on his face.

“Yes, daddy.” She grins cockily and he kisses her.

It’s soft and she likes that but it always leaves her wanting more so she goes in, kisses him hard. She closes her eyes, thinks of the things they’ve done, thinks of him and her, thinks of what could never be. She pours everything she has into the kiss. A kiss that says so much. She kisses him, wants him to feel that she’s sorry, she doesn’t mean to and most of all, she wants him to know that she loves him.

She cries into the kiss too, making Dean stop to cup her face, brushing away the tears with his thumb. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N sniffs, “Just worried.” Another lie.

He kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a fraction longer than he normally does. “Don’t be.” 

His fingers skim down her face, and he kisses between her eyebrows, kisses her nose. “Will you be here when I get back?”

She nods. 

Yet, another lie.

Dean smiles. “Good, I got something to tell you when I’m back.”

 *

 She texted Linda about the intel and in turn, Linda has texted her things that she need and a comfortable amount of money was left on her bank account for a head start. 

Y/N packed one backpack with essentials and left everything else, as well as her car, with Dean. 

She walks out of the building, walks to a bus stop that’s more than four miles away and gets into the next bus that arrived. She doesn’t have a plan, she just needs to get out of the city.

Y/N goes into the store in between buses, buys another phone card and drops her old SIM into the trash can outside.

And then she’s off. Doesn’t really know where to go. Doesn’t know what to do but she’s sure that it’s the right decision. At least one of them can be happy and she’s taking the fall. She wants Dean to be able to have the future he desires, one he’s working so hard for — because if Dean doesn’t deserve happiness, no one else really does — even if it means that she’s not part of it. She hopes that one day he’ll see it. Hopes that one day, he’ll forgive her. But most of all, she hopes that he forgets her. 

  The freight train has been stopped midway, as they predicted it would. But the trucks got over four States by the time and split in all different directions already. That’s a win that Dean takes. 

The train conductor doesn’t have a clue about anything, and the wagons are all empty, so that shouldn’t be a problem either. 

Now they have to wait until all the trucks have reached their destinations.

He texted Y/N after the train got stopped by the Feds but she didn’t answer. He doesn’t dwell on it, thinks that she must be busy so he sits back, and waits with the others, hoping and maybe even praying a little that everything goes as planned. Paints a picture in his head how he would get a Pizza on his way home, how he’s going to tell her that everything he worked so hard for finally fell perfectly into place. 

Dean imagines the time after. Thinks that he’s going to blindfold her and drive her out to the house he bought. Get on his knees right there. He thinks of the words he’s going to say when he wants to persuade her to marry him, hopes that he will get a word out of his mouth at all. 

 *

 “It’s done.” Cas says as he gets off the phone and there’s silence for a full minute because nobody thought that they could pull that shit off. 

And then realization hit and it’s like Holy shit we did it! They shook hands, shoulder bumped, fist bumped and Inias walked in with a dozen beers.

Dean stays and drinks the beer, not because he wants to but because it’s expected from him. But then he excused himself, told his men that he’ll be in touch for a last meeting, already breaking into a run up the stairs of the bunker. 

At home, he parks his car next to hers. So at least she’s home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He calls but realizes that the lights are all off. One the cats came around to greet him.

Dropping his keys into the bowl at the entrance, he walks into the bedroom but she’s not there either. He takes a look into the bathroom, thinking she might take a bath but it’s empty. 

The echoes of his steps on the hardwood floor is kind of disturbing to him. Something’s off. He can feel it.

He tries her art room next, nothing to see there either other than some unfinished paintings. 

On the way back into the living room, he tries calling her but the voice says that the caller can not be reached.

Dean rushes back to the living room, thinks about going out and tries her school when a sheet of paper flutters to the ground from the kitchen counter.

He picks it up, his heart is racing, his hands are shaking. He’s already near tears because he’s not an idiot, he knows it before he even read her words. He crouches down to pick it up and stays down to read it. Thinks that when he gets up, he’s gonna end up down on the floor anyway because his knees feel weak.

 Dear Dean,

I crumbled up so many sheets of paper because no word could express my feelings. No words could ease the pain I’m feeling. No words would be enough to explain my decision to you and make you understand. This is my last try because time is running out. And there’s really just one thing I want to say to you.

I’M SORRY.

I know that you might not accept my apology but I hope that one day, you will.

Now that everything’s over, you can start all over. I wish you happiness Dean. You deserve nothing less.

Y/N

Ps. My love for you was and is real. Never doubt that.

 He balls his fists, making the paper crumble in his hand. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays down there but he wakes from his trance when Bubbles shows up next to him, nuzzles her face against him. One tear drips down the tip of his nose and Dean brushes at it with his hands. “Okay,” He sniffs, “Okay.”

Dean picks up Bubbles and walks her to the feeding dish where Cuddles was already waiting. He sits down with them and they look up at him as if they know what’s going on. 

Pouring their food into their dish, he sits with them, back leaned against the fridge and he waits until they’ve finished eating. Dean knows that he should be mad, should feel angry, should maybe drown himself in alcohol but he can’t bring himself to do anything at all. He feels so many things at the same time, hurt, anger, feels his heart breaking off bit by bit, feels nauseous, and he’s still shaking but above everything, he feels numb.

CH34

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Four

Leandra and Melissa sat at the cafe table with Robyn and she told them about her conversation with Chris. 

“So he’s got you thinking exactly what we’ve been telling you all these years,” Melissa mused.

“No, he just has me questioning if there was something in my marriage that I missed,” Robyn replied.

“I think you should meet him, Robs,” Leandra interjected, “you two seem to have a really good understanding.”

“No, we have a good thing going. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“I don’t think you want to be happy.”

“I do want to be happy but on my own terms. And I’m not ready. Talking to him made me think about my ex and just reminded me that I really still love him. And I don’t want to. I swear I don’t want to but something has this hold on me and-”

“We get it. Y’all were together for a long time.”

“It’s not just that. It’s- you ever meet someone and you just know that they’re it? Well he was it for me.”

“So what do you call this thing with Christian?”

“A friendship. I have no interest in making it more than that.”

“You ever been to therapy?”

“I tried it for a few weeks but I didn’t get anywhere.”

“Maybe you should try it again.”

“I don’t know.”

“Robyn, do you like being miserable or something? Is that the only thing still connecting you to Chris? Because if not, I don’t understand your apprehension to getting better.”

“I want to get better, I’m just scared of what that means.”

“Well Sis, you’ll never find out until you try.”

Robyn sat back in her office after returning from lunch with Leandra and Melissa. She didn’t have any appointments until 3 unless any emergencies came in so she had time to just think. She grabbed her phone and went to her dating app

A: Are you available to talk?

A few minutes went by before she got an answer

C: Sure, I just finished my last class. What’s up?

A: My friends think I should go to therapy

C: Ok. What do you think?

A: I’m not ready.

C: Why do you think that?

A: I don’t want to spill my guts to a stranger. Not when there’s someone who deserves it more

C: Deserves what? Your anger or your feelings?

A: My anger

C: So tell that person

A: I don't know where he is

C: So find him. I doubt your ex-husband was like some CIA type

A: Lol, no but I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him either

C: Do you ever think you’ll be ready?

A: I’m not sure

C: I think you’re thinking about it too much. Honestly, therapy should be for you and no one else. If you aren’t ready you won’t do anything but waste your money because you’ll fight everything at every turn. Nothing penetrates if you aren’t ready to hear it. And even if the therapist does happen to get through to you, it will not give you the closure that you’re seeking. The questions you want answers to, only your ex-husband can answer

A: I hate that you’re right.

C: Lol, there’s a lot of trauma that influences this rightness

A: Unfortunately. How are you? Was rude of me not to ask that first

C: You had something important to say, no worries. I’m fine. I was talking to my daughter and she wants a puppy

A: What kind?

C: Not sure yet. We’re gonna do some research before we make a decision

A: That’s good. I’ve had a lot of puppies be sent to my shelter because people didn’t pick the right dog for their lifestyle

C: That must suck. Do you have any pets?

A: No, I’m not home enough

C: Ah, understandable

A: would the puppy be your first pet?

C: No, I had a dog when I was a child but in my old profession, me and my ex were never home enough, it was always something with either my job or hers

A: That’s understandable. 

C: You ready for your gala?

A: Physically? Yes. Emotionally? No. I’m working on convincing myself not to cancel

C: Is it really that hard?

A: Yes but I made a promise to my employees and stuff so I really do want to honor that

C: Do you need another incentive?

A: Depends on what you’re suggesting

C: How about a gift? Just for your effort of going to this event

A: And how am I supposed to get said gift?

C: I can mail it. Do you have a secure mailing address you would like me to send it to?

Robyn thought about her random PO Box that she uses when she doesn’t want to give out her work or home address.

A: PO Box 124, New York, NY 10003. Do I get to know what the gift is beforehand?

C: Nope. I’ll send it and make sure it arrives the morning of your gala. Think that’ll work?

A: I guess but I’m nervous about what it could be

C: You’ll see

A: And do you have a secure mailing address?

C: PO Box 762, Middletown, NY 10940

A: Upstate. Do you travel to the city every day or?

C: No, I have a condo near Columbia. I stay during the week then go home on the weekends. 

A: How many hours of a drive?

C: Actually like 2 hours. It gives me some peace from the loud city life and gives my daughter some balance.

A: What’s it like up there?

C: Very spacious. I live in a somewhat rural part of Middletown. I have a couple acres of land surrounding my house.

A: I can’t even imagine what that would look like. Even when I lived in California, I was in the busiest part.

C: I think I appreciate it because I’m older now. I definitely enjoyed living in the city when I was in Cali

A: It holds a beautiful sense of excitement

C: Do you live near your business or far away?

A: I have an apartment nearby but I might start looking for a house soon. Maybe renovate a brownstone

C: That’s always a good deal. Would you rent out?

A: Nah. I don’t have the energy to keep up with being a landlord. It’s a job within itself

C: Very true.

A: I’m guessing you should be going, is your daughter school age?

C: She goes to a headstart program at a private school since she’s only 3 but they keep her until around 5 in aftercare. I usually have a late class today but I canceled it

A: Oh. Is something wrong?

C: No, I’d just rather not be out and about this evening.

A: Ah. Well thanks for talking with me. I got an appointment coming in soon

C: Anything major?

A: Nope. Just a check up

C: Well if you have time, I’d love to talk to you again

A: Talk or chat?

C: Talk

A: My clinic closes at 7 so I should be home by 8

C; And dinner?

A: I’ll probably grab something on the way home

C: So how about a dinner date then? We’ll eat and keep each other company

A: I’d like that

C: Great. See you at 8

A: See you at 8

Robyn closed her app then rested her head on her desk. She was drained.

                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what color is her dress? Jessica asked as she and Chris stood in the florist shop. 

“It’s navy blue.”

“I think this corsage would be perfect. It’s simple, elegant and can be pinned to the dress instead of being situated on her wrist.”

Chris walked over the piece his sister was referring to. It contained a navy blue rose, a white rose and some baby breaths, “I like that one.”

“Do they deliver to PO Boxes?”

“Yea, that’s why I picked this shop and it’s fairly close to the Post Office where her PO Box is.”

“Why didn’t you just get her work address?”

“The whole point is to be strangers. Giving me her work address would defeat that purpose. She’s an established vet, I could probably look up her work address and find her, which, again, defeats the point.”

“Do you know what she looks like?”

“Not really. Her photo was a full body shot so the closer you zoom in the blurrier it gets. Same as mine.”

“And that doesn’t worry you? What if she’s ugly?”

Chris laughed, “what does that matter? We don’t ever plan on meeting each other. 

Besides I’m not allowed to be nice to a possibly physically unattractive woman?

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just- I don’t understand this whole online dating thing”

“There’s nothing to understand because we’re not dating.”

“Yea. Right.”

“We are both in rebuilding stages of our lives and we like talking to each other. That’s all. If I was interested in more, I’d definitely would’ve insisted on meeting her or just moved on by now.”

“You told her about your nervous breakdown and suicide attempt. You haven’t even told your ex-wife that and you want me to believe you’re not dating.”

“Yes because we aren’t.”

“You’re buying her gifts?”

“I buy my friends gifts all the time.”

“You told her about Anesa.”

“And?”

“You talk almost everyday.”

“I’m not seeing your point.”

“My point is you’re dating this woman.”

“Jessica, big sister, I am not dating anyone. I like her, yes but that’s as far as it goes. I need a friend and she’s one for me. That’s it. That’s all.”

“You are so in denial, Chris.”

“I’ve accepted my situation, you’re the one with the conspiracy theories.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want an ugly sister in law especially not after my last one. She was gorgeous and the point is to upgrade not backslide.”

“You get on my nerves, Jess.”

Jessica laughed, “is this all you’re getting for your friend?”

“Just because you said it like that, I am returning you home and finishing this adventure by myself.”

“Come on, don’t be like that Little Brother.”

“Then stop making this a bigger deal than what it is.”

   This was definitely a big deal. Robyn stared at the box of things Chris had delivered to her PO Box and her heart melted a bit. The flower corsage with navy and white roses was beautiful. She loved the card that came attached but what shook her was the books he had gifted. One night they had stayed up talking about literature and she mentioned that she loved poetry but never had the time to really build up a collection. Wrapped with a red bow were two compilations of black poets. The note under the bow stated, “I’d like to contribute the first books to your poetry collection. It’s always good to start with the essentials (smile).”

Robyn grabbed one of the books and sat down in a chair just as Leandra walked in with her hairstylist beside her.

“What’s all this?” Leandra asked.

“My friend sent me a gift.”

“Your online friend?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, he must really like you.”

“I like him too.”

“Did you send something back?”

“I just got this, this morning so I’m still thinking.”

“How’d he get your address?”

“He doesn't have it. I gave him my PO Box.”

“Oh your stalker box.”

“Don’t start, Lele.”

“So how you feel?”

“I’m ok. I still don’t wanna go.”

“Girl, I ain’t talking about this stupid ass gala. How do you feel about Chris?”

“What am I supposed to feel? I really love the gifts but that’s it”

“I’m looking at your face and it’s more than that.”

“He got me poetry books.”

“What? You found someone to indulge your weird ass literature taste.”

“Look, just because you only like sex books doesn’t make my taste weird. I am cultured.”

“I have a master’s degree too so save it. How’d he know to get that?”

“We had a conversation about books and I told him I always wanted to start a collection of poetry but never had the time nor knew where to start and I guess he remembered.”

“What made him send you a gift?”

“It was a little joke about how he could get me to not back out of the gala. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to go through with it but he did.”

“A man who keeps his word. He really likes you.”

“I know.”

“So...still never gonna meet him in person?”

“That was never part of the deal.”

Leandra groaned as she flopped down on the couch, “are you at least gonna get some from somebody at this gala?”

“Ewww….no. I’m staying at most an hour then coming back home.”

“Have you talked to Chris?”

“Not today.”

“Do you only chat on the app?”

“Yea.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I thought you would’ve gotten his phone number by now.”

“Nah, that’s too personal. I wouldn’t give my number to someone I haven’t met yet.”

“So meet him.”

“No.”

“Ugh….you get on my nerves, Robyn.”

Robyn laughed, “what’s your plans for tonight?”

“Getting the baby from his father and going home.”

“How is my nephew?”

“He’s good.”

“And his father?”

“Still alive, unfortunately.”

“Don’t do Max like that.”

“He gets on my nerves.”

“How?”

“He keeps asking me if we’re getting back together.”

“Aww...Lele, he still loves you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“And you still love him too. You always playing hard to get.”

“Ch….I am hard to get. Thank you very much.”

“Is that why y’all keep going on vacations together?”

“If a man wants to take me to Puerto Rico or Costa Rica free of charge, who am I to say no?”

Robyn laughed, “Lord, what are we gonna do with you?”

“Love me, duh.”

Leandra stayed until Robyn was ready to leave for the gala. As she climbed into the back of car, she grabbed her phone

A: Hey stranger

A few minutes passed before she received an answer.

C: Hey. How are you?

A: I’m great. On my way to the gala

C: Still decided against an escort?

A: Yea. Besides, I don’t plan on staying there long.

C: Ah ok

A: So….thank you for the gifts. The corsage is perfect for my dress

C: You’re very welcome. My sister helped me pick that out.

A: Tell her I said thank you

C: I will

A: So what are you up to?

C; Laundry and grading work

A: What’s the task this week?

C: Students had to craft an original piece of music modeled after a piece they enjoy so I’ve been listening to music tracks all day

A: How’s it sounding?

C: I’ve gotten a few good ones but what passes for music and what these students are modeling their pieces after is awful. 

A: That bad?

C: Some of these songs just can’t find a key and then when I listen to their reference tracks, I understand why. Music production has gotten so lazy over the years

A: You think so?

C: I’m gonna send you the best one I’ve heard and the worst one and tell me what you think

A: I’m getting homework now too, Professor

C: Lol. I just want you to hear what I’m dealing with

A: Send it. I’ll get back to you when I can

C: No rush. I’ll be home all weekend with this.

A: Cool. How’s the puppy search going?’

C: Good. We’ve narrowed it down to three puppies. I told her she has one week to pick one and then we’ll find a place to buy it.

A: As a shelter owner, please try and get a shelter dog. So many of them are good dogs that were in bad situations.

C: I will keep that in mind.

A: That’s all I ask

C: So what’s your plans after the gala?

A: Home.

C: Up for a video chat?’

A: Absolutely. I kinda miss your automated voice

C: Lol Same here

A: Anything else going on

C: Nope. I live a rather simple life.

A: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

C: To be honest, I’m not quite sure

A: Something giving you doubts

C: My daughter told me she feels sad for me

A: Aww...why?

C: Because I’m alone. It’s kinda hard to explain to a three year old the difference between alone and lonely

A: Lol true but then don’t explain with words, show her with actions. She probably thinks you don’t have a life and for children, they haven’t commanded the power and beauty of peace and stillness. They still have so much they haven’t explored

C: You have a point

A: Honestly, if you find things to do when she’s not around, she’ll probably feel a bit better about you

C: I’ll have to find me a new hobby then

A: What’s your current hobby?

C: I don’t really have one to be honest. My job involves music now so it’s not really a hobby anymore

A: It could be, it’s not like you make music for your class, do you?

C: Not recently

A; Do you sing, play instruments? What?

C: I have a decent voice but I play the piano, the guitar, and can do alright by the saxophone

A: What type of music do you prefer to play?

C: Nothing like an old school soul song. I love playing Sade records on the sax

A: I might have to compel you to play for me one day

C: I would offer to play tonight but my instruments are in storage

A: No rush. It’s just a thought

C: I’d love to play for you though

A: You making me feel inadequate

C: In what way?

A: The gifts. The music offers. Doesn’t feel like we’re on even footing

C: Well only you know what you have to offer. Find what works. I’m always open for gifts or moments

A: I’m gonna have to think of something. Thank you for the poetry books by the way. It’s a good start of a collection

C: The classics are always your best bet

A: I’m a little surprised you remembered

C: Why? 

A: It was such an odd conversation and it was late when we had it, surely you wouldn’t have remembered it

C: That’s a weird assumption. If there is one thing I’ve learned from being married, it’s learning to listen just as much as you like to talk. Reciprocity is the key.

A: Very true.

C: Are you at the gala yet?

A: Just pulled up

C: Well I hope you have a good night for however long you are there

A: I hope they do the award ceremony first so I can get my award and leave

C: If I gotta try and find a life, you need to live yours. You never know you may enjoy the time

A: We’ll see. Talk to you later

C: Later 

[thegoldenavenger]

Stony librarian au(I love adorable librarian tony)

So! This turned into semi-horror instead of the domestic library shenanigans you probably wanted! Sorry! Warnings: horror/surreal themes. Unbeta’d. 

The library is mostly dark, just the lamp as Tony sorts through things at the check in desk.  It’s after hours and while Tony loves his job, he can admit that he enjoys these dark, quiet moments quite a bit.  

This library used to be one of the old townside houses his father used to own, but Tony gutted it, renovated it, filled it with books and movies and loanable equipment, and opened it to the public and though he’s wise enough to let Pepper run the thing it is still his. It’d been the one cathartic thing he’d allowed himself, after his father’s death. 

So during the day he’s running around making calls and writing emails and chasing down people who don’t want to listen to reason as he tries to wrestle his father’s company into something resembling an ethically sound forefront of innovation and during the night he runs his hand over the spines of well loved, well treated books. 

When he was small his father would chase him out of the study library nook, as if Tony were too stupid to know how to treat things with respect or like Tony was better suited somewhere else then in his father’s line of sight.  When Tony did manage to sneak his way in, he was always terrified of lifting the heavy books off their shelves as if he’d disturb some great relic. 

Walls of classic literature were for show, Tony had learned growing up. You spent money or rare editions and then stored them so the embossed spine could be seen but you didn’t touch them. It was so, so different when he went to his friend’s house and Tony was treated to homely shelves of pulp fiction, and sci-fi, and kid books all stacked together.  Rhodey’s mother dog-eared a harlequin as she stood from her arm chair to greet Tony. 

Rhodey had given Tony his copy of the Lord of the Rings, and after that The Twin Tower and it’s Rhodey’s precise hand that has underlined and highlighted the passage that makes Tony always, always remember that even darkness must pass. That when the sun shines, it will shine clearer. 

So yes, Tony builds a library out of the bones of his past and yes it means something. It means something to walk the aisles after dark and smile at the full book carts.  It fills Tony with a sense that he’s done this thing right, at least. 

After hours doesn’t mean the library is empty, there’s a cleaning staff Tony keeps well-paid and happy, so he’s not terrible surprised when he hears footsteps echoing in the foyer of the library. It’s a bit late, maybe, but nothing unusual. The library still feels like safety, and it continues to do so for all the time it takes for Tony to turn a corner to see a shadow bent over the books at the front desk. 

It’s not any of his employees, he makes a note to memorize them and their names, not any of his friends, or anyone else he recognizes. 

The person at the desk is rifling through the books, flipping to the spines and then placing them back on the pile. They are broad shouldered and tall, and Tony’s hands flit to his pockets like he might summon a weapon to confront this... Tony doesn’t know. Robber? 

“I’m not finding it!” The man says and Tony jumps. 

“Can’t see anything here either--maybe it’s in the drop box?” Another voice joins in, and Tony blinks a couple times as another person pops up from behind the counter.  This one is illuminated by Tony’s small desk lamp instead of silhouetted.  He’s thin, sharp jawed, with a flop of dark blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that widen as they meet Tony’s. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, standing straight up. 

The other man whips around, just as startled. 

Tony raises his hands, placating, then scoffs at himself because he’s the one who is supposed to be here. 

“I can ask the same thing! What are you doing in my library? We’re closed, lights off, no visitors.” He flicks his hands as he talks, claps them as a statement and watches as the two intruders jump. 

“We’re looking for a book.” Says the dark haired man. “This is a library.” 

The blond puts his face in his hands. 

“We haven’t had anyone return anything like that.” Tony says, affronted. “We don’t even have anything like that in our system.” He looks, affronted, at Steve who had found a moment to introduce himself and his friend. 

“Someone could have slipped it into your library without you knowing, it’s slippery like that.”

“It’s a book,” Tony says, “Books aren’t sentient creatures with willpower.

Bucky, Steve’s tall, dark, and intimidating friend, scoffs.  

“Well, maybe someone turned it in as a trick then, but it definitely should be somewhere on this property.” Steve says, giving Bucky a look. 

“I’ve already checked through all the returns today, unless someone dropped it through the drop-box the last couple of hours.” 

Steve looks at Tony, with his wide, wide eyes, and Tony huffs. 

“Look, let’s go check I’ve got the keys for it, and if it’s not there you can get me some coffee and tell me more about why you’re looking for a haunted book like some Youtube Ghost Hunters.” Tony says and heads for the door.  Steve and Bucky follow.

“We’re Seekers, not Ghost Hunters.”

“Bucky!”

“Well, he should get it right, not--” There’s a muffled thump and Steve hissing “Shut up!”

Tony lets a smile spread over his face, comfortable in the fact that they can’t see him.  Maybe they’re misguided idiots looking for views for their blog or whatever the kids are into these days, Tony doesn’t know, but it was a fun anomaly while it lasted. 

The drop boxes are located outside the building, conveniently located so people can drive up and drop their books if they don’t want to stop in.  Tony puts his key into the closest one and unlocks it, pulling the flap open. 

Tony pulls three books out, all children’s books. He raises an eyebrow at Steve and Bucky as he hands them the books to look over.  Locking that box he turns to the next and opens it to find it empty.  

“Right, so where is this haunted book?” He asks, gesturing dramatically at the empty darkness inside the drop box.  Bucky actually sticks his head into the thing before accepting Tony’s verdict. 

Tony shuts the drop box, locks it and then puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, you owe me some coffee and an explanation.” 

The explanation is better than the coffee but only because the coffee is tepid and stale. Tony isn’t sure he believes Steve and Bucky’s account of a book that, what, eats people? Disappears them? But it’s an amusing tale and seeing Steve’s face get all worked up when Tony teases him is definitely reason enough to be here. 

In fact, Steve is much more entertaining than the tale he’s trying to weave.  The shiny dullness to his hair, the freckles Tony can see now that they’re being illuminated by ugly florescent lighting, his big blue eyes and the thick eyebrows scowling at him. 

“Are you even paying attention?” Steve hisses. 

“What, yes, yes.  Hundred years of murder history.  Secret shadowy nightmares. Very believable.” Tony nods just to watch Steve’s cheeks heat up with red. 

Steve’s hands are lithe and his knuckles strong as he sets his coffee mug down on the table with a clack! He pushes himself up, bending over the table to get in Tony’s face and yell.  He’s pretty short, Tony notices.  If Tony wasn’t resting his chin in his hands Steve might still be looking up at him instead of down. 

Bucky sets his fork down long enough to yank Steve back into his seat and say, “He’s goading you.” Before he goes back to shoveling greasy diner eggs into his mouth. 

Steve crosses his arms and huffs, sitting back into the booth. 

“If you weren’t gonna listen, why’d ya wanna come out for coffee?” Steve mutters, and it takes Tony’s brain a whole second to reboot because that was an accent oh yes it was. 

Blinking to clear his head, Tony replies with the same steadiness he’s been showing in the face of Steve’s tall tales. “I’m a librarian, I’m pretty much obligated to check you out.”

“If you weren’t so--” Steve starts but Tony doesn’t hear him because Bucky just snorts coffee all over his empty plate. 

It takes that interruption for Steve to actually process Tony’s (lame) line and his cheeks erupt from pissed off pink to really embarrassed red. 

Bucky coughs into his napkin, the coughs resolving into loud, husky laughter, enough for waitress to come by all concerned and glass of water in hand.  Bucky waves her off and looks at Tony with the most amused expression on his face, a total deviation from the stone wall Tony has seen most of the night. 

“Good luck with this one, pal,” he says, patting Steve heavily on the shoulder. 

Tony ends up paying for the coffee and Bucky’s eggs, because Tony doesn’t think internet sleuths actually have much income, and because the story was worth the bill. 

“Make sure you return those books, or you’ll miss our due date,” he calls after Steve and Bucky’s receding backs.  He can hear Bucky start laughing again, under the noise of exasperation Steve makes. 

Tony actually hopes they do come back, and not just because he wants the kids books he left with Steve returned. 

This was a fun night, he thinks as he returns to his home. It was definitely going to be The story at lunch time gossip with Pepper and Rhodey.  Tony locks the door behind him, flipping on the lights and slipping out of his shoes.  He shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then loosens the tied around his neck. 

He thinks they might have words about him not calling the cops on a couple of B&Eers, which reminds him, he should have asked how they got in the library in the first place.  The doors were still locked when they’d left to see the drop boxes and he hadn’t heard any windows breaking. 

Tony resolves to ask when--if he sees them again.  

He continues with his nightly routine, showering, brushing his teeth, dressing for bed, cleaning his nails. He grabs his briefcase and drags it to the couch, where he turns on the flat screen for some background noise.  He pours the rest of the green smoothie he’d made that morning into a glass and takes it with him to the couch where he opens his briefcase. 

He always spends a couple of hours catching up on emails before bed, and he reaches into the case to grab his laptop but his hand rests on something else. 

He pulls his hand out, and he’s holding a heavy, perfect bound book. 

That had definitely not been there this morning, he thinks before he puts it on the coffee table. 

The books stays in his briefcase.  Tony does not read it, he’s not stupid. 

Okay, Rhodey isn’t stupid, and Tony’s smart enough to call him the moment he stopped internally freaking out about the book.

“Don’t read it man, don’t be that guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course not.”

“You’re reading it right now aren’t you?”

“Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

“Really?”

“Really. But, like, I might in the next fifteen minutes. It’s just right there! You know I have poor impulse control, honey bear!” 

“Control yourself man!”

Tony controls himself long enough that Rhodey can slap the book out of his hands when he bursts into Tony’s apartment like the cool-aid man.  Rhodey’s mom didn’t raise a fool, so the books gets wrapped in Rhodey’s sweater, wrapped in a bag, put into another bag, then locked back in Tony’s briefcase.  He’d have thrown it into a fire too, if Tony hadn’t insisted they save it for Steve and Bucky.  Mostly Steve. 

“Who are they?” Rhodey asks, and though Tony wanted to save this story for Gossip time he relents and fills Rhodey in on the hours of Tony’s life he missed. 

“You are. The worst.” Rhodey says. “This shit never used to happen to me before I met you.” 

“Yeah, but you love me anyways.”

Rhodey makes a frustrated noise but doesn’t deny it. 

Tony and Rhodey wait at the library all day for Steve and Bucky to show up.  Tony keeps making Rhodey guess which vaguely suspicious duos are the Monster Hunters in question, just to laugh behind his hand when Rhodey inevitably guesses wrong.

The briefcase is heavy in Tony’s hand, and he thinks if he stops talking he’ll want to rip the book out and read it. 

“Oh wait, no I know exactly who you were talking about,” Rhodey says, his flat voice resigned. Tony looks up and sees Steve and Bucky beelining towards the library’s entry way. 

Tony stand from the bench and waves invitingly towards the two men. 

“Hey! No late fees for you!” Tony calls out as they get closer.  Bucky doesn’t laugh this time, but Steve’s face still gets red so Tony chalks it up to a win. 

“Tony, what’s that?” Steve asks, pointing at Tony’s hand. 

Tony and Rhodey both look down to see Tony’s hand gripping the bag Rhodey had stuffed the book into. 

“Jesus, Tony!” 

“What, I didn’t? I don’t remember opening the case! It was locked! You’d have noticed me unlocking it!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Steve interrupts. 

“I’m the best librarian, I found your book!” Tony says brightly, lifting up the bag. He’s already trying to unwrap it, but Bucky’s hand shoots out, closing over his with a surprising amount of strength. 

“Not here.” He says, gruffly.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says under his breath. 

“I know, right?” Tony says, grinning widely at his friend. 

Steve ends up dropping the children’s books back into the drop box and they all hop into an old car and drive to a motel a few minutes away.  Tony complains about the vehicle the whole time, from the rust patches in the paint job, to the air pressure in the tires that he can feel is just too low, to the sound the car makes as Steve shifts gears.  

“Get a hold of your guy,” Bucky orders, eyes on Tony’s drifting hand through the sun visor’s mirror.

“He ain’t my guy,” Rhodey insists fervently, as he grabs Tony’s hands and yanks them away from the book. “I don’t got a guy, why does everyone think you’re my guy, Tony?” 

“Maybe ‘cause you’re always holding my hand?” Tony turns his grip so he’s clutching Rhodey’s fingers instead of shaking. 

He hates being out of control. It’s why he stopped drinking. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all your fault.” Rhodey says, but he keeps Tony’s hands steady for him, like he always does. 

The motel is cheap, and Tony thinks he might actually break out in hives just walking into the rented room, but he keeps quiet because he’s finally allowed to bring out the book. 

He blinks and Steve has snatched it out of his hands. 

“This is definitely it,” Steve says and Bucky nods as they both look over the black cover.  There are no words embossed on it, front or back or spine.  It’s just black leather, and cream pages. 

“So what is it?” Rhodey asks. 

So Steve and Bucky tell Rhodey what they told Tony last night, and this time Tony actually listens. 

“The last time someone had this one, they disappeared.” Bucky says.

Rhodey’s hands fist, and Tony gives in and sits on the bed, even if the comforter is tacky. 

“Finding these things are so hard,” Steve complains, “If we can locate one, usually it’s already in the hands of someone who is dumb enough to try and keep it.”  He looks approvingly at Tony. 

“Trust me,” Tony says, raising his hands, “I’m done with the disappearing acts.” 

“These things have a way of getting their hooks in you,” Bucky says, his arm reaching up to rub at the empty sleeve at his side. “You shouldn’t be alone for a bit.” 

“Thanks for coming to us,” Steve says, and he reaches out to touch Tony’s wrist. 

Tony thinks that might be a better reward than not disappearing. 

“Here’s my number.” Bucky says, handing Rhodey a sticky note. “Call if anything weird happens. 

Rhodey nods, all cool like, but Tony knows if he were to put a hand to Rhodey’s cheek it’d be heated. 

Tony, despite thinking Steve is kind of cute, is ready to put the incident behind him, but he doesn’t complain when Rhodey decides to stick around. To observe him. 

Tony is glad of it, when strange shit keeps happening around him. 

He’s swipes toothpaste onto his toothbrush and runs the head of it under the faucet then starts to brush his teeth. 

And then Rhodey asks him what’s taking him so long and he blinks and his mouth his foamy, and his gums hurt, and so does his hand where he was gripping the brush. Did he lose time? He’s probably tired.

But then, he gets up from watching TV with Rhodey and goes to the kitchen. He asks if Rhodey wants anything, grabs a second beer even before Rhodey asks for one and head back to the living room, but Rhodey already has a beer and the channel has changed. “I got thirsty waiting for you to finish.” Rhodey says offhand, as if Tony had gone anywhere but straight to and from the kitchen.

It’s at his day job that it gets really weird, though.  Tony finishes an email then stands to head to the employee break room.  He doesn’t need to, but he likes getting coffee there.  It’s a nice way to say hi, to stay connected to those who work under him. 

The halls are empty as he makes his way to the break room.  He can’t even hear people working behind the office doors.  There’s no one in the meeting rooms he walks by, no one by the water coolers.  He pushes the door to the break room but there’s no one there, either. He tries to focus on getting his coffee, but his hands are already shaking so he skips it and goes for water instead. 

On the way back he peaks his head opens a door leading into marketing but there’s no one there.  All the desks are empty. He takes a turn into accounting, but it’s just florescent lights. He pushes open another door, then another, and it’s all just empty desks and harsh lights.  It’s several twists before he even realises that this isn’t how he had the offices decorated.  He always stressed the importance of natural lighting and comfortable spaces but the decor has turned into colorless carpet, narrow plastered walls and yellow flickering lights.  Endless doors opening to vacant cubicles and abandoned office equipment. 

Tony has never been one to call out when in trouble, so it’s just his thudding heart and rasping breaths to accompany his footfalls as he runs through the building trying to find his way out of the labyrinthine office and damn, that thought really makes him want to laugh out loud, even though he knows it’d be strangled. 

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, types in the number he’d already memorised by the time Rhodey had slipped it into his pocket, and hopes that somehow it connects. 

There’s a dial tone, and then-- “Rhodey?” 

“Hah, yes! I mean, no, I’m not Rhodey, but I’ll set you up on, like, a coffee date with him if you can get me out of here!” 

“Tony?” 

“Yes, ding ding ding! It only took you two guesses! Amazing--” His breath hitches in the middle and he stops running in order to stop himself from making any more weird, vulnerable noises. 

“Tony, is that you, what’s going on?” And that’s Steve’s voice, oh good!

“Yeah, I’m--does this thing have face time or? No, listen I lost in an office building. My office building? But it’s not, I did not authorise this floorplan! I’m a madman but I’m not malevolent I would never pair--” He makes a strangled noise, “Emotionally void and tasteless paintings with god! damn! fluorescent! lighting!” 

The yellow lights flicker obstinately at him. “Yeah fuck you, too!” He yells. 

“Tony, calm down, take a breath what did you say? A void?” 

“A labyrinth. No one’s here. Haven’t even seen a Minotaur.” He laughs again and he knows it’s shading hysterical. 

“Oh, shit,” The phone pulls away from Steve’s mouth and his voice goes fuzzy as he talks to presumably Bucky, and Tony heart flies to his throat.

“Hey, hey, what do you mean ‘oh shit’ come on. Steve? Steve?!” 

“I’m here, keep walking.” Steve demands.  Tony listens.  He walks.  He listens as Steve talks to him about what he’s doing, he walks past empty water coolers and dead plants.  When the connection hisses Steve tells him to turn and Tony does.  

“Bucky is pissed you called his car a heartbreaker, that’s his baby.” Steve says and Tony forces a laugh. “I only said it because it’s true. The paint job was breaking my heart!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hears Bucky in the background. 

“I’ll show you a real ride once--” He breaks off as he opens another door to another empty room. Steve makes a choking noise that has Tony smiling despite everything. “I’ve got cars,” He says instead. “Like a hobby.”

“Sounds like a rich man’s hobby.” Steve offers.

“Sure,” Tony agrees. “But I’ll take it if it means I don’t have to worry about your friend’s death trap breaking down.” 

“I like bikes better,” Steve admits. 

“You ride?” Tony asks. 

“Here and there,” 

Tony gives silent thanks for the image of Steve in motorcycle leathers.

“I like bikes, too. You know Fujikawa?”

“Know ‘em? Those are the best damn bikes--”

“Well, I’ve got a couple--”

“Of course you do!” 

Tony laughs, delighted. “I can do better than that, too.”

“What, you’ve got a flying car hiding somewhere?”

“Not yet,” Tony says, “But I can introduce you to Rumiko.”

“Ru--Rumiko? That’s-- She’s, but!” She’s the lead designer at Fujikawa Industries is what she is, and Tony is so, so glad to have met her in this moment. 

“Yeah, she’s great. We’ll have lunch, it’ll be a ball.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, “I won’t have coffee with you again if you’re just making this up.”

“You were planning on having coffee with me again?” The thought warms Tony’s chest straight through his heart.  He can feel the grin on his face. 

“Well. I gotta check you ... out, or---” 

Tony laughs, startled, then laughs harder because he can hear Bucky hacking up a lung in the background. 

“Shut up! Never mind, offer rescinded.” 

“Too late!” Tony crows, “You can’t take that back! You said it! I’m holding it right here, by my index card. I’m signing it out, it’s set in stone, buddy, you’ve got yourself a date.” 

“You have a date?” Pepper asks.

Tony whips his head around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.  The phone drops and Pepper rises from her seat at Tony’s desk. “Tony?” 

“Holy shit, I’m out!” 

Steve’s voice comes out tinny through the phone. 

“Tony, are you okay?” Pepper’s smile has taken on a shade of concern.

“You’re real, right?” Tony asks, before bending down to pick up his phone. “Steve, I found Pepper, I think I’m out!” 

“Okay, I’m going to call for an ambulance,” Pepper says, frowning. 

“No, I’m fine! I’m great!” 

Steve’s voice sounds generally approving, though Tony isn’t really listening to him right now. 

“You’re delirious, I think.” 

“No, I have a date!” He exclaims, and Pepper just shakes her head.

Steve and Bucky investigate ever corner of the spaces Tony inhabits, and they find a folded page in his night stand that Tony doesn’t remember.  The paper is think, and the only thing printed on it is an old looking wood cut of a silhouette. Looking at it sends chills up Tony’s spine, but after Steve and Bucky take possession of it the weirdness stops, so that’s fine.  Tony is good to put the incident behind him and focuses instead on figuring out how to get Steve to follow him on a plane trip to Japan. 

“What is it, Tony?” Steve’s voice is groggy, but Tony doesn’t feel bad for waking him. 

“Thought I saw a shadow outside my window.”

“You did not.” Steve says, matter of factly. 

“You don’t know that.” Tony says, smile quirking around his mouth. 

“You’re the worst.”

“That’s true.” Tony grins, because he can hear Steve shifting around, getting up. 

“Fine, I’ll be there soon.”

“Actually, it’s gonna take you about eight hours.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, you see, I’m kind of in Japan.”

“I’m not going to Japan, Tony!” 

“Aren’t you, though?” Tony says, and yes! He’d timed it right because he can hear the knocking at Steve’s door.

“Tony, what did you do?” Steve whines. 

Tony grins and takes a sip of the tea Rumiko had brought out for him.  On the table between them is a crumpled napkin with a spider imprinted on it, something slipped into Rumiko’s things without her noticing.  

“We’re going to Japan,” Bucky says, his voice muffled through the connection. 

“Tony, what did you do!” Steve’s whining takes a panicked edge to it. 

“It’s fine, Steve.” He says, then addresses Rumiko, pointing at his phone. “I told you, Rumiko, I know Weird Stuff experts. Everything’s gonna be fine!” 

“Seekers!” He hears Bucky yell. 

“RUMIKO?” Steve yells.

Rumiko puts her head in her hands, but she’s laughing. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says. 

Tony smiles, winningly and turns back to the phone, “You can buy me coffee when you get here.” 

[polygamyff]

43.

It’s weird to be moving my things to a home I have never visited; I am adamant in not seeing it until I am with Robyn and Reign so we can do it together. I am just emptying my suite at the top of my hotel “feeling emotional?” turning around seeing Shawn “it’s weird, I don’t know. I feel emotional, I don’t know why though” dapping Shawn “it’s because a lot has happened in this suite Maurice, this has been your home for years. Like you hid from Noami here, you have had so much happen here, happiness, tears. You spent your time here, so you’re finally moving huh?” nodding my head “yeah, it’s scary you know. I am finally going to be a family man, family home. Robyn is coming today so yeah, I thought I would get the movers to move my stuff, it’s not much but still. It’s my stuff, and I’m emotional” I chuckled, Shawn patted my back “it’s new beginnings for you, I am happy for you. Robyn moving to the city that never sleeps, she can really watch you now” nodding my head “Ally, I want you to get someone to deep clean this place, renovate it and we can start using this suite for customers ok? You now what to do” Ally waved me off as she rushed off, she is of course doing everything. She is making sure my stuff is moved “she has been to the home, she said she was taken back by it, she said it’s beautiful. I refuse to see it until I am with Robyn, so I let Ally deal with it, so how you been? Not spoke to you for a while” I am still trying to take it all in, where I spent my depressive drugged up days, I vaguely remember when Noami came storming in this suite, I don’t know how. And I just snorted a line, she was so angry. Like I know I said to her bye, I knew I was going to be out of it, and I had other women here, she was so angry “Maurice!” Shawn clicked his fingers at me “huh” looking at me “sorry, what did you say?” here I am daydreaming “I am going to tell your sister about my past” raising an eyebrow “you sure about that? Can’t believe it’s a thing still” I was hoping it would have ended “it is Maurice, we get on just well. I like Nalah a lot Maurice” I still don’t know how to feel about it “if it’s true then she will come back to you, if not then you know. Look at me, I came out of it being a married man. Love” pointing at him “this is why I am nervous, now I know how you felt when you didn’t want to tell Robyn about Noami, you don’t want to lose her” nodding my head as I walked off slowly “well, she knows where I am if she needs me, I rather you tell her. Then maybe I can accept this situation a little more” Shawn nodded his head.

This place is empty now, I had a few things here, not many. The movers came from Texas, to here and now to the home which Ally will be there, and they came here for what, about eight boxes. Looking around the suite “new beginnings bro” Shawn patted my shoulder; my dad gave me this suite to live when I turned twenty. It was a place I ran too, cried at actually “new beginnings” I said closing the door “it’s bad vibes anyways, I know. I have been there with you” rubbing my chin as I walked the lobby “I am happy, like I will have my daughter here. I can be a real ass dad instead of you know, seeing her now and then and I think Robyn and I will work so much better. She wants a family home and I also want a family. She hated that I never really moved in the Cali home, well why would I? That was never my base, here is better and I am so happy she did this. I didn’t want to approach the situation, you know how it is with women” fixing my suite jacket button “I do, but you hear that? About Malik? Well” Shawn pressed the elevator button “so Noami’ uncle beat Malik’ ass and then Naomi left him. This was around when the divorce happened and got signed. Malik has no home, and Nalah said your dad has him in the hotel at New Orleans because your mom begged him. Malik is in a state” stepping in the elevator “see, when it’s my hotel. He will be on the streets; I can never forgive him” it’s up to my dad what he wants to do with him for now.

Stepping off of the elevator “well I thought I would tell you, me and Jay are going into business” me and Shawn stopped in the middle of the reception area “no way!?” Shawn spat “Mr Davenport, he is here Kellen” looking behind me, I know this nigga ain’t here, and Tiffany “Maurice, cousin” that child is in my hotel “Kellen” I mumbled, I am not impressed. He is holding that child like that child means anything, Tiffany didn’t bother to walk to me, but Kellen did with that child “I was in New York so I thought Royal can meet his uncle” staring at Kellen’ face “his what?” I said, Kellen laughed “come on now, I am a changed man. I don’t want this anymore; this is the future. This is Uncle Maurice, Royal” taking in a deep breath “why did you name him Royal?” I need to know this “because in my eyes he is Royal, and I want him to know his family” Kellen said “where is Reign? We did grow up together” stuffing my hands in my pockets “she is coming soon, you know Robyn is moving here” looking down at the child “luckily he has your genes” Kellen laughed “I am so happy to have a son” looking up from the child “likewise but with having a daughter, if you are staying here. No funny business ok?” Kellen nodded his head “I paid” he said “good, nice seeing you. I have business” I rather not fuck with him, keep him at a distance.

Walking off with Shawn “I don’t trust him, he has an agenda” I said, making my way outside “his son is cute, got that light skinned genes too. The Davenport genes” looking over at Shawn “do I care?” we stopped outside the hotel “I am just saying” Shawn nudged me “I would like a son though, but having a daughter is just the best. She gives me a lot of love and I wouldn’t ever love her any less, but I would like a son, a boy of mine. He will be even cuter than Royal, dumb ass name to be honest” Shawn chuckled “but he is cute” I added, I don’t want to sound too bitter “so you want more kids then?” Shawn asked “I do, I am just scared but Robyn took that fear away from me when she said what she said about helping me, helping us and there is a way around it. So I am happy now” Shawn smiled at me “good on you” seeing a SUV pull up in front of me “this is my next meet, but thanks for coming to see me and if my sister does need me, you know where I am ok?” dapping Shawn “see what happens” he walked off “Maurice Davenport!” Rob said “Robert” shaking his hand “you got my goods?” he chuckled “I do, in this” he has a large briefcase with him “well, come on. Let’s go in” I gestured for him to go in first.

Sitting across from him in my meeting room “when I got the call from your assistant, I was thinking. Is this really Maurice Davenport? I was so confused, but then the money came in straight away and look at this, the man himself. I am rather shocked to meet you, a young black man that is a billionaire, I do meet rich men but this. I am so hype right now” this guy is funny “well I got good reviews from your business, and I believe you have got what I want?” he is nervous, I don’t know why either “unless you don’t?” he unlocked his case “no, I have. I just hope you like it. Would you like to see Reign-Texas Davenport watch first?” I smiled, I smiled at him saying her full name “go on” I said, I don’t really think I am a big deal but clearly I am according to this guy. I just wanted him to make Reign and Robyn some Rolex’s for them, a little gift for them “you said you wanted to keep it same, so this is Reign’ Diamond encrusted, pink face Rolex” taking the watch from Rob “aww man, oh my god. This is so cute, like I know this will be perfect for her, a little loose but she will grow into it, aww my baby girl is going to look so good, yeah” looking around the watch “I like it, it’s perfect” nodding my head staring in awe, I just love it “this is Robyn’ watch, as you requested, the same. To every detail” he held it out to me in the box “perfect, both of my ladies got the same. So what it is, they are moving to me. I just wanted to give them both a moving gift, so this is perfect. Thank you” I am very happy with this gift.

Robyn has just said she has landed in New York, I am so happy and excited right now, I couldn’t meet them at the airport because I need to finish off a few things here because I’m off for a few days to help settle in Robyn “Maurice” my office door opened “yes Ally?” looking up at the door “Kellen is here, he would like to speak to you” rolling my eyes “I suppose, just let him in” I have no choice, clearly he has some issue that he has got. Why does he want to speak to me “cuz” Kellen walked in “welcome to my office, what is up? You may take a seat” I pointed across my desk “thank you” it’s such a shame he did what he did, now he’s sniffing around me “what is it I can do for you Kellen?” he is laughing, he should laugh because he is a joke “my dad said you’re going to take over the company by next month, and that your dad said you’re not going to put up with shit. Meaning you won’t support us like that, I have a family and a home to run” taking in a deep breath “Tiffany not working? Or she wanting you to provide for her? Huh?” Kellen sighed out “I am stuck with her, I fucked up and I am with her now what do you want me to do, it’s her. She sells stories about us; I can’t stop her. Ask Robyn, we always been toxic, but I made a mistake with her and she said she wants a home like you got here, I am not spending sixty-seven fucking million! I just need you to tell me what I can do so I can still get money” raising an eyebrow, I laughed and it’s funny to me “leave her, then I can accept you’re being true to your word. I mean you don’t want her right? You divorce her, make sure you prove she cheated on you too. She can’t touch anything because this is all mines so there is that. You leave her, then I will help you and your son out” Kellen stared at me like I was joking “other then that, now you told me she speaks shit about me, I don’t want to know. Leave her, then come to me. Money or no money, your choice” I smirked “cuz” I am not being evil but honestly, fuck Tiffany “but will you have my back? My dad will kill me!?” nodding my head “I got you, I can put that on my daughter. You want to prosper; she needs to go. I will be running a close circle, either you’re in or out” this guy does not love Tiffany, he hates her a lot “my son?” why is he asking me “naming it Royal, should have been a crime!” I spat “I didn’t pick it, his full name is Royal Texas Davenport, Tiffany is deluded, I wanted his name to be Kellen junior!” shaking my head in disbelief “wow! Well you know what to do, come back when you can” that fucking bitch.

[idlescratchingsthings-blog]

Whitechapel WIP.

Look. It’s not a huge fandom, but I used to write some Chandler/Kent, and I still get kudos from AO3 on it, so we will see how this compares. Once again, if anyone has any feedback or constructive criticism, please let me know. 

This is supposed to be part of a much larger fic that is basically the season we didn’t get (I’m still mad about it, ITV) Set 7 months after the last season ended. ******* The weight of the day sat strangely on his shoulders - it had been seven months since he’d last followed this path. From bed to his desk. Seven months since Abrahamians had died so suddenly. Seven months since he’d fumbled his words and still got the answer he’d hoped for. Seven months since the answer didn’t matter anyway. Because they were all dead.And Joe… well, Joe lost it. Totally lost it.  Kent had spent the last seven months sorting himself out. He’d stopped listening to that voice - the one put there by Louise Iver. Instead, he’d been focusing on himself. He’d basically gone full hippie. He’d started meditating and going to yoga, and eating cleaner, and had considered going vegan until he’d come to his senses over scones on a day trip with Erica. How could a man live without whipped cream? He had an amazing therapist. Finding one had been a bit of a struggle, the ghost of Morgan Lamb seemed to loom over each of them - in certain phrases or gestures. But Dr. Manse was a good match, and Kent was making progress.  As he pulled the helmet off his head and strode towards the building, Kent realised that he was nervous. He had seen all of the team at some point or another. Mansell especially, since he and Erica had defied all odds and stayed together. Kent and Riley had had a few day trips together, including a competitive round of paintball last weekend. Kent still had a bruise on his upper thigh. Miles and he had had a few chats by Miles’ pond. He’d even seen Buchan at a bookstore a few weeks ago.  He’d seen all of them except one.  Kent stopped outside of the station and brushed off his shoulders, as though he could wipe away the tension there. His new blue-grey suit sat well. The lines crisp and clear. The dark grey tie slightly undone. The thought of returning to work was stifling enough, so Kent stopped and removed it completely, stuffing it into his pocket and undoing the top two buttons. He breathed a little easier and finally entered the building.  The Whitechapel station was unrecognisable. Louise Iver’s vandalism had caused a very dangerous case of black mold, and the whole building had been renovated. The foyer was airier, the front of the building largely glass. The vague disco feel of wood veneer and linoleum floors had been replaced with wooden floors and smooth, white walls. A small copse of potted plants sat somewhat cheerfully near the front desk. Kent caught the officer on duty’s attention and got directions to the new incident room.  He took the stairs, hoping to burn some of the nervous energy. He wanted so badly to see Joe but also feared it. He started humming something absent-mindedly, as he walked into the Incident room. He was alone. The first one in, it seemed, so he took himself on a circuit of the room. On the right side, there was a kitchenette. It looked more substantial than the old one. Then, towards the back of the room, there was what looked like AV equipment. Tape decks and card readers sat neatly near a bank of monitors. The wall on the left of the equipment shared with Chandler’s office. The front of Chandler’s office was glass. It opened up the room and made the incident room and the office seem more like the same large space, but Kent suspected that the blinds that were currently open might spend a lot of time drawn. The back wall had another window, looking out over the street below. The incident room itself was pretty much the same, the new desks in the old layout. The whiteboards now glass. There was a door on the left-hand wall that was new. As Kent moved towards it, it swung open. Buchan strolled in, accompanied by a woman. “Ah, young Kent. Wonderful to see you, my boy! Checking out the new digs? I must say, I’m impressed.” He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically and watched Kent for a beat before he remembered his companion.

“Where are my manners? Emerson Kent, this is Lola Bellamy, she’ll be assisting me in the archive.”Lola was tall and slim, her long frame wrapped in a navy pants suit. Her left hand was stuffed in her pocket. A pair of spectacles sat perched in her platinum blonde pixie cut. Her green eyes met Kent’s and her mouth curled into a friendly smile. Kent shook hands with Lola. “Nice to meet you. Archive? I’m surprised with this lot that they found the money for the archive - or an assistant…” “Oh. That’s because they aren’t paying me. I’m with the national archive. We decided that the preservation of police records was very important. So we are curating and digitising the records.” Lola answered, her voice fairly low and clear, her accent was Australian. At the word ‘digitising’ Ed had let out an annoyed sigh. Lola rolled her eyes wearily. “Yes. Digitising, Ed. It’s 2014 whether you like it or not.’ Then she turned back to Kent, ‘would you like to come and see what we’ve done?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer, instead, she turned and walked back through the door.  The room was almost twice the size of the Incident Room. The shelves on the outer wall went all the way to the ceiling, then the central stacks were shorter, around head height. At the back of the room, there was another large window. Beneath it were two desks. One was neat, a couple of small plants and a neat stack of files beside the sleek laptop. The other looked cluttered. It was in disarray, and predictably, Ed’s coat was resting on the back of the chair. 

“This is amazing. How long have you guys been working on this?” 

“Well, once we got the details sorted out, and the room was available, we got to work. This has been about eight weeks. We have digitised around two thousand files. And the database is coming together. The more recent, and complete files are here in hard copy, in their entirety.” 

As Kent was looking around, taking it all in, when a familiar blonde appeared in the doorway. Kent’s heard gave a sluggish throb. Joe was so much more beautiful than he remembered. He was in a charcoal suit. His shirt crisp beneath the jacket. His chest beneath the shirt was strong and smooth. Joe’s eyes flickered over the three faces in the room, stopped on Kent for a beat longer as he nervously twitched his fingers before he cleared his throat and introduced himself to Lola. 

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals

Peggy’s first reaction was to roll her eyes – of course Howard assumed a ‘civilian contractor’ was himself.  He did have a point, though.  Stark Industries was the company the SSR went to, again and again, because Howard built things nobody else could… and because Peggy trusted him.  The odds, on reflection, were pretty good.

“HYDRA obviously got most of the crystals back,” she observed, “because there were boxes and boxes of them in that bunker.” Not to mention the ones the supposed electricians had been using in London.  “I suppose we didn’t let you keep all of them.  Look up library crystals.”

Howard did, and came up with more corrupted documents. Somebody had wanted to remove every trace of the machine and its workings, and had very nearly succeeded. They had to hope Howard’s hunch was correct, because it was all they currently had.

They headed back to the hotel, since Toulouse would have to return there to pick up her luggage, but rather than waiting out front they sat down on a bench near the back hallway, where the entrance to the bunker was.  Toulouse would hopefully look for them there.  While they waited, Howard put some more thought into possibly locations for the library crystals.

“To extract the information from them I would have needed my own matter duplicator, or some other device,” he said.  “If I didn’t want anybody finding that, I would have destroyed it, but if the crystals themselves still belonged to the SSR I would have hung on to them.  You guys might have wanted them back someday.”

“Very wise,” said Peggy.  “Where would you have put them?”

“It would have depended on where I was living at the time,” Howard said.  “If I were still in Malibu, I bought some land on the point that I was thinking of building a house on, but the engineers told me there were caves in the rock and it wasn’t stable.  I could have hidden something there.  Or if I were in New York, I’d probably put it in the Mansion vault.”

“Because we both know that’s impregnable,” Peggy remarked.

“I’ve been fortifying it,” Howard informed her.

Well over three hours passed between them parting ways with Toulouse and someone coming to find them again, and when someone did, it was Kevin.  “Sorry we took so long,” he said, “we tried to text you, but then we remembered you lost your phones. We figured you’d be in the hotel somewhere but we didn’t want to draw attention to you while Cass was still here, and Toulouse doesn’t want to come back in anyway.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Peggy.  “How did it go?”  She hoped the meal hadn’t ended in disaster.

Kevin grimaced and held up a hand, tilting it back and forth.  Peggy had not seen the gesture before but it suggested a foundering ship – which already told her what the answer might be.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

They followed Kevin back out to the front of the hotel, where they found Toulouse sitting in the front seat of a car, in tears. Kevin got in the driver’s seat and Peggy and Howard climbed in the back, and then an awkward few moments went by in which the only sounds were the air conditioning and Toulouse’s sniffles.

“So what happened?” asked Peggy.  How had the situation just gotten worse?

“Nothing,” whimpered Toulouse.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” said Kevin.  “Mostly I just talked about my work until Cass nearly fell asleep.  He’s probably gone to tell his father Toulouse is marrying the most boring pond scum scientist in the world.”

“Then why…” Peggy began.

“I’m stressed!” Toulouse wailed.  “The whole time I didn’t know whether Cass knows about the bunker and the stuff that’s in it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it!  Does he know it’s there?  Did he put it there?  He likes Klimt for some reason and he’s got like four Klimts down there so maybe he did!  But I had to keep smiling and pretending I was interested in what Kevin was saying… you’re not boring,” she added, to Kevin, wiping her nose.  “I was distracted.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin sighed.  “Pond scum is an acquired taste.”

“So now it’s all done I’m just venting,” Toulouse added, and hiccupped.  “You can only bottle things up for so long, you know?  Then they have to come out, and this is how mine come out.  Oh, god, I need a shower and I need to fix my makeup, but where are we gonna stay? I can’t go back in there!  I just can’t!”

Kevin shrugged.  “Last time I was in California I was giving a SETI Talks lecture on extremophiles,” he said.  “They put me up at a Super 8 in Menlo Park.”

They ended up finding a Holiday Inn in a questionable-looking neighbourhood further inland.  Toulouse once again expressed a hope that nobody would recognize her, and it seemed that nobody did.  Her smeared makeup probably helped.  Once they had a room, Toulouse took a very long shower and Kevin sat down with his computer to answer some email.

“People are gonna be wondering where I am,” he said.

“What are you telling them?”  Peggy was curious.  How would anyone explain this mess?

“Well, I’m definitely not going to say I’m hanging out with time traveling clones looking for a Nazi superweapon,” Kevin said.  “I think I’ll say I’m dealing with a family crisis.  That’s technically true, it’s just not my family.”

A few minutes later, the shower finally shut off. Another quarter of an hour passed, and Toulouse emerged, wearing a robe and with a towel wound around her hair, and flopped face-first on the bed.  She looked utterly miserable.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by the comforter.

“It’s all right,” Peggy assured her.  “Everybody has to break down sometimes.”  Even Peggy herself, although she preferred not to let anyone see.

“It’s not that,” said Toulouse.  She turned her head so she could speak more clearly.  “When I went with him, I thought I was going to subtly interrogate him, like people do in movies, or like you hear about Black Widow.  I would bring up the apocalypse bunker by telling him the maid asked me…”  Tears spilled over in her eyes again, and she pulled the towel off her hair to bury her face in it instead.  “And I thought he would tell me because he doesn’t know I’m with you guys, or at least he’d let something slip, you know?  But I couldn’t do it.  I was too scared.  I Just let Kevin do all the talking.”

“To be fair,” Kevin said, “get me started about my work and I talk a lot.”

“So now I went through all that and I didn’t learn anything,” Toulouse sniffled. “I wanted to help but I just couldn’t.”

Peggy patted her on the back.  “Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t,” she said.  “It might have been very dangerous to let him suspect how much you know.  But Toulouse, we need other kinds of help now.”  She was starting to hate using this young woman for her money, but it wasn’t as if they had a lot of choice.

Toulouse looked up again.  “What kind?” she asked.

“Well, while you were at lunch Howard and I did some digging of our own,” Peggy said.  She explained that they’d gone back to the Best Buy, and what they’d learned from their searches there.  As Toulouse listened, her eyes dried and she sat up and began drying her hair.  Peggy half expected to see rainbows appearing on the white towel, but evidently Toulouse’s hair was colourfast.

“Good for you,” Toulouse said, managing a tear-streaked smile.  “You’re getting the hang of the twenty-first century already.  I’m proud.”

“We’re quick learners,” Howard assured her.

“So the missing library crystals may be in Malibu or in New York,” said Peggy.  “We need to check both places.  This time I think we’ll start with the closer one.”  If they’d done that in the Sandhill Playa Del Rey, it would have saved them a lot of trouble.

“Oh, you don’t need to go to Malibu,” said Toulouse. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed.  “Malibu’s out.  Your son built a house there, and a terrorist knocked it down.”

“What?”  Howard’s eyes widened.  “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Long story.  Christmas 2013,” said Kevin.  “But if you hid anything there, I’m sure he would have found it.”

“Definitely,” Toulouse agreed.  She got up and went to the desk, where Kevin was sitting with his computer.  “What’s the address of this mansion in New York?” she asked, reaching over his shoulder to access Google maps.

“1E 70th Street, Manhattan,” said Howard and Peggy in unison.

“That sounds familiar,” said Kevin with a frown. He typed it in, and a result came up.

“Oh!” Toulouse exclaimed.  “I’ve been there!  That’s the Stark Gallery – it’s an art museum!”

“It is?” asked Howard, surprised all over again.

“Absolutely,” Toulouse nodded.

Kevin selected a link.  “Yeah, says it was opened sometime in the nineties, in memory of Howard and Maria Stark.”

That didn’t sound like good news to Peggy.  “Then it can’t be there, either,” Peggy said. Surely somebody would have found a thing hidden in a museum.

“It still might,” Howard told her.  “One of the things I did when I repaired the vault was make sure it was better hidden.  I made it smaller, and I had plans to conceal the entrance.  If I managed to finish that, they might not have found it, even if they renovated the entire interior.”

“They’ve got a lot of rooms that still have the original furnishings,” Toulouse said.  “They might not even have done that.”

“You see?” Howard asked.  “They’ve got to be there!”

“It’ll be worth checking,” Peggy decided.  “Toulouse, you don’t have to keep helping us…”

“Yes, I do!”  Toulouse had already moved Kevin’s chair aside, and was looking up plane tickets.

“If your family really is involved in this, then it could be particularly dangerous for you,” said Peggy.  It was clear that Toulouse had already had a narrow escape during lunch with her brother, and by now HYDRA would certainly have noticed that she kept turning up where Howard and Peggy were.

“If my family is involved in this, then it’s my responsibility to do something about it,” Toulouse insisted. “Whatever they’re up to, I need to know about it!  I should have known about it already!”

“They deliberately hid it from you,” Peggy reminded her.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I’ve been ignoring them because they ignore me,” said Toulouse.  “Maybe if I hadn’t been out shopping and getting degrees and stuff, I would have noticed something was up earlier!”

Peggy really didn’t know what to say to that.  Such things were always obvious in retrospect – she sometimes still lay awake at night wondering how she’d ever trusted Dr. Ivchenko.  “I understand you feeling that way,” she said cautiously, “and we do appreciate your help. But Toulouse, remember what I told you. If we say something is too dangerous for you, there can’t be any argument.  You need to sit it out.  Promise me that.”

Toulouse bit her lip, hesitating.

“Toulouse,” said Peggy firmly.  “Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Toulouse, but this time Peggy wasn’t sure she could believe her.

“How about you, Doc?” Howard asked Kevin.

“I work in Yellowstone,” said Kevin.  “If there are people who are planning to blow it up underneath me, then I shouldn’t stay there.  I’d rather be with the people who are trying to do something about the people trying to blow up Yellowstone. I know the geology of the region, too,” he added.  “So I might even be useful.”

“Looks like we’ve got help whether we like it or not,” said Howard with a smile.

In the morning they went looking for another thrift shop, because Peggy and Howard really needed more than two outfits each. Peggy found herself a blue floral blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a high enough collar not to show any cleavage, which was a relief – full-length sleeves were very uncomfortable in the California heat.  Howard, meanwhile, came out in a black shirt with a pattern of pink flamingos on it.

“If we were going back, I’d tell you to wear that just to see what Mr. Jarvis thinks,” Peggy told him.

“He’d probably throw something at me,” said Howard cheerfully.

Despite this banter, Howard was quiet on the drive to the airport, and Peggy was too.  She was sure she knew what he was thinking – her joke had reminded him, as it had her, that they were unlikely to ever see Edwin Jarvis again.  If he hadn’t died years ago, he would be very old now, and perhaps have lost his memory the way Peggy herself had.  So would Anna, and Angie, and Jason, and Daniel, and everybody else they’d ever met.  Even if they did see any of these people again, what could they possibly say to each other?  It wasn’t even as if anyone had thought Peggy and Howard were dead and would be overjoyed to find they were wrong.  In the minds of their friends, they’d been there all along, and now these imposters arrived out of nowhere.

“Peg?” Howard asked softly.

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to sound like a schmuck,” he said. “But… I’m glad you stepped onto that platform with me.”

There were several things Peggy could have said in response to that.  She could have told him he’d better be, because if she hadn’t he would almost certainly have been shot.  She could have remarked that she wished he hadn’t felt a need to play with the bloody thing.  She could have commented on his use of the word schmuck, which was not something he would normally have said unless he were rolling drunk.

But instead she just squeezed his hand.  “It’s nice to be appreciated,” she said.

[ionlyreadfivebookslastweek]

Bless the Broken Road - 14

After the briefing, Jane and Spencer headed to the jet. On the way there, he asked her what Garcia needed help with.

“She was interrogating me about our relationship. Heads up, she plans on doing the same to you,” she told him.

Spencer chuckled. “Alright.”

When they had gotten settled on the plane, Jane’s phone went off.

“Hey Jack,” she greeted her little brother.

“Hey Jane, how are you doing?” he replied.

“I’m good. We just got on the jet to head to a new case. How are you?”

“I’m great. I wanted to tell you that I might be getting a promotion at work!”

“Jack, that’s awesome!”

“I might be. It’s not for sure yet.”

“Well still, it’s an honor to be considered,” she reminded him.

"If I get it, I’ll also get a raise. I’m thinking that with the extra money I can look into buying a house! I don’t need that much space or anything, but I would like to own a place instead of renting, you know?”

“That’s great!”

“So when do you want to visit again?” Jack asked, changing the subject. “What about this coming weekend?”

“This weekend’s no good. It’s Halloween and Spence is extremely obsessed with the holiday,” she explained, looking at Spencer sitting next to her.

"Even more than you are with Harry Potter?”

“If I were obsessed, but I’m not so actually he’s super obsessed and I’m sure he’ll want to celebrate all weekend.”

Spencer nudged her arm, causing her to shout.

“What was that?” Jack asked.

“Oh, nothing, Spencer just nudged me. Anyway, maybe the following weekend? I’ll let you know.”

“Alright. I have to go back to work. My break is almost over.”

“OK, I love you. Bye.”

Jane put her phone in her bag before sharing the potential good news.

“Jack says he might be up for a promotion and if he gets it, he’s buying a house!” she said.

“That’s great!” Spencer cheered.

“You’ll have to let me know if he does look into buying a house. I can help Jack pick out a nice one. I renovate properties and I’ll have a good idea what to look for,” Morgan spoke from his seat across from her.

~~~

By Friday, the team was back working in the office. Jane was at her desk filling out some paperwork when Spencer snuck up behind her, wearing a mask.

“Raaaaaaawr!” he yelled, causing her to scream.

“Spencer! Why’d you scare me like that?!”

"Cause it's almost Halloween!” he cheered, laughing as he took off the mask. “There are tons of options for celebrating this weekend. The drive-in is doing movies tonight and tomorrow night, there’s a bunch of haunted houses, Fall Festival has loads of fall treats and activities and at night they do a reenactment of the 19th-century phantasmagoria.”

“Phantasmagoria?” she questioned.

"Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre-cinema projected ghost shows invented in France, where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic."

Jane laughed at his excitement. “Well, I’m up for anything. What do you think we should do?”

He paused a moment in thought. “What if we do haunted houses tonight and then the fall festival and phantasmagoria tomorrow on actual Halloween?”

"Alright,” she agreed.

“Really?”

“Yeah...” Jane trailed off, confused by his confusion.

“it's just that no one ever is interested in going to the phantasmagoria with me,” he admitted.

“Well it sounds interesting, and if you want to see it then I'm fine with that.”

Spencer knelt down and hugged her in appreciation. “Thank you for putting up with my nerdy fascinations!” he told her. She laughed. “We should both hurry and get our work done so we can leave early.”

Jane agreed. “Sounds like a great idea, but I need to use the bathroom first.”

Spencer nodded and returned to his own desk while she made her way to the bathroom.

While in the bathroom, Jane ran into Penelope, who was all decked out in orange and black.

“Oh, I see someone else is in a Halloweeny mood as well!” Jane commented.

“Yes, well, no one can be as obsessed as Reid.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jane laughed. “Tonight we’re going to haunted houses and tomorrow he’s taking me to the Fall Festival to see the phantasmagoria.”

“Aww. You two are so nerdy and cute!”

“Well, if it makes him happy, then I’m happy,” Jane replied.

~

That night, Jane and Spencer headed out to go through some haunted houses.

“Spence?” Jane spoke as she stopped walking towards the house.

“Yeah?” Spencer stopped a few feet ahead and looked back at her.

“I’m not so sure about this. I didn’t handle the horror movie we watched that one time all that well,” she confessed.

“Jane,” he walked back to her and took her hands. “We handle the real monsters every day. Just remember that none of it is real. Okay?”

Jane sighed and looked up at him. “OK. Let’s go.”

Spencer smiled and kissed her forehead before leading her up to the house.

After going through the haunted house, Spencer took her to another one. Once they had gone through that one too, Spencer said, “Just one more!”

“Fine,” Jane agreed. “But only because I love how happy you are.”

They headed to the final house and got in line. When it was their turn to go through, she clung onto him as best she could.

A spider dropped down from the ceiling and Jane screamed. Spencer shouted in surprise but then laughed, enjoying her fear.

As the pair continued through the house, the pathway narrowed and they were forced to go single-file.

Jane opted to go first, holding Spencer’s hand behind her.

A series of scares jumped out at them in rapid succession. During the chaos, Spencer’s hand slipped out of hers. She turned around to see that he had disappeared.

“Spencer? Spencer!” she called out, looking around.

Another man jumped out and she screamed again.

Jane was forced to continue down the pathway until she finally made it outside. She spun around, trying to locate Spencer. Unable to find him, she began hyperventilating and fell to her knees, terrified.

“Jane!” Spencer called, seeing her on the ground once he made it out of the exit. He ran over and knelt down beside her, throwing his arms around her.

“I couldn’t find you!” she cried.

“I know. I’m here now. I’m sorry, we can head home now, alright?”

“Alright.”

He helped her to her feet and led her back to the car.

On the way back to her apartment, Spencer apologized again. “We should’ve been done after the 2nd house.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jane assured him. “You said we could be done whenever I wanted but I saw how happy it made you and I didn’t want to disappoint you. I chose your happiness over my own fears.”

Spencer pulled into a parking spot at the apartment complex. Once the car was in park, he reached over and hugged her and kissed her.

“I love you. You know that, right?” Spencer told her.

“I love you too,” she repeated back.

Jane grabbed her purse and exited the vehicle, bidding him goodnight.

~

The next day was officially Halloween. Jane and Spencer spent the day at Fall Festival. When the sun went down, they headed over to the place where they would put on the phantasmagoria.

Spencer’s face lit up at the sight, but Jane’s focus was on watching him, enjoying how excited and happy he was. Jane snuck a picture of him and sent it to Garcia, telling her how adorable he was.

On the way back to the car, Spencer grinned at her and leaned down, kissing her cheek.

“What was that for?” Jane asked.

“I’m just so grateful for you putting up with me this weekend,” Spencer laughed. “I know I can go a little hardcore this time of year.”

“Well, I like Halloween as well. And I love seeing how happy it makes you,” Jane told him.

They headed to Reid’s apartment and changed into pajamas before settling in on the couch to watch Halloween movies, which Jane picked out. First, they watched Hocus Pocus and then The Nightmare Before Christmas.

”We already watched that one though,” Spencer argued when she put in Nightmare.

”But it’s sooooo good!” Jane insisted.

Towards the end of the movie, Jane felt her eyelids grow heavy. She gave in to the temptation and fell asleep on the couch.

~

Jane opened her eyes to find herself lying in bed next to Spencer. He was already awake, staring back at her.

“Good morning,” he spoke softly.

“Morning,” she mumbled back. “Didn’t I fall asleep on the couch?”

“Yeah, you did.” He moved to sit up on his elbow. “I carried you to the bed. I figured it’d be more comfortable,” he explained.

“That’s so sweet.” Jane reached up and ran a hand through his hair before caressing his cheek. “I love you,” she told him.

Spencer smiled and leaned down to kiss her, telling her between kisses, “I love you, too.” He rolled to be on top of her and began trailing kisses down her neck.

Before things could go any further, both of their phones began to go off with texts from Garcia.

Spencer rolled back off of her with a groan, causing her to giggle.

He reached for both of their phones, handing Jane hers, and read the text message.

I hope you all enjoyed your Halloween cause now it’s November and we have a case. ~Garcia

“I guess we have to go,” Jane stated, moving to get ready.

When the team was all gathered in the briefing room, Garcia flashed images up on the screen and began to share information on the case.

“Three people have been found dead at a haunted house. All of them had different TODs: 10, 10:30, and midnight. The only one who someone noticed was missing was the 3rd victim, Maisy Gibson.”

“Who reported her missing?” Hotch asked.

“See sir, technically, she wasn’t officially reported missing. Her friend says she got separated in the haunted house and she couldn’t find her so she alerted the staff supervisor. It was around closing time so they were able to go search for her. That’s when they found her body along with the two male victims. All of them were stabbed to death and all had this painted on their face.”

Garcia pointed her clicker at the screen and pictures of the bodies popped up, the sign of satan on each of their faces in red paint.

Morgan looked over at Reid and Addison and noticed the look they exchanged.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Jane and I went to that haunted house last night,” Spencer shared with the group.

“Two-thirds of the way through, they make you separate and you’re on your own until the end,” Jane informed them.“It’s possible that the UNSUB was in the house along the divided path.”

“He could grab people when no one else is around and when people do come while he’s killing, people think it’s all an act and don’t realize they’re witnessing an actual murder,” JJ contributed.

“Was there anyone there with the first two victims?” Rossi asked.

“They were actually there with each other, judging by their posts on social media,” Garcia told them.

“They must have been put into separate groups when they went through,” Spencer thought aloud.

“Addison and Reid, I want you to head to the crime scene,” Hotch ordered. “Morgan, Rossi, and I will talk to the friend and families of the victims. JJ, I want you to cover the press. We don’t want the signs of devil worship to get out. Garcia, find a way to figure out any witnesses that we could possibly talk to. See who posted about being at the house.”

The team mobilized immediately.

Around fifteen minutes later, Jane and Reid met the owner of the haunted house at the entrance area. From there, he led the pair back to the crime scene.

“Do you know which of your actors were assigned to this area?” Jane asked the man.

“I give them the freedom to improvise, but no one was specifically assigned to this area,” he explained.

Jane nodded in understanding.

“We’re going to need a list of all employees sent to our technical analyst.”

“I can get that for you.”

Jane pulled out a card. “Please send the file to this address.”

“Got it.” He took the card. “I’ll get that sent off right away. If you need anything, I’ll be up front.”

Spencer thanked him before turning to help Jane examine the crime scene.

“So how’d this play out?” he asked.

“So the victim is going through the house. They get distracted by something jumping out or a noise or something.” She turned around and bent over, slipping a glove on before picking up a chain connected to the wall. “The UNSUB grabs them from behind and chains them to the wall.”

“He then stabs them and paints the sign on their face,” Reid continued.

“The UNSUB had to know the victims would be alone. The first two were friends but no one else was with them so nobody would know that they didn’t come out. But how’d he do it? He couldn’t be in two places at once,” Jane questioned.

“The first two victims went through with strangers who didn’t care to notice they never exited the house with them.”

Jane thought for a moment. “He must have seen Maisy alone in line while her friend was in the bathroom or something. He assumed she was alone when she wasn’t.”

“The mistake that got him caught,” Spencer confirmed.

Jane took a deep breath and looked around, trying to avoid looking at Spencer.

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?” he asked bluntly.

Jane wheeled around to look at him. Her eyes widened in surprise at how fast he picked up on her emotions. She opened and closed her mouth several times before finally speaking. “It could’ve been one of us, Spencer.”

He shook his head. “The UNSUB was there last night, not the night we went,” he argued.

“Well, you don’t know that. He could’ve been! He clearly knew what he was doing. It’s likely he’s done it before. What if he killed you or me?”

Spencer stepped forward and embraced her, giving the top of her head a kiss. “He didn’t though. Don’t focus on what could’ve happened,” he told her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed, stepping out of his arms. “Let’s head back to headquarters. I’ll call Garcia and let her know the list is coming her way.”

They headed back out to the front and thanked the owner before driving back. On the way there, Jane called Garcia about the list of employees. “Also check missing person reports for people who went missing around the hours of operation for the haunted house. If any of the reports say they last saw them before they left to go to the house, it could be more victims,” she informed her.

The team gathered back in the briefing room to discuss new information they’d found.

A few minutes into discussions, Garcia entered the room.

“I talked to potential witnesses who described the man as tall and stocky. He was wearing a mask so I couldn’t get any facial features. There are 15 men in the staff and 7 fit that description.”

“Where are you at with the missing person reports?” Reid asked.

“Right, that. I’ve found 13 matches.”

“13 other victims?” Morgan questioned.

“Unfortunately, it seems so,” Garcia confirmed.

“He started killing before last night,” JJ stated.

“And he’s gotten away with it up until now,” Jane added.

“He must have been able to discard the bodies at the end of the night without being noticed,” Rossi thought.

“If he has a message, those bodies will show up soon with the same paint on their faces,” Morgan spoke.

“Let’s have someone go back to talk to the owner again about our possible UNSUBS,” Hotch suggested.

Jane stood up. “Spencer and I’ll go back,” she volunteered, grabbing the keys to the SUV.

Hotch nodded in approval and she sped out the door. She beat Reid to the elevator and he had to hurry to catch up before it closed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bless The Broken Road Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@cynbx @neon-deanmon @drw0301bieber @notsosmartbutcute

[loverknj]

Lover Joon

PAIRING: Kim Namjoon X Reader 

WARNINGS: Fiancé Joon, fluff, fluff and more fluff  

WORD COUNT: 1.9k words

A/N: omg I really didn’t know what to name it, so i just called it lover joon aka my url aahhaha, but this fic is inspired by the recent events in my life and writing it made me super duper happy and i really hope you guys enjoy it ♡ also, do let me know if you guys want more because I’m planning on doing more parts to fiancé joon ♡♡♡♡ 

“Do you think it could work?”

Your sentence halts off all the conversation and chatter in the room, and you blush even further when you notice you now had 100% attention of the man seated beside you, for he had indeed paused his conversation, choosing to instead watch you with a curious glint in his eyes.

Swiftly sending him a reassuring smile and a simple shake of your head, you urge namjoon to go back to his discussion as you did the same, now in a softer tone, hoping that whatever you were discussing would not reach his ears. “As I was saying, the painting labour, I was thinking of maybe of cutting it down and using that money for the marble counter instead... How much was the rate again?”  

But despite the hushed whispers and quiet mumbles, each syllable, each letter, every single word that escapes your mouth still reaches his eardrums, and the frown on Namjoons face only further deepens as he sits there and silently listened to you convey your ideas to the interior designer in front of you.

Ideas that he was currently not happy about.  

Cause he knows what you’re doing again; for it is the same discussion that was the cause of all the slight bickering in the household for the past few days, the exact same one that you couldn’t seem to let go, making you spit out random ideas here and there which come to mind, hoping that at least one of them would help help you both stay within the budget you had estimated for the renovation of the new house.  

From not purchasing toilet roll holders to using cheaper tiles, every single one of your ideas have been rejected by Namjoon; but right now, it seems that your creative juices have come out with another which involved the painting labour...

For you were not comfortable with Namjoon spending so much money at one go, no matter how rich he was as you don’t need a fancy house, you only need him; while there’s Namjoon, who wants nothing more than to give you your dream house, with all the marble tiles, rose gold kitchen utensils, cacti, glass windows you could ever dream of, that even if it meant spending his entire fortune.

He would.

Because he loves you, more than you could ever imagine, and seeing and making you happy was something he had promised himself when he got down on one knee months ago.  And fast forward to now, where you both are happily engaged, busily preparing for the wedding happening in June whilst settling all the renovations for the new Kim family house, he can’t help but let out a wrinkled eye smile at his stubbornly adorable lover and

“Painting labour? Hmmm I guess that would work.” But as the designer, Ms.Hong ruffled through her stack of papers and mumbled out the price, Namjoon finally decided to intervene as he cleared his throat and reached his hand towards yours.

“Honey,” he sighed, “We do not need to cut down on painting costs, we can afford that dream marble counter of yours and everything else just fine.” entangling your hands with his, he brought it to his lips, and gave it a little peck.

“Plus, who’s going to paint the rooms if you do that hmm?” he asked jokingly as he sends you an amused look, which evaporates immediately when you volunteer yourself for the task and blurt out a “Me?” causing Namjoon to tense.

It had been a repeated process of pregnant pauses, sighs, lets out a chuckle and shakes of his head until he coughed out a ‘no’, “No, absolutely not, love. I’m going to be busy for the next couple of months with the album and all,” namjoon waved his hands, as if he was trying to remind you by diverting your attention towards your surroundings: a BigHit conference room you both had decided as the most ideal location for the brief meeting due to Namjoon’s extremely busy schedule.

“and well,” he continued with a tight smile on his face, “the ceilings are much too high baby.” And instantly, he’s reminded of the reason why he bought that place 6 years ago, way before he had met you, way before he knew you’d mean so much to him ,way, way before he realised how this place, which initially acted as only an investment was now going to be the place where his family will live. Thanking the high ceilings, spacious rooms and the stunning night view which had attracted him in the first place.

“I know you’re tall and can definitely do an amazing job but I’m not exactly comfortable with you climbing on ladders and being exposed to the toxic fumes.” And when he notices the determined look on your face flatter slightly, he turns his entire body towards you, not paying slight attention to the two interior designers in front, “it’s going to take forever for such a tiny person to paint all of the walls in the house, and anyways, you’re much too busy with the wedding preparations and work, I don’t want you to overwork yourself before the big day, love.”

With a slight nod, you reluctantly give in to your logical fiancé, pursing your lips into a pout when you feel his lips on the top of your head. But the sight of his bright, dazzling smile which he flashes you after extinguishes any doubt and worries inside you, making you feel content instead because love…

Love makes you selfless. Just like how Namjoon would willingly give you everything you wanted just for to make you happy, and how he’d do anything in the world, cross any mountain or ocean just for that smile and angelic laugh; and right now, if it meant giving in to him, so be it, you could do that. You’d do anything for him.

Because you love him too.

“So,” one of the designers cleared her throat, “I’m assuming there would be no changes made to the painting of the walls then?” and when Namjoon shakes his head, no, she sends a delighted beam towards both your directions and continues confirming the choices of the wall colours for all the 4 rooms, professionally pointing out the colour palettes spread out on the table.

“The studio walls would be in this shade and plastered with soundproof equipment, as per requested by Mr.Kim and the shelves, along with the working desk, chairs and sofas will be the ones I had emailed to you last week. I had recently spoke to the wireless speaker company as well and they already emailed me a quote which I had forwarded to-…” Your thoughts trailed off as Namjoon discussed the minor details of MonStudio 2 with the designers and the only thing you could think about there and then was the amount Namjoon was spending on everything…

From the extravagant wedding which was going to be the talk of the town for a few weeks and all over social media, to the honeymoon across Europe Namjoon had secretly planned, hoping to bring you to your favourite place in the entire world: Rome and now to the house which is looking to cost much more that you like, especially with Namjoon wanting to give you everything in the entire world, heck you could ask for a toilet bowl made of gold from Dubai and he would have gladly imported it no matter the cost....

“We don’t need all these, joon ah” sprawled out on the couch, with your back against his chest and his arm lying lazily against your stomach, you had mumbled out, slipping through the countless receipts, cringing internally when you saw the price of each item.

$2000 for a chandelier? Oh god.  

It had been a rare day off for namjoon and both of you had decided to take the chance to go window shopping for furniture before meeting the interior designers; but you never expected to come back home with a bunch of receipts instead, each for items ranging from chandeliers, coffee machines, dining tables to bathtubs...

Biting back a curse, you tossed the papers aside and threw yours into the arms of the chuckling man, “We could have just gotten like a simple lamp from Ikea for ten times less the price. We don’t need that, or the bathtubs…. or the-”

He cuts you off with a peck on the back of your head and a tight squeeze, “The chandler is for the walk in wardrobe in the master, I remember you told me that your dream wadrobe would have one, and the bathtub is for the both of us, the one we have now is starting to wear off, love.”

You groaned. “That was years ago, Joon, I don’t need all those now… I don’t need a fancy house, I just want one with you in it.”

“And I just want a happy wife, ‘happy wife, happy life’ remember?”

“Joon…”

“Just let me do this for you, please… It might be where we are going to live for the rest of our lives, where our kids will grow up. So please, let me.”

Your thoughts were soon cut off by Ms.Hong as she called out for you, “Mrs.Kim?”

Mrs.Kim.

It wasn’t the first time she has addressed you as such, initially calling you future Mrs.Kim, as she must have forgotten Namjoon and your name long ago, only remembering the last name from the KIM scribbled on top of her papers; but as time passed by, the word ‘future’ had seemed to magically vanish and hearing the endeared term now still manages to make you flush a bright pink, and neither you or Namjoon have the heart to correct her, both secretly loving the way it sounds.

Mrs.Kim.

“Yes?” you smiled, feeling Namjoons hands rubbing small circles behind your back, his deep voice whispering out, “What are you thinking about, love?”

Mumbling out a small ‘you’ to him, you grin and turned your attention back to Ms.Hong who was asking your opinion on what the extra empty room should be turned into, “Would you want to turn it into an office as well?”

You shake your head, “Oh no, the dining table or bar counter works just fine for me, I don’t really work at home, there’s too many…. distractions.” The conversation carries on with both the designers suggesting and listing out ways to utilise the vacant room, which you try to pay attention to but the smirk crawling onto Namjoons face doesn’t slip past your eye.

Distractions… He was the biggest one.

Delicious, delightful and wicked distractions, ranging from hour long cuddles, random music parties in the living room where you attempt to rap Namjoon’s part if a bts song comes on, slow dancing on dining room tables to hours spent in bed ….  

Distractions… yes, distractions you wouldn’t change anything in the world for.

[theclaravoyant]

She... plays softball. Plays for the other team, as it were.

a Skimmons Coffee Shop AU, ft. happily platonic FitzSimmons, and ever-helpful gayngel & captain shipper Bobbi Morse

taking a leaf from the wonderful @the-nerdy-stjarna’s book to re-release an old fic with a new banner for @aosadvent2017 prompt “food”. I love Coffee Shop AUs, I have one for every occasion, but this one seemed especially fitting as I wrote the fic itself for last year’s @skimmonssecretsanta.

Rated G/T. ~3600wd. the original fic post is here, you can read it on AO3 here, or below. Enjoy!

-

Swinging my way, Baby?

It was a Tuesday afternoon, when it had first happened.

A Tuesday, around 3:30 in the afternoon. When recounting later, she was unable to consistently say what month, let alone what date, because it had begun just like every other Tuesday, and had continued much the same, save for a moment of lightning in the middle.

Jemma Simmons, aspiring PhD, was meeting up with Fitz for Chem study, just like every other Tuesday afternoon. She wasn’t running late, because she never did, but surprisingly, Fitz was already there, and talking to another girl. A girl whose face Jemma had memorised from across the classroom, but had never seen up close like this before. A girl whose name she probably knew, but couldn’t pick out of a lineup, for all the face was familiar to her. A girl with sharp black eyes, a quick smile, and a tank top bearing shoulders that made Jemma’s knees quake.

With considerably less smoothness and dignity than she might have liked, Jemma feigned indifference to Fitz’ visitor. She took her usual seat at the large library table and began separating out her books and notes with precision. Still, she couldn’t help peeking every now and then, up at where Fitz and his friend were talking. Her hair was short, about shoulder length, and flared about her face, bouncing as she spoke or animatedly responded. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, and one of Jemma’s covert glances caught her hitching the bag up, causing the muscles of her shoulder to ripple. Jemma’s face flushed at that, and she buried her nose in her books until Fitz and the girl parted ways and he came to sit down.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greeted, scooting his chair in and scrabbling to pull his notes and books out of his bag to catch up with Jemma.

“It’s no problem.” It was a nice view. Jemma bit her lip, and instead tried, with a casualness that was on second thoughts, too forced to have been worth the pretence, asked, “who was that?”

“Who?” Fitz glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Daisy. Yeah. Daisy Johnson, you know, she’s in Computing with me. She was just after some help with a Physics assignment.”

“Oh. So. She’s not – I mean…You don’t…like her?”

Fitz laughed.

“I used to have a crush on her, actually,” he explained, amused by the memory. “We almost went to the middle-school dance together. ‘Cept turns out she, you know, plays softball.”

“Softball! Of course!” Just in time, she stopped herself from commenting on how those arms would be wasted on anything else. But still, Fitz shook his head.

“No, I mean – well, yes, she does play softball. And football, actually. But I mean she, you know. Plays softball. Plays for the other team, as it were.“

“Oh. Right. Right. Yes. I’m with you now. I follow. I – yes.”

Smooth, Jemma. She stuck her nose into the nearest book and hoped she wasn’t sweating as profusely as it was starting to feel like she was.

And then it happened. The bolt of lightning. The realisation that she might, in all honesty, have an iota of a chance. It was like flicking a switch, turning a fleeting fantasy into a blooming, consuming desire in the blink of an eye. Situational affection? A mind-boggling if temporary crush? Or cupid’s arrow through her heart, turning everything Daisy into diamonds in an effort to lure Jemma into a love story for the ages? Not knowing was half the fun of it. And more than half the terror.

“Why do you ask?” Fitz wondered after a moment. “Do you like her?”

Jemma fidgeted in her seat.

“I was just thinking about trying out myself,” she said, as smooth a derailment as she could hope for under the circumstances. “For softball, I mean.”

Fitz snorted. “I’d like to see that.”

Jemma slapped her pen onto the desk.

“I totally could!”

“I’m sure you could! I just don’t think it’s your style. Hideous uniforms, pointless running around in circles, lots of sweating and effort for no discernable reason –“

“Except fitness! And – and fun! And teamwork! And competition, you know I love competition –“

Soon enough the argument shifted away from Daisy, and even from softball, and onto the two of them challenging each other’s sporting abilities and willingness to suffer hard work and dirt. Jemma’s crush didn’t fade though. It only took a back seat. For a few hours, she even had herself convinced that she should indeed pick up a bat and try out.

Eventually, of course – and for which Jemma was eternally grateful - the heady optimism of inspiration faded and she realised that she had neither the skill, nor the money, nor even the desire to try out for softball, or any other kind of sport really. She would never be able to maintain it, if nothing else. Plus, her running around getting sweaty and failing at everything was, to say the least, not nearly as alluring as she would like to come across. Instead, after a few days of denial and indecision, she picked herself up and sought out Carter’s, the café where most of the campus’s sports and arts – and queer – communities were reputed to hang out. Being a hard science student who spent most of her time across campus these days, Jemma had not been to Carter’s for some time. It was not as she remembered it, and as she walked in, a combination of nerves, surprise and marvel took her breath away.

Only a few steps through the door, Jemma’s purposeful stride faded into a slow turn, like a young woman in a film arriving in The Big City. She stared so wide and for so long she felt like a freshman. She probably looked like one too, but she couldn’t help it. The place was decked out like a 1950s milkshake bar or diner, right down to the stools at the lunch bar, juke box in the corner, and musk-candy colour scheme of pink and green. Not to mention, the pillbox hats and matching collared uniforms that the feminist in Jemma was a little ashamed to admit, made her heart flutter. It felt like she had stepped back in time, or at least into one of those handcrafted, overly perfect horror-movie villages in Florida where nothing was ever as it seemed.

A chill ran down her spine at the sudden expectation that something might jump out at her. Nothing did, but she was unceremoniously dropped out of her timeless bubble and into a world where she should, by all accounts, order something or sit down. One look at the tall, muscled blonde behind the counter, making fiercely cheerful eye contact with her latest customer and smiling that familiar smile, told Jemma she was not up for that yet. So she sat, simply grabbing for the nearest empty table and pulling out her notebook and anatomy textbook. She’d come in here to eat – or at least, that’s what she had been planning to tell anyone who asked – but there was always work to be done.

Soon enough, in fact, she was so absorbed in her readings that she didn’t even notice the true reason for her presence there slip in through the door.

Daisy Johnson.

-

Carter’s had been a staple of Daisy’s college life. Situated between the gym and the theatre, it was where some of the most interesting people gathered, and where many of the girls on her team – both literally, and euphemistically – worked and hung out. Being near the theatre as it was, and relatively near the food and design schools, Carter’s tended to go through renovations a lot. Its latest incarnation resembled a 1950s diner and aside from its renewal of her love for Back to the Future, Daisy didn’t care for it all that much. She was hoping for something more outrageous next, like a Wild West saloon, or some kind of situation in which everybody wore rollerblades. But for now, at least the food was good and the milkshakes – and the uniforms, of course – were widely celebrated.

“Lookin’ good, Bobbi,” Daisy greeted, as she dropped into the stool nearest the cash register. Barbara was today’s resident supervisor’s intensely loathed full name, and in the spirit of the vintage theme under which she currently worked, she had easily heard it more times in the past three months than in the three years before that. Even so, Daisy had to bite her lip to stop herself bringing it up for a laugh. Bobbi glared, and Daisy beamed innocently and ducked her head below the counter for a moment, trying to reach simultaneously for her purse, and for the pastries under the cover beside the register.

Bobbi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and lifted the cover for Daisy’s blindly reaching hand.

“Pink or sprinkles?” Bobbi asked.

“Surprise me.”

Bobbi handed Daisy a pink one with rainbow sprinkles, just as Daisy’s head reappeared over the counter. Her eyes widened at Bobbi’s selection and she took a large bite, humming in satisfaction through the mouthful of donut.

“Ah, you know just how I like it.”

Bobbi eyed her with an exaggerated expression of disgust as Daisy fished out coins from her purse, the donut now dangling from her mouth where she had sunk her teeth into it in order to free up her hands.

“Not if you like it like that, I don’t,” Bobbi remarked.

“Shut up.”

Daisy took the donut out of her mouth and added a coffee to her order, but as she did so, looked over her shoulder. It had just now clicked in her brain that she had recognised somebody when she’d come in. Somebody who didn’t usually come here, and who fit in a little too well, with her A-line skirt and pastel colours, and the way she kept twirling her fingers in her stray lock of hair.

“Oh my god.”

Daisy swung back around to the counter and ducked, wishing she had a menu or something to cover her face, though that hardly would have been less conspicuous. Blushing furiously, Daisy tried to recover by taking a sip of her coffee, and burnt her tongue instead. She cursed herself as Bobbi asked, inevitably,

“Who’s that?”

“A girl. Just a girl. No biggie.” Coffee, coffee. Ouch! Damn it.

“No biggie because she barely reaches my elbow?” Bobbi speculated. “Or no biggie in the lesser known, ‘if I hide behind this menu and she never sees me I’ll never have to confront my feelings,’ sense of ‘no biggie.’”

Daisy sighed.

“Ah, I really hope you become a fully fledged bartender one day,” she said, resignation in her tone. “Your talents are wasted here.”

Bobbi pouted, and reached for a towel just so that she could brush it across the counter and lean on it dramatically.

“So this girl, huh?” she inquired.

Daisy sighed again. Feelings confrontation time. “Her name is Jemma, she’s in my Physics class.“

“You take Physics?”

“Yes. What did you think I was taking?”

“The Science of Harry Potter?” Bobbi suggested. Daisy glared.

“Don’t even joke about that. I would kill.”

Bobbi smiled, and prompted: “So, Physics.”

“So Physics. Anyway. She’s there and she’s pretty and, well, I thought that was the end of the story…“

“Buuuuut…“

“Iiiiiiif you’d let me finish….but see, I’d thought she was with Fitz. I’d just assumed. Only, I mentioned something about it - y’know, them – to him today and I’m pretty sure he’ll still be laughing at graduation. They’re just friends! So totally friends! Kinda weirdly close friends, but still!”

“So why the long face?”

“I got my hopes up for a bit. But then I remembered. Jemma’s had certified boyfriends. Milton, Will. So I’m back where I started. At least I was. Til just now. And she’s here. I mean…do you think she knows? About this place?”

Daisy raked her hands through her hair, anxious, only to find Bobbi smirking, a mischievous glint of victory in her eyes.

“Oh, sweetie, she knows,” Bobbi assured Daisy. “And as for that ‘certified boyfriends’ thing…she’s had certified girlfriends too.”

Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“Me!” Bobbi confirmed, with a flourish. “She’s a bit of a Bambi but don’t be fooled. That girl can go.”

“So what happened with you two?” Daisy wondered. Bobbi shrugged, her expression softening.

“We were both high achievers,” she explained, “and both in the same field. Competing for attention, grants, grades… Neither of us wanted to compromise and well, too much competition stops being fun. It put a strain on us and luckily, we stepped out before we snapped. No hard feelings. Some that suck, of course, but we don’t hate each other, so that’s a plus.”

“Hmph.” Daisy’s shoulders slumped, and she resumed picking at her donut, pensive and somewhat put out.

“Hmph?” Bobbi repeated, curious.

“Well, Jemma’s still a high achiever. She probably wouldn’t have time for me anyway. It’s just going to collapse, it’s not – Never mind, I’ll just get over it.”

Bobbi shook her head, made a note on a cup, and passed it to the coffee girl without taking her eyes off Daisy for more than a moment.

“There’s only one way to know for sure,” she insisted. Daisy moped, but Bobbi slapped down an apricot danish in a napkin and drew her attention.

“Ask. The girl. Out,” Bobbi commanded. “Bring her something, make her laugh, get a conversation going. Come on, Daisy, I don’t have to coach you.”

“I don’t even know what she likes!” Daisy whined, though her defenses were falling left right and centre. “I could get her an Americano, that’s what I have- but then, what does that say about what I think about her? Or me? Cheap, basic, unoriginal. Great. But then if I get her something else, something fancier, she might not like it, or she could be allergic. Or tea? Maybe she likes tea. I mean she’s English, they must like tea right? No, that’s ridiculous. Not all English people like tea. So what then?”

Daisy met Bobbi’s eyes, desperate.

“As the ex, it is my duty to let you work all this out on your own, young Padawan,” Bobbi informed her sagely. But before Daisy could give up, Bobbi received her secret order from the coffee girl and pushed it across the counter to Daisy, alongside the apricot danish. Bobbi met her confused glance with a wink, and added: “As your best friend, it’s my duty to wingman you to the best of my ability. It’s a fine line.”

“You’re fantastic. I love you.”

“Ah, save it for Bambi!” Bobbi shooed Daisy away from the counter and Daisy went, gleefully, singing in her head, over to Jemma’s table. She had a moment to take in the dusky pinks and browns of Jemma’s outfit, and the way the light seemed to fall softer on her, and then Jemma looked up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “can I help you?”

And just like that, the moment was gone, evaporated by the sudden grip of panic.

-

Jemma looked up, and she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. Here was Daisy, so close her eyes were sparkling, and with an absent smile on her face like she didn’t have to think about it. And with an apricot danish in one hand, and what appeared to be a chai latte – though the label was partially covered – in the other. Jemma’s stomach rumbled. It was like a vision from the gods.

“I – I’m sorry,” she stammered, snapping herself out of her distraction. “Ah, can I help you?”

“Um. Yes. Maybe.” Don’t look at Bobbi, don’t look at Bobbi. It had been far too long since she’d had a proper date, especially with someone like Jemma. And even though Bobbi had promised, Daisy still wasn’t sure…

“I was wondering…”

Make her laugh.

“Did you swallow a magnet?”

Jemma blinked. “What?”

“Did you swallow a magnet?” Daisy repeated, her mouth bone-dry all of a sudden. “Because…you’re attractive.”

Jemma snorted. “That’s terrible.”

“I know,” Daisy groaned.

“No, I love it!”

“Really? Because I’ve got plenty more.” Daisy cleared her throat and leaned into the cheese, listing off pick-up lines in a variety of voices as she slid into the seat next to Jemma’s. “’Baby, I’ve got my ion you.’ ‘What’s your sine?’ ‘Are you full of berillium, gold and titanium? Because you are B-E-A-U-Ti-ful.’”

Jemma snorted again and curled up, giggling.

“Ten points for delivery,” she awarded.

“Oh! Speaking of delivery, these are for you.” Daisy pushed the gifts across the table, and Jemma bet into the danish with relish.

“Thank you, my favourite!”

“I had help,” Daisy confessed with a smirk. “A little birdie told me.” Jemma raised an eyebrow over Daisy’s shoulder at Bobbi, who shrugged innocently and went about wiping down and rearranging the counter.

“Well, are you having anything? I don’t have my little birdie on me today, but I’d be happy to return the favour.”

“Not a favour,” Daisy insisted. “A gift. A…hm, a –“

“A date?” Jemma grinned broadly. “With me? Really?”

“Wait, did you not get that?” Daisy frowned.

“No,” Jemma replied sarcastically, “the string of pick-up lines was completely lost on me. Yes, of course I got it! I just thought it was sweet how you got all flustered. I’ve been too intimidated to speak to you all year.”

“Intimidated?” Daisy laughed. “Why?”

“Because…” Jemma blushed. “You’ve swallowed a magnet.”

“Aw! That’s terrible!” Daisy crooned, flattered, as if the word terrible was sweet.

“I know!” Jemma moaned, but she couldn’t help smiling. “I couldn’t even remember your name until the other day, I’ve just been sitting in class pining all year!”

“You should’ve asked Fitz to hook us up! Does he know? About you?”

“Yes! I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I guess it still feels a little weird to talk to people about it. It’s strange being bi, I feel like I’m faking it half the time. Plus, I mean, I didn’t even know that you were – that you could even be interested until he told me. Oh, I hope you don’t mind about that, by the way.”

Daisy shrugged. “I’ve already told him I’m cool with it. I’m pretty out.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Obviously not out enough, though, if you didn’t pick up on it. I should start wearing rainbow flags to school…or plaid, at least. I could rock some plaid, don’t you think?”

“You already play softball!”

“I do roller-derby too, actually,” Daisy added. Jemma’s eyes widened.

“I have always wanted to try that!”

“It’s a load of fun. You will get the crap beaten out of you though.”

Jemma’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Any gruesome injury stories?”

“Ew! We’re eating!”

“Well, I’m eating,” Jemma corrected. “And I’m a bio student. I’m used to it.”

“You fascinate me,” Daisy said, more sincere than she had been expecting. Belatedly, she realised Jemma was right and that she still did not have her food with her. She glanced over her shoulder at it, and saw the coffee and donut and her bag still by the counter.

“Um. I’ll be right back.“

Bobbi met her eyes pointedly, and pushed the coffee and donut across the counter with a salacious sparkle.

“I’ll bring you guys a lunch menu later.”

“Shut up,” Daisy scoffed, blushing.

She returned to Jemma’s table, to find Jemma eagerly awaiting her arrival.

“We don’t have to talk about gory injuries if you don’t want to,” Jemma clarified. “I can be a bit gross. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I have some killer stories! I just like to keep my blood and bones separate from my icing and sprinkles.”

“Fair enough. We’ll just have to find something different to talk about, then.”

Jemma pulled her anatomy notebook toward her and Daisy frowned, confused. Shouldn’t they be heading away from blood and bones? But as she watched, Jemma turned to a blank page, tore off a corner and started writing on it. A phone number.

“Just in case you wanted to tell me those stories some other time,” she explained as she slid it over to Daisy.

“Can’t wait!”

“But for now, blood-free, hm?” Jemma mused. “Well, okay, let’s start at the beginning.”

She held out her hand for a shake.

“Jemma Simmons. Biochemistry.”

“Daisy Johnson. Counterterrorism.”

From there, they launched into a lively conversation, swinging from favourite foods and seasons of the year to mockeries of dating advertisements, anecdotes, relatives and ancestors, life goals and hobbies and home and everything in between. They had lunch, and then Jemma walked Daisy to class, and grinned at nothing and rocked on her heels and shivered with delight after Daisy went inside. Daisy had given Jemma her number too, and Jemma rolled and flipped the paper between her fingers gleefully. It had been a long time since she’d had a date with someone special, lost track of time, kept them on her mind. It had been a long time since she’d felt this sort of chemistry with anyone, or had it reciprocated so enthusiastically or with a warmth and vibrancy that reminded her this is real.

Jemma ambled toward home without a rush, floating on the high of her blissfully, unexpectedly successful day. She sat on the train, barely but contentedly containing the urge to introduce herself to everyone that walked on with, “hi, I’m Jemma Simmons, I have a girlfriend. She’s amazing.” Then, as they pulled away from the station at last, her phone buzzed. A message from Daisy.

Remind me to show you a proper bat grip tomorrow. McLean Field, 9am.

Jemma smiled so wide she had to bite her lip to contain it, and proceeded to spend most of the rest of the trip home entering their next date, with care and flourish, into her diary.

[dinas-y-cerrig]

Chapter I (rough draft, 1846 timeline) ~7 pages

After nearly a month of perfect service, the trains were running late once more.  Today, of all days. Margot was half-convinced that those idyllic three weeks of flawless service had simply been to lull her into a false sense of security, just so that life in its unceasing cruelty might extend a leg to bring her future crashing down.  Not content only with its vicious jape with the trains, but at her transfer station she had forgotten her coinpurse behind at the coffee stand when her connecting train had arrived earlier than expected.  She had been forced to make a mad dash through the commuter crowd, both purse and tepid station coffee left on the booth's sill.

Now, pressed up against a fogged window and squeezed tight between a man who reeked of sick and sweat and another who smelled arguably worse of oversaturated cologne, Margot lamented.  Her bleary, frazzled mind could not decide which she regretted abandoning more, the purse or the coffee.  As the man to her left let out a noise somewhere in between a belch and wet vomit, Margot firmly decided that at least the coffee might have given her the mental clarity to have wedged herself elsewhere.

(etc etc trains suck, margot's thoughts wander along the lines of “didn't they just finish two months' worth of renovations holy fucking shit fuck!!!” eventually gets off at her stop and wanders around slushy icy gross as shit winter and winding streets of city central aka what is fondly & accurately referred to as “tangled sheep's entrails” until she finally arrives at the address given. Front of the building is a great façade of veined marble in a state of obvious neglect, goes in, sits and waits to be seen)

When the second hour had come and gone, Margot despaired again at the thought of her lost coffee and purse.  Certainly, Captain Eirwel must be a busy man, but could he not have notified her of the delay, or at least have an aide sent out to let her know how much longer she might be waiting?  She put her watch away and stared gloomily at her boots.

"It's been a while, May."

The chipper voice shook Margot out of her reverie.  She looked up to see a tall man with a clipboard and shining hazel eyes.  He wore the black uniform of the brigade with its owl insignia.  His hair was brown, yet despite his young age there was a considerable amount of grey peppered in.  While his long face had a comely cast to it, his nose had a noticeable kink in it, turning slightly to the right.  Margot stood and reached out to shake his hand, but stopped short as she noticed it was occupied by a mug. The man laughed and lifted it slightly towards her.

"Actually, this is for you.  It's coffee, although if you'd prefer I can get you tea instead."

"No, please--I mean, thank you. Coffee would be lovely," Margot said.  She accepted the mug with eager hands and took a sip of the still-hot brew.  "Thank you, Mr., ah..."

The man blinked a few times, and then a strangely familiar, lopsided smile came over his face.  All at once Margot put the pieces together.  She had been so out of it that the nickname he had called her by had gone in one ear and out the other, but as he gave a self deprecating chuckle it clicked in her head. The embarrassment of it all turned her face red to her ears.

"Fritz!?"

"That is indeed me."

Margot took another look.  It had been so many years since she had seen her cousin, and despite the letters they exchanged she had been taken by surprise.  The last she had seen him, she had been twelve and her cousin had been about sixteen, short for his age and still padded by baby fat.  Now he had to be easily over six foot, slim and fit.  The greying hair had not helped.

"Though, er, most everyone just uses my middle name these days.  I have the captain to thank for thank," he added with a sheepish grin.  "Ah, and speaking of the captain, as much as I'd love to catch up, he's expecting us. If you'll just follow me, and do feel free to bring the coffee with you."

Margot nodded appreciatively, although her face still burned.  While Fritz--Lucian, she made a mental correction--did not seem terribly bothered, it had to be an incredible oversight to not even recognize one's own family, no matter how long it had been.  His transformation was quite something. She wondered at the late bloomer.

As they walked down the narrow hall with its creaking floorboards, Margot glanced about at the sparse furnishings.  There were a number of branching hallways off of the main one; obviously the spacious interior of the church had been converted into some ramshackle interior.  They passed outdated portraits of the late Emperor Friedrich III, as well as of the imperial twins Rudolf and Claudia--albeit as toddlers.  Other than that, the hallway was quite bare.  Even the carpet was faded and well-worn, mimicking the look of decrepit grandeur that hung over the ancient church.  However, she did not have long to dwell over what she saw, and her attention was drawn back to Lucian as he spoke up.

"I'm really quite sorry about the delay.  The captain had some, er, sudden visitors he had to attend to."

"Oh, it was no bother at all," Margot lied.  "The trains were delayed this morning, so I arrived a bit late anyway.  Honestly peaking, I was worried that perhaps I'd missed my chance and he'd decided not to see me."

"Ah yes, the good old city rail, eh?  You'd think that after all of the money that's been put into renovating it they would at least be able to run on time."  Lucian sighed, obviously another victim of the horrors of public transportation.  "Well do I remember those thankless morning commutes!"

Margot nodded in agreement.  A question that she had pondered when first her cousin had sent her notice of this job popped into her head.

"So what exactly do they have you doing here?  You weren't very clear in the letters.  I get that this is some kind of specialized police force, but..."

"Well, I am supposed to be a lieutenant, however the captain seems to think that means 'secretary'.  We've been trying to fill the position, but every new hire seems to leave after no time at all.  Not that I blame them..."  Lucian caught himself, putting a hand over his mouth. "Ah, please disregard what I just said.  Just a silly joke."

He coughed slightly and continued.

"As for what we do, well, it's not something I can exactly discuss with you just yet.  I'll let the captain explain, as we've arrived."

They had stopped in front of a pair of ornate wooden doors framed on either side by tapestries of the von Rosenbaum family crest and the Arthasian flag. As Lucian knocked thrice upon the carved mahogany, a wave of anxiety pricked at the back of Margot's head.  She took a deep breath as Lucian opened the doors, giving herself one last pat down and hoping that she did not look too haggard.

She couldn't help but gasp as she stepped in.

The room was, to put it gently, a wreck.  Papers littered the floor and were piled up among hazardous towers of books and folders.  Margot was so mesmerized by the utter chaos that it took her a second to notice the man seated behind the desk in the center of the room.  He was framed on either side by more haphazard constructions of books and paper, and his appearance reflected the disorder that plagued the office. His black hair was a mess of tangles and loose strands, and it looked as though it had not seen a comb in months.  He had his head bent over a sheaf of paper and one finger tapped out a staccato rhythm against the cover of a thick tome beside him.

It was Lucian's voice that broke through Margot's baffled yet rapt concentration.

"Sir, your appointment is here," he said with a salute.  Margot waited next to him in silence, but the captain showed no sign that he had heard, instead jotting something down as he ran his other hand through the rat's nest disguised as hair.  Lucian cleared his throat and repeated himself, albeit, Margot noticed, considerably louder and with a slight edge.

"Your interview, sir?"

Captain Eirwel's eyes flashed up and fixed first Lucian, then Margot, with an icy stare.  Margot couldn't help but notice, even in the dim light, just how intensely blue those eyes were.  His mouth curled downward, and he waved his hand.

"Yes, yes of course," he said with something of a huff.  "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Sir."

Lucian saluted and stepped back, closing the doors behind him.  Margot was left in this stuffy warzone with the man who was supposed to be the captain of this police force.  She marveled at just how little Captain Eirwel fit the idea she had had in her head.  Her cousin had mentioned that his childhood friend turned captain did not quite fit into the noble society around him, his letters had obviously diminished the extremity of Eirwel's image.  There had been a time many years ago that her parents had gone to Brynwal when a young Kain Eirwel had had a particularly bad fever and a snowstorm had trapped them there.  She wracked her brain, trying to remember what he had been like at the time, but it had been so long ago that she could not picture it. She was certain, however, that he had grown into quite the unique adult.  As he was the bastard child of the previous emperor, an honor student of Lindenburg, and the captain of a specialized police force, she had imagined someone with regal bearing and an intimidating air.  However, the only thing intimidating her just then was how someone could manage to make such a complete mess of a room.  Indeed, it must take a spectacular talent, she concluded.

As she was taking in the scene around her, the captain narrowed his eyes and gestured to a chair near the desk.  It was, like every other surface in the room, stacked with so many books and boxes that Margot wondered at the ability this man had for keeping them from toppling over.

"You can just set those wherever," Eirwel said with a dry voice, not budging from his own seat.  Suppressing a sigh, Margot carefully removed the clutter and set it aside; the floor was almost completely hidden, so she settled for simply adding the objects to other towers.  After a minute of rearranging, she brought the chair forward and sat.  She was about to speak, but Eirwel had disappeared behind the mountains of papers on his desk.  Margot waited awkwardly until he straightened back up, a torn and crumpled sheet in his hand.

"Quite the impressive resume you have here.  It says you graduated the Royal Medical School with honors, and a year early on top of that," Eirwel said in a disinterested voice.  "All of your references check out, and your experience is laudable for someone so young."

When she had realized that what he held in his hand was her letter of introduction, Margot had been unable to stop herself from flinching.  She supposed she should count herself lucky that the captain had it at all, but never had she seen someone so totally disregard basic etiquette.  As well, despite his apparent praise, Eirwel's voice seemed bored and condescending.  He was only a few years older than her, yet it was as though he were speaking to a child.  Margot grit her teeth and bit back the many things on the tip of her tongue.  Eirwel did not seem to notice her tension and continued.

"Well, it's good enough for me. When can you start?"

His comment caught Margot completely off guard.  She had been practicing possible interview questions and responses for the last few weeks with her cat, Pisica, and even had her friend Rufus help her prepare.  For her references she had even gone out of her way to visit them personally to receive documentation of her work experience, going so far as Bridgetown at the outskirts of Mercia.  She sat speechless; she knew she should be overjoyed, yet she felt like the rug had been swept out from under her feet.  Eirwel leaned his cheek against one hand and looked at her expectantly.

"Your answer?"

"Sir, I am flattered, but... is there nothing you wish to ask of me?  Or check, or..."  Margot fumbled for words.

"To be completely honest, I don't really care.  Everything here looks fine, so why not?" Eirwel said, slapping at the ratty missive.  "So are you going to accept the job, or have you come here just to waste my time?"

Despite his scathing and hypocritical comment, Margot could not work up the energy to get mad.  Well, it pays well, and it's quite the position, she thought in resignation.  She nodded curtly.

"My apologies sir.  I would be honored to accept.  I can begin immediately."

The captain leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"Welcome to the Strigoi, Miss Merryweather."

After everything that had happened, Margot did not even have the energy to correct the captain on her name.

Captain Eirwel had taken Margot's offer of immediate work quite literally.  He sent her out to fetch him some documents from the storeroom, where she met a tall, spindly woman named Cosmina Belu.  From the few things Lucian had told her about the Strigoi, she knew that their ranks were a bit unusual in comparison to the City Watch.  Indeed, she had seen a number of women around, and more than a few people of different nationalities and backgrounds.  Belu was evidently the manager of the archives, and her image fit exactly what one might expect of someone in that position.  She had horn rimmed glasses and her black hair was pulled tight in a bun.  Her outfit was black as well and cut much like the robes of a librarian.  She gave off every impression of severity, however when she spoke her voice was surprisingly warm and friendly.

Unlike the captain's room, the archives were notably clean and well organized. Catching Margot's surprise, Belu smirked.

"We make it a rule to ban the captain from so much as setting foot in here.  I'm sure you can see why."

Although Margot could agree wholeheartedly with that decision, she was a bit shocked at the casual comment berating Eirwel.  As her surname suggested, Belu was of a common background, and to hear her openly chide a noble--even a noble such as Captain Eirwel--was something Margot did not expect.

Margot left the storeroom with the materials requested and returned to the captain's office, where Eirwel just shuffled her off once more, this time to deliver the folders to a certain Corporal Tahoma Niyaani.  With Lucian's help, she found him in the large, open room full of desks where most of the force were.

Corporal Niyaani was a large, muscular man with short cropped hair and a large tattoo down one side of his face.  His brow was furrowed and his dark brown eyes focused intensely on a set of blueprints before him.  However, despite his imposing appearance, when Margot cleared her throat and presented the materials Eirwel had sent with her, Niyaani's face broke into a friendly smile.

"Just what I am waiting for," he said with a heavy SaaLyni accent.  "You are the new one?  I am Corporal Niyaani, the masochist."

Margot stared at him, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

"It's machinist, Niyaani. How many times do I have to tell you," a man at the desk across from Niyaani said with a wide grin.  Niyaani's eyebrows knit together.

"This is what I said, Maddox."

The other man, a tan and wiry man with curly black hair, just gave an exaggerated sigh and dramatic shrug.

"Please do forgive our good man.  He's only been in the Empire for five damn years now."

Niyaani frowned and waved Maddox away.

"It is not being five years here, only one, before I am in Lidia.  You are knowing this, Maddox."

Maddox stood up and slapped Niyaani on the back.  They seemed to be good friends, despite the verbal sparring.

"It's good to meet ya," Maddox said as he turned to Margot.  "I'm Corporal Parsifal Maddox, and this big lug, despite his appearance, is our very talented machinist and tinkerer.  You wouldn't think it to look at those bear paws he calls hands, but he's got the dexterity of a fox."

"Pleased to meet you as well," Margot said, accepting Maddox's outstretched hand.  "I'm Margot Mayweather."

"The captain sure is a slave driver, huh?  I'd heard there was a new interview for secretary today, but to think he'd have you running hither thither already."

"Ah, no, I think you're mistaken.  I'm here as a division medic," Margot corrected him with a gentle smile, but something about his comment sent a needle of doubt through her head.  Maddox and Niyaani looked at each other, then to Margot, and that needle became a sharp blade.

"No, really, the captain was just saying that our new hire was the secretary.  He even let Gartner do his actual damn job."

The smile on Margot's face stiffened, and a vein stood out at her neck as she clenched her jaw hard.

"If you will please excuse me."

She left the two bewildered men and walked with brisk purpose back out into the hallway.  As she increased her pace she nearly bowled over Lucian as he passed her, but she did not so much as slow down.  Reaching the large doors to the captain's office, she slammed them open without warning and stormed up to his desk.  Before Eirwel could utter a single complaint, Margot slammed her hands as hard as she could against the mahogany, sending a small hurricane of papers flying. The captain opened his mouth with a scowl but Margot cut him off.

"Your fucking secretary? Are you kidding me?  What in the nine hells is this?  I waited for over two hours this morning, I spent weeks gathering references, I have bent over backwards for this damned job, and you have me as a secretary?" she shouted, unable to stop herself.  "Is this some kind of joke?  Is this your idea of humor?  Because let me tell you, it is in very fucking poor taste.  Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to get here?  And you're just treating me as some errand girl?"

Her loud voice had brought Lucian into the room, his face concerned.  As Margot took a deep breath to continue, however, Lucian placed a hand on her shoulder.

"May, please, what is--"

"Don't you dare talk to me like some kind of child!" she snapped at him, swiping his hand away.  "I may be a woman, but I am not here to just run around playing secretary."

When she saw Lucian's confusion, she finally relented.  Her cousin suddenly shot a look at Captain Eirwel, and his face turned stern.

"Captain, is what she's saying true?" he said in a low voice.  "Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, but this is just cruel, deceiving someone this way..."

Margot was surprised by the disappointment in Lucian's voice.  She turned her gaze toward the captain.  Once again he had a bored look on his face, and she felt the rage bubbling up again when he finally spoke.

"Just what exactly is the issue here?"

That was the last straw.

"I answered a call for a doctor, sir, not a secretary.  As you yourself said, I graduated with honors, I have field work, I have worked through blood, sweat, and fucking tears to get to where I am today, and you expect me to accept a job with the salary of a simple clerk?"

"Well, yes, a simple clerk wouldn't receive the same pay of a skilled worker.  That stands to reason.  But why does that bother you?  You're to be paid half again as much."

"Why does that bother me?" Margot's voice lowered but the poison in it grew only more toxic.  "Great, so I can get paid what is still a fraction of what I'd get just working at a bloody medical outpost?  Oh, how very gracious of you.  But I am a doctor, and I plan to work as such."

Captain Eirwel's eyes clouded over, and he furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?  Of course you're working as such.  When did I ever say you weren't?"

Both Lucian and Margot stared at the captain, mouths open.  When the silence stretched on, Eirwel ran one hand through his unruly hair and leaned back.

"Then what was all this about a secretary?" Margot finally managed.

"Well, it's not as though you're going to be setting bones or stitching wounds or whatever all the time.  Wouldn't you rather get some extra pay to assist with clerical duties in the downtime?"  Eirwel's voice was exasperated.  "You'll get half again what your salary would be otherwise.  It's a considerable amount just for some light clerical work.  I'd say that's a pretty damn good deal."

The wind went out of Margot's sails with such rapidity that she felt herself deflate.  This man who sat before her was, quite possibly, one of the most frustrating people she had ever met, or indeed ever would meet.  There were a number of choice words that came to mind, but all of today's mental gymnastics left her drained and finished. She was sure that she had managed now to lose the job she had started that very day, yet she felt no remorse over her actions.  This all could have been avoided had this dense man just spoken directly.  Ah, four hours.  That must be a world record for getting let go from a job, she thought bitterly.

"If that'll be all," Captain Eirwel said, returning to his papers.  "Then you may return to work."

Margot's head snapped up.  Just when she thought this day could get no more convoluted, another twist had been tacked on.  She felt a hand on her shoulder, and this time did not smack it away. Lucian gave her a smile that spoke of heartfelt apology and led her back out.

"Ah... I'm really sorry about him.  He's, uhm, how should I put it." Lucian stared at the ceiling as he searched for the proper words. "Well, let's just say that our captain may be very capable at his job, but when it comes to speaking to people he sometimes doesn't quite get his point across."

"You don't say," Margot replied wearily.  She had no more energy to spare for Captain Eirwel.

"Head on home for today, May," Lucian suggested kindly.  "I promise you he really isn't always quite so difficult."

Something in Lucian's voice made Margot suspect that he was not being entirely truthful, but she decided to take him up on his suggestion and head home.  She needed to give some serious thought to what she had just gotten involved in.

And Pisica was probably hungry, anyway.

After seeing May off, Lucian turned and headed back to the captain's office.  He knocked and entered without waiting for a response, careful to shut the door completely behind him.  Behind the desk, Kain Eirwel shrunk back ever so slightly, glowering warily at his lieutenant.

"Look, it's not my fault that she didn't--"

"Don't even try to excuse yourself here, Kain," Lucian said.  "You can't take out your anger from this morning on everyone around you.  I understand that the Minister's hound threw you off today, but we desperately need trained medical staff.  After what happened last week... Petrescu would still be alive if you hadn't put this off.  And now you want to drive away the one doctor willing to work here despite the reputation we have?  She may be my cousin, but I will not force her to stay if she decides she's had enough of your childishness."

It was rare indeed for Lucian to speak so harshly toward the captain.  They had known each other since childhood, but it still took Kain off guard when his mild friend lost his temper, and the mention of poor Officer Petrescu sent a sharp twist of shame through Kain's chest.  The boy, barely even twenty, had joined only weeks earlier, but he had been stabbed while out on patrol, and in the time it took them to locate him and then find a clinic with any staff around at that late hour he had died of his injuries.  The nature of their jobs meant late nights, and it had become obvious that they needed proper medical staff on call.  Due to the negative reputation of the Strigoi, though, they had had a difficult time finding anyone.  Even one person was better than none, and someone with the qualifications that Margot had was rare to come by.  

Kain looked away, his face flushed as he realized that he had indeed crossed a line. However, his pride did not let him simply apologize and move forward.

"Well, you were the one complaining about being treated like a secretary," Kain said peevishly.  "It was giving me a headache.  In fact, you should be thanking me for being so resourceful!"

The deadpan stare Lucian directed at Kain shut him up.  He sighed heavily and threw up his arms.

"Fine. Fine.  I promise to apologize to her tomorrow."

"For your own sake, I pray that you do."

[edc-creations-blog]

Best Laid Plans by Deatri King-Bey (Love Like It’s Hot Box Set)

Abisola Tersoo, a gracious woman of beauty, kindness, and focus, knows there has always been a plan for her future. Someday she will take over her father’s business and Max Osborne, a man dear to her family’s heart, is to be her husband. Just when Abisola has accepted her life always goes according to plan, Thomas Hoffmann, a fantasy of a man, brings chaos into her life in the best and worst ways. Torn between following the plan with a real man and risking it all for a fantasy, Abisola learns she may not have a choice.

Thomas Hoffmann didn’t realize he was looking for someone special until Abisola walked into his life. A man of the world, he had become a little jaded, but Abisola’s quick wit and creative spirit sparked an interest in him unlike any he had ever experienced. One who lives in the moment, he can see spending the rest of his moments with Abisola, but others’ plans may get in the way.

      Excerpt: Best Laid Plans by Deatri King-Bey

Chapter One

Mind racing, Abisola stood before her boss. In the three years she’d been employed at Osborne and Associates, she’d never been called in like this. An accountant, she found most clients were hush, hush when it came to their money and didn’t blame them. She was just as hush, hush about her own finances. Maybe this was about a new “delicate” project. It was only June, and she’d already been assigned four this year.

“Please…” Sandy motioned to the leather loveseat off to the side of the modest office. Seated, Abisola faced Sandy.

“I apologize.” Sandy glanced at her watch. “I need to leave in a few minutes, so let me cut to the chase.”

Now that Abisola had more time to think, she’d bet this was about the embezzlement case she’d worked on for the District Attorney who’d needed a forensic accounted. Her cousin had convinced them to use Osborne and Associates, and Abisola in particular. Needless to say, she’d done an excellent job. Or so she thought.

Old episodes of Law and Order were the closest Abisola had come to being in a courtroom. Looking back, she probably should have turned down the offer, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity. After her expert testimony, the defendant decided to plead guilty for a lighter sentence, so she couldn’t have done too bad, she told herself.

“My grandson….” Choked up, Sandy looked away.

Worry shifted from herself to Sandy, she hugged her supervisor. “It’s okay.” Sandy’s first grandchild had been born a month ago at only twenty-two weeks gestation and admitted into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She prayed silently for the baby to someday be a healthy, loving man. “Whatever you need. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.” Sandy wiped away the tears building in her big blue eyes. “I needed that.” She took a moment to compose herself. “It was so hard leaving him, but I had to come back. It wasn’t fair dumping everything on you.”

“You didn’t dump anything. Your priorities are straight. Family first.” Abisola’s father owned a successful flooring company. Her mother told her that even when they were struggling to get the business up and running, her father always prioritized family time. He said too many used growing their business as an excuse to neglect their family.

“How did I know you’d say that?” Small wrinkles formed around Sandy’s mouth with her smile. “I appreciate the way you stepped up. You helped make a difficult decision much easier. You see… I’m retiring and moving to Boston to help my daughter.”

“What?” Abisola knew she’d heard wrong.

“Leadership’s taking this opportunity to reorganize the company. Nelson’s agreed to buy my and Andre’s shares.”

Outdone, Abisola took a second to process what she’d been told. “So the company will no longer be Osborne and Associates?” Thirty-two employees in total, the firm was small but mighty.

“He’s leaning towards Osborne Financial. We’ve hired a marketing firm to help decide. With the restructure, we believe you’d be the best person to head up the accounting department. If you keep your nose clean until I officially retire, the job is yours.” She laughed lightly. “Since your nose has never been dirty, I think we’re good.”

“I’m… I’m floored. What about Max?” she asked of Nelson’s son who worked in the personal finance arm of the company. With the company being so small, they didn’t have managers, so Abisola assumed Max would buy into a partnership role when one opened.

“Andre’s having a similar conversation to ours with Max. Let’s be honest. The past year, Andre’s been out more than he’s been in. Max pretty much runs things over there.”

“I’m in shock. I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You earned it. Even when I’m out, I keep tabs on things. I saw in the first day or so that your co-workers were coming to you for answers they usually come to me for. By the end of the first week, you were running the department and doing an outstanding job. And those daily updates you’d send!” Eyes wide with excitement, Sandy patted her chest. “Be still my heart. You saved me so much time and worry. Yes. You should be a director. You’re a natural.”

Faint knocking at the door drew their attention. Nelson Osborne, senior partner, poked his head in. Disappointment filled his eyes. “Oh no, you already told her, didn’t you?” He entered fully, closing the door behind himself.

Sandy smiled. “Your fault. Who takes meetings this early anyway?”

Ready to leap a tall building in a single bound, Abisola beamed with pride. “Thank you both for believing in me.”

“You earned it.” He looked at Sandy. “I hate to cut this short, but I need you to join this too early meeting for a few minutes before you cut out.” He chuckled. “That was a good one.”

Abisola loved how Nelson laughed at his own jokes.

* * *

Seated at her desk, Abisola exchanged her cell phone for her iPad. She longed to call her parents and tell them the good news, but her mother had the uncanny ability to turn a two-minute conversation into two hours. She scrolled through a few photos on her tablet of her parents laying tile in her condo. She’d gotten an amazing deal on two units in her building that were in major need of renovations. Nelson and his wife, Mesha, even came by a few times to help out. Work done, she missed the extra time they’d spent together updating the units.

She opened the custom-made planner program her parents had gotten her a few years ago. People often teased her about planning every minute of her life. Why anyone would try to make her way through something as complicated and important as life without planning was beyond her comprehension.

Lacey, her best friend, said the level Abisola planned was a manifestation of her controlling tendencies, but Abisola didn’t agree. As a child, Abisola didn’t choose what she ate, clothing, instruments she’d play, sports she’d participate in, languages she’d learn, if she’d be home schooled. Her high-level life plan had been written before she was born, and her parents made adjustments as necessary. They instilled the importance of preparation into Abisola.

She’d also heard the word controlling in relationship to her parents, but her college friends had been wrong. She went to work for her father when she was ten and loved every minute of it. According to the life plan her parents had created, she would have worked for him fulltime after she completed her Masters in Business Administration.

That was not the life Abisola wanted. Had her parents been controlling, they would have given her a hard time. Instead, they told her skipping college was not an option, but she could choose her major. They’d wanted her to stay in Arizona for college. They’d compromised and allowed her to complete undergraduate in Arizona and her graduate studies out of state. Someday her father’s business would be hers, so she continued working for him as part-time as an accountant. Since she loved laying tile, she did small jobs occasionally. Controlling people weren’t good with compromise, and her parents were experts at it.

“Ahbe-so-laaaah,” Lacey sang as she entered the office. “Or should I say, Madam Director?” She closed the door.

“I thought no one was supposed to know about the promotion?” Lacey was the only person outside of her family who used her given name. She preferred being called by her full name, but gave up the fight.

“I’m human resources and the office manager. I’ve wanted to tell you the past week, but was sworn to secrecy.” Huge grin on her face, she rolled a chair from the small conference table over to Abisola’s desk. “I literally thought I’d explode.”

Overflowing with excitement, Abisola could barely sit still. “This is crazy! My parents are going to flip when I tell them.”

“You are so very, very spoiled,” Lacey teased.

“Yes, but not spoiled rotten.” Her parents were in Nigeria visiting family, and she couldn’t wait for their return.

Lacey peeked over at the iPad. “I’ll bet your butt didn’t even hit the seat before you began updating your planner.”

“And?” This wasn’t as simple as just changing dates or she would have changed them months ago when she began accepting Max would play a huge role in her future. The promotion put into motion a life change that terrified the hell out of her, but she wanted. She couldn’t ask for more career wise, but longed to build her own family. Now if she only had a husband to go along with the plan.

Not to worry. Come Fourth of July, she’d be thirty-one and her parents would help find a suitable husband. Ninety-nine percent sure Max would be the man, she could hardly wait, but didn’t let on. At least she tried not to.

“Have you substituted Max for your intended yet? Nelson isn’t fooling anyone. He promoted you and Max so you two would take over the company someday. He wants to keep the business in the family.”

“Max and I are friends.”

Arranged marriages were her family’s way of life as far back as they could trace, but she’d wanted to go a more traditional, American route and find her own mate. Another example of her parents’ ability to compromise was them agreeing to hold off until she turned thirty-one before they began matchmaking to give her a chance to do her own thing. Until recently, she hadn’t considered Max, but he’d be the obvious choice. Both loved their chosen careers and understood the demands of the other’s job. They had the same outlook on life, the same political views and both were Muslim.

“Ummm, that’s a good thing. Plus y’all’s parents are best friends.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“What?”

“Arranged marriages are my normal. This is new to his family. My family’s progressive, but does he understand the courting period? That either of us can say this isn’t working for them and move on? What if…?” True fear stole her words.

“What’s really going on?”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. As handsome as Max was, they’d have beautiful chocolate babies, but there were no sparks between them. “One day, Mum and I were in the backyard pulling weeds from the flower garden when she heard Dad’s voice. Her whole face lit up as if she’d gotten a pleasant surprise.”

“I thought arranged marriages were crazy until I met them.”

“I want a love like my parents share, and I want the same for Max. Will we ever fall in love?” Without some sort of spark, would she and Max ever fall in love, she worried.

“That you ask makes me believe that yes. You will. You two have had each other’s backs since you started here. If I didn’t know better, I’d of thought you’d known each other your whole lives.”

She drew in and released a large breath. “This is really happening. Nelson expects Max and I to get married.”

“Girl, catch up with the conversation. I said that at least two minutes ago. Stop overthinking.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Lacey stood. “I need to get back to work.”

“That makes two of us. Thank you.”

Lacey left the door opened on her way out.

Enough fooling around for the day, Abisola got down to work. Every year she took her birth month off to do something special. This year she planned a trip to Alaska. Completing projects early and ensuring her regular clients were set while she was out was her June mission.

Max entered carrying a gift-wrapped shirt box.

“Is that for me?” She couldn’t help but smile. All her plans had fallen into place, and Max came carrying gifts. She’d bet it was from Mesha, who had to know about the promotion. Over the years, Max’s parents had become like a second set of parents to her.

He chuckled. “Would I bring a gift into your office that wasn’t for you?” He handed it to her. “Mom said I’d know when to give this to you. I was so confused until I learned of our promotions.” He sat in the chair beside her desk that Lacey had left.

“Thanks. I’ll call to thank her when I take a break.” She began opening the gift.

“Excellent. She also wants to know what to wear for the birthday-slash-naturalization-party.”

Her parents became naturalized citizens exactly thirty years ago this coming Fourth of July and wanted to celebrate. Proud of her parents, Abisola invited all of the people who participated in the naturalization ceremony with her parents to Sedona to celebrate the Fourth of July with family and friends. Since the Fourth was also Abisola’s birthday, her parents insisted the party be dual-purpose.

“Whatever she’s comfortable in. I have a spa day and some tours planned before the barbeque festivities of the evening.” She loved the way Max humored his mother by playing messenger and deliveryman for her. Each day she’d have him deliver or ask something she could have easily done herself.

She lifted the box top and saw an adorable yellow scarf with tiny daisy print. “Oh my goodness. I love it!” She ran her fingers over the fine material. She usually wore a hijab, but planned to rock her new scarf in the near future.

“Lacey says you’re tripping about what this promotion means for us.”

Eyes and mouth wide, she shook her head. “I was not. You know how she overreacts.”

Doubt filled his dark eyes. “Umm hmm. I don’t mean to disrespect your family’s traditions, but waiting on our parents to arrange our lives isn’t working for me.”

“I understand.” Now that she knew Max was her intended, she was shocked he hadn’t said something sooner.

“Sandy’s retirement completely changed things for us. I’ll call your father and apologize for overstepping, but you and I need to talk.”

“Agreed.” Truth be told, she didn’t know how her parents had done this. Then again, her parents hadn’t known each other very well before they began courting.

“I know Dad. He’s promoting you instead of offering you to buy into a partnership because he wants to keep your options open. I believe you and I will be an amazing power couple, but that doesn’t mean we have to be married. Once we start dating, there’s a small chance we may not click, and that’s okay.”

“What would happen if we didn’t click?”

“You’re still the best accountant around and more importantly, one of my best friends. We have always looked out for each other. If you want a partnership, I’m sure Dad would give you time to buy in. You have options.”

‘Thank you for talking me down from the ledge.” Something about this conversation just didn’t sit right with Abisola. “Since the cat hopped out of the bag, then threw the bag at us. After you talk to my dad, did you want to start the courtship?”

“We should wait until after you come back from your vacation. I want you to be sure this is the road you want to go down.”

“Are you sure this is the road you want to go down?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll admit, when Dad first approached me, I thought he’d lost his mind, but our parents are right. We both want to settle down and should look at the obvious possibilities first. We make sense.” He stood. “I need to get back to work. Since that cat’s out of the bag, I’m freed up to get you what I want to for your birthday.”

“Your family is the most gift giving folks I ever met. We don’t exchange gifts, and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell what it is before you give it.”

“I have to or you’ll cause a scene at the party,” he quipped jokingly.

“Whatever… I have never caused a scene in my life.”

“I’m getting you a car.”

“No.” Not only were cars, insurance, gas, and their maintenance expensive, they were pollution machines.

“Hear me out. First off, it’ll be used and an electric car. I will not have my wife driven around by strangers, and I don’t want my children driven around by a new driver.”

Suddenly, she felt better about this conversation. “Awww, that’s sweet. Thank you for the thoughtful gift.”

“I know how you think. I’ll cover expenses the first year. I’ll look into driving lessons later.”

“How about you teach me to drive, and I’ll teach you how to cook the basics?”

He chuckled. “Many relationships have been ruined over driving lessons. It’s best to leave it to the professionals.”

“Point taken. What about the cooking? It’ll be fun.” Some of her fondest memories were of her and her parents in the kitchen throwing down.

“If I could make it my entire life without cooking an actual meal, I’d die a happy man.”

All she could do was smile. “Get out of my office.”

* * *

Normally, Abisola’s days flew by. She glanced at her watch: 9:45. Not today, she thought. She’d decided to call her parents instead of emailing them with the news, but was waiting until lunch to have more time to speak with them.

“Abby,” Nelson said as he entered her office. “I’d like to introduce you to Thomas Hoffmann.”

Shocked, her heartbeat sped up at the sound of his name. Why hadn’t Lacey warned her Mr. All Too Fine was in their office? Thomas’s law firm moved in two doors down around Thanksgiving last year. Whenever she got the chance, she’d just so happen to be in the front office to see him exit the elevator at approximately 8:55 each morning. She’d hated the double mirror-like walls until Thomas came around. This allowed her to see him without him knowing.

In her mind she’d given Thomas all the attributes she wanted in a man—a fantasy man no real man could measure up to. The person behind Nelson would be a real man, not her fantasy. She stood and rounded her desk.

Nelson moved to the side as he approached. A large man, like Max, he had blocked her view of Thomas. “He’s one of the partners at the law firm down the hall.”

Upon seeing her, Thomas’s whisky eyes momentarily went wide with surprise.

Nelson motioned to Abisola. “Thomas, this is Abisola Tersoo.” He beamed with pride. “Abby here is one of the best forensic accountants in the world.”

“World?” She laughed lightly. “Okay, I’ll take that.” Hand on her chest, she looked to Thomas and bowed her head in greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

Heat rushed through her body. Not from his words, but the way he said them. The way he watched her. It took everything she had to act unaffected, but affected she was. She’d never reacted like this to a man. Now she chastised herself for the fantasies. She’d thought they were harmless fun.

After introductions, Nelson presented a high level overview of the special assignment Thomas needed fulfilled. This sounded like fun, but the way Thomas watched her said she should turn down the project. Then again, this was a great opportunity and in a few months she’d be management and no longer able to take such cases. She’d be crazy to pass this up, she told herself.

Disappointed, she sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’ll be on vacation all next month. I should be able to finish before then, but it’ll be cutting it close, and I know this is time-sensitive. Our other accountants may not be the best in the world…” She offered a smile to Nelson. “But they’re amazing at what they do.”

Nelson nodded in agreement.

Thomas shook his head. “No. I want the best. If it takes longer, then so be it.”

Ready to dig into her new assignment, she smiled. “Then we have a deal. I’ll set up a meeting for this afternoon to discuss what I’ll need to get started.” A part of her looked forward to seeing Thomas in person from time to time. That part scared, yet excited, the mess out of her.

“Because the information’s so sensitive, you’ll be working the project from my office.”

“No problem,” she said with a calmness she didn’t feel. Envisioning Thomas as a fantasy man from afar was one thing, but working in the same office with him daily was a completely different story. She quickly calmed her mind. They were both professionals, and he was not a fantasy. There was no such thing as a fantasy man. Plus, working in the same office suite didn’t literally mean she’d be in his office. Moment of panic over, she caught a devilish grin tip his lips.

“Excellent. Can you start today?”

She returned to her desk and looked at her schedule for the rest of the month. She’d already begun clearing her calendar as much as possible, so working from the law firm would be no problem. “I can come over around noon.” She hadn’t spoken to her parents yet, so adjusted her time. “Make that closer to one. Then other days I’ll come over around ten until the end of the day. Does that work for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll have Pam keep a look out for you. It was nice meeting you.” He held his hand out.

“You, too.” An unrecognizable charge radiated from their touch as they shook. This wasn’t pain, something she liked or didn’t like, but some sort of energy. The way he looked down at their hands told her he felt it, too. She released, but he continued to hold on. “I’m gonna need that,” she said as she nodded towards her hand.

Did she catch a whiff of vanilla? No it wasn’t vanilla but something lighter, yet similar, with a powdery base. Whatever cologne he wore smelled amazing, she thought.

“Oh, sorry.” The moment he released her, the energy began to fade.

“How about we go back to my office to sign the work agreement?” Nelson said, then looked to Abby. “We can talk later.”

Abisola nodded. “Sounds good.” She could only pray Nelson didn’t notice her reaction to Thomas. She’d hate to give her future father-in-law the impression that she had a wandering eye.

( Continued… )

© 2019 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Deatri King-Bey. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

  Meet Deatri King-Bey When Deatri was six years old, her mother was told that because of Deatri’s dyslexia, she’d never learn how to read. My have times changed. Deatri started her publishing career as an editor at Third World Press, Inc., one of the oldest independent, African-American owned publishing houses in the world. Fiction is her true love, so a few years later she began focusing her editing skills on fiction. She’s edited novels by such notables as Gloria Naylor, L.A. Banks, Beverly Jenkins, A.C. Arthur and many more.

Along with editing, Deatri also began writing. Thirty-some published titles later, she still hasn’t figured out she wasn’t supposed to learn how to read and has gone on to win six Emma Awards over the years. Currently, she is enjoying life with her family, reading, writing screenplays, and deciding what she’ll get into next. Website: http://romanandjeanette.com

    Deatri King-Bey’s Book List

Nonfiction: Become A Successful Author by Deatri King-Bey

Deatri King-Bey Suspense (with Curtis Alcutt) Roman & Jeanette (Black Widow and the Sandman I) Birth of the Black Widow (Short Story) The Sandman Cometh (Short Story) Hell Hath No Fury (Black Widow and the Sandman II) Dark Geisha (Black Widow and the Sandman III)

Deatri King-Bey Women’s Fiction

Caught Up Jodie’s Choice Operation White Rose Picture Perfect Sweet Thang

Deatri King-Bey Romance Novels

Beauty and the Beast Broken Promises (Interracial) Christmas Angel (Second Chances) Diamond in the Rough (Interracial) Ebony Angel (Interracial) For Keeps Hero (Precious Jewels I) If You Only Knew (Second Chances) Love’s Desire (Short story compilation) Journey’s End (Interracial) Santa’s Helper (Write Brothers II) Silk Scarves and Apples (Second Chances) Someone To Hold Soulmate (Precious Jewels III) Tease (Write Brothers IV) Tell Her How You Feel (Write Brothers I) The Drama The Street and the Seduction (Short Story) The Impossible Possible (Interracial) The Only Option The Other Realm Third Time’s A Charm (Write Brothers III) Trapped In Paradise (Short Story) Warrior (Precious Jewels II) Whisper Something Sweet

#LoveLikeItsHotBox, #SeducingThePen, #UnwrappedLit, #Bookish, #BookBoost, #TwitterBookClub, #AfricanAmericanAuthors, #NewBookAlert, #BlackGirlReading, #Bookstagram, #TBR, #TwitterBookClub, #InstaBooks, #InstaReads, #Bookstagram, #BookNerd

      Intimate Conversation with Deatri King-Bey (Love Like It’s Hot Boxset)

Deatri’s mother was told that because of Deatri’s dyslexia, she’d never learn how to read. My have times changed. Deatri started her publishing career as an editor at Third World Press, Inc., one of the oldest independent, African-American owned publishing houses in the world. Fiction is her true love, so a few years later she began focusing her editing skills on fiction. She’s edited novels by such notables as Gloria Naylor, Beverly Jenkins and many more. Along with editing, Deatri also began writing. Thirty some published titles later, she still hasn’t figured out she wasn’t supposed to learn how to read.

BPM: What inspired you to become a romance writer? How long have you been writing? When I was a child, my mother wasn’t a big fan of television series, but she never missed airings of old romance movies. I grew up in a household where Doris Day and Debbie Reynolds fell in love in the most dramatic ways just about every weekend, and I loved every minute of it. If my mother wasn’t watching old movies, she was reading Harlequin romances. At the time, my mother’s married life was nowhere close to the romances we watched and enjoyed. When I began writing, I had control to give every princess her prince charming.

BPM: How do you think you’ve evolved creatively? I’ve been married over thirty years and have children, grandchildren, in-laws. Lived through deaths, births, divorces, marriages. Been hired and fired from jobs. These fifty-some years, my experiences changed my outlooks on life and given me more depth. As we grow older, we see the world in different ways. This tends to affect one’s creativity. I’m hoping it’s for the best in my case, but we’ll see (smile).

BPM: Do you view writing as a kind of spiritual practice? Not really. I used to tease that writing was my way of putting my psychosis to work, by writing the voices into books. That all changed when my father was diagnosed with two forms of terminal cancer. That’s when the voices stopped. I was writing the forth book of a series that he was the inspiration for. I didn’t finish the series and Best Laid Plans is the first book I’ve written since he passed three years ago.

BPM: How has writing romance novels impacted your life? I let those voices in my head tell their stories. You will see mental illness, abuse, neglect… You know, things that aren’t romantic. You’ll also see compassion, love and triumph. When readers contact me saying how they saw themselves in my characters and appreciate how someone understood how they feel, that you touched their heart—I find it humbling.

BPM: What was one of the most surprising things you learned while creating your body of work? This was early on in my writing career. I’d always read books by all races of people. Back then, it was difficult to find titles by Black authors, plus schools had you read works by non-black authors. I never had an issue relating to characters who weren’t my race because I’ve always had to.

So when I began writing and began hearing whites saying they couldn’t relate to Black characters, I was taken aback. I grew up watching White women fall in love and reading books full of non-Blacks and had no issue “relating” to the characters. Love, hate, anguish, triumph, loss… are universal.

BPM: How do you find or make time to write? Are you a plotter or a pantster? I’m an empty nester, so have time to write. When my children were home, I’d write before they woke or after they went to bed. I’m a cross between a plotter and pantster. Before I start writing, I have about 90% of the book plotted out in my mind. Once I start writing, I go with the flow and it ends up about 70% to what I had in my mind.

BPM: Have you considered writing in another genre? I also write suspense and I have an urban fantasy I want to write.

BPM: What is your story in Love Like It’s Hot about? In Best Laid Plans, Abisola Tersoo, a gracious woman of beauty, kindness, and focus, knows there has always been a plan for her future. Someday she will take over her father’s business and Max Osborne, a man dear to her family’s heart, is to be her husband. Just when Abisola has accepted her life always goes according to plan, Thomas Hoffmann, a fantasy of a man, brings chaos into her life in the best and worst ways. Torn between following the plan with a real man and risking it all for a fantasy, Abisola learns she may not have a choice.

Thomas Hoffmann didn’t realize he was looking for someone special until Abisola walked into his life. A man of the world, he had become a little jaded, but Abisola’s quick wit and creative spirit sparked an interest in him unlike any he had ever experienced. One who lives in the moment, he can see spending the rest of his moments with Abisola, but others’ plans may get in the way.

BPM: Give us some insight into your main characters. What makes each one so special? Romance books follow a formula, so I can’t say my hero and heroine are any more special than any other romance hero and heroine. I will say that what makes this novella special is my take on the 4thof July theme. When I was young, I was told that America is a melting pot. To my family that meant that we lose our culture to assimilate into the dominant culture (Yeah, we were that family, and I’m proud to say I carried that on to my children). Instead, we chose follow the America being a salad with all the differences complementing each other. Best Laid Plans ties into both of these. I look forward to discussions to see what others think of this topic.

BPM: What was your hardest scene to write, the opening or the close? The close. I tend to deal with heavy issues in my romances that take an emotional toll on readers in ways that aren’t conducive to the happily ever after readers expect from a romance. So I have to ensure to wrap things up appropriately and give that happily ever after.

BPM: Is there a specific place/space/state that you find inspiration in? No, not really. I find inspiration in people and what they are going through. Like many authors, I’m a people watcher.

BPM: Do you want each book to stand on its own or do you prefer to write series? I prefer to write stand-alone books, but my readers seem to always want to know about the other characters, so I end up writing series. Even with my series, I try to write so that each book can stand alone.

BPM: Does writing energize you? The writing itself doesn’t energize me. Reading the book a few weeks after it’s completed editing energizes me. It’s kind of like my gym workouts. I enjoy getting my workout on, but it’s still work. Seeing the results of the workout is what energizes me and encourages me to continue going.

BPM: Do you believe in writer’s block? No. When I released titles every few months, there were times when I needed to step away from my current project because I needed distance from it to think clearly again. I’d work on something else, then come back to it sometimes a week or two later.

BPM: Is there a certain type of scene that’s harder for you to write than others? Sex scenes. I was at a conference and learned that many authors also write those last.

BPM: Have you written any other books that are not published? Yes. I have two books that I wrote that are AWFUL. I wrote them when I was early in the writing craft. The head hopping I did should have been illegal. Early on I said I’d rewrite them, but I doubt that will ever happen.

BPM: What projects are you working on at the present? I’m learning the craft of screenwriting. A pilot I wrote called Dangerous Games is getting some attention. I start a six-week class on pilot writing soon and hope to complete my second pilot during that course. I’m currently writing a piece for the Still Standing anthology. I along with four other authors are writing fiction and nonfiction pieces about how cancer affected our lives. This title will be released in October. I’m also completing a romance novel.

BPM: Tell us about your most recent work beyond this collection. Available on Nook and Kindle? My most recent work was Dark Geisha, the third book in the dangerously-sexy suspense series I write with Curtis Alcutt. This is a series that should be read in order. Roman and Jeanette, the two main characters, are my two favorite characters to write. They are flawed, but two of the most loving people in their own crazy way. The series is available on Kindle, Nook and in Print on Amazon. The order is: Roman & Jeanette, Hell Hath No Fury, then Dark Geisha.

BPM: What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you? The majority of my readers just want to read my next book, so I suggest signing up for my announcements. I only send them out when I have a new title or if I’ll be at an event. If they want to email me, they can do so through my website. Here is the page to sign up for the special announcements and to email me.

BPM: How can readers discover more about you and your work? The only social media account I actually keep up with is my Facebook one. I ask that you don’t send friend request, but instead, subscribe to my page. Facebook as a limit of friends they allow, so I no longer accept friend request. But you can have unlimited subscribers: https://www.facebook.com/deatri

Books featured in the Boxed Set * Ann Clay – Love for Liberty * Barbara Keaton – Heat at First Sight * Deatri King-Bey – Best Laid Plans * Donna Hill – Summer Sizzle * Nicki Night – Sweet Heat Rising * Xyla Turner – The Fourth

  Best Laid Plans by Deatri King-Bey (Love Like It’s Hot Box Set) Best Laid Plans by Deatri King-Bey (Love Like It's Hot Box Set) Abisola Tersoo, a gracious woman of beauty, kindness, and focus, knows there has always been a plan for her future.

[rollinbrigittenv8]

Interview: Designing for Millennials and the Future of Hotels

George Yabu (left) and Glenn Pushelberg inside the lobby bar of the new Moxy Times Square . The two founders of design firm Yabu Pushelberg have been involved in hotel design for nearly 40 years. Michael Kleinberg

Skift Take: The future of hotel design might be on a smaller scale, but Yabu Pushelberg knows the design aspirations and expectations will be even greater than they have been before.

— Deanna Ting

Toronto- and New York City-based designers George Yabu and Glenn Pushelberg have designed properties for some of the biggest names in hospitality for nearly 40 years. Their clients and brands include Ian Schrager, the Four Seasons, Park Hyatt, and the St. Regis, among them.

But their newest hotel project isn’t being marketed as a luxury product. Instead, it’s the 612-room Moxy Times Square, Marriott’s answer to guests who want a hotel that doesn’t forsake style for a lower price point. The property is scheduled to open later this month.

The property’s developer, Lightstone Group, asked Yabu Pushelberg to design the hotel’s guest rooms and public spaces. The Rockwell Group designed the hotel’s dining venues, which will be operated by TAO Group.

The duo, founders of the eponymous firm that bears their last names, are known for their sleek, elegant, contemporary, and sophisticated designs. Translating that design aesthetic to a hotel with much tighter space constraints proved to be a challenge, but one that the two and their design team gladly wanted to undertake. Rooms at the Moxy Times Square range in size from 120 square feet to 350 square feet.

The micro-hotel concept is one that continues to flourish, especially in New York City. This year alone there have been the opening of Schrager’s flagship Public New York, which markets itself as having “luxury for all” and had promoted room rates when it debuted at just $150 a night, although now the rates are often higher. And Pod Hotels, which already two locations in the city, is planning to add two more — one in Times Square and another in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Skift spoke to Yabu and Pushelberg about the unique design challenges presented by micro-hotels, and where the future of hospitality design is headed. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Skift: You’re both very well-known for your hotel designs for brands such as the Four Seasons, Le Meridien, Edition, and Park Hyatt, just to name a few. What was it like to work on a project like the Moxy Times Square, for a project that’s not necessarily considered a traditional luxury hotel?

Glenn Pushelberg: We’re actually very keen to do any project that has a reason to be designed and that can enhance the experience through design. What happens is you get pegged into the obvious categories: These are luxury products, these are luxury designers, and they do all those kind of five-star hotels, which is a wonderful thing to do, but we were keen to do the project with Moxy, and projects like the Edition Hotel, and projects like the Equinox Hotel because they aren’t five-star hotels; they’re more of a lifestyle. Myself, I’m focused more on hotels that are designed, basically, to give you a much more positive and interesting and engaging experience.

This kind of micro-hotel trend that’s going on — we thought that it was a unique and interesting challenge. And the client is wonderful in that they allowed us to design anything and everything that we wanted, including the sink in the hotel room and the furniture, and all the different parts of the hotel. And it truly is something that is unique and has a very thought through and thoughtful design to it, and that’s what we’re interested in.

George Yabu: Because no matter what you paid for your room, you want the same thing, essentially. If you stay at the Four Seasons or Park Hyatt, you want to have enough power outlets for all of your electronic devices, and all the spaces you need to live, or work, or play, or eat in your room — all those different areas. You might want to work from the sofa, or you might want to work from the desk. Everybody wants a decent bathroom facility, with good lighting and enough surface space at your vanity. These are principles everybody has, no matter if you go to a luxury hotel or a budget hotel. It’s how you touch people, it’s how you engage people. That’s what we did for Moxy.

A rendering of the entrance to the new Moxy Times Square, set to open in New York City later this month. Source: Moxy Times Square

Skift: The earlier Moxy properties that first opened in Europe and other parts of the U.S. were sometimes criticized for having designs that seemed a little too cloying, or maybe too Millennial. With the Moxy Times Square project, did you try to counteract those criticisms?

Pushelberg: When we were approached by the developer and also talked with Marriott about the brand, we saw what they did in Europe. We were told by the developer, “We want to make a restart in America and [what was done before is] not appropriate for America; it won’t work.” We agreed with them. They said, “It’s an entry-level or Millennial brand for people who are starting to make a little bit of money and want to stay in a designed, experience hotel.”

We actually put took it upon ourselves and said, “You know what? This is a little bit naïve in the approach. The approach really should be that, regardless of how old I am, it’s really for an informed, interested person that doesn’t want to spend a lot of money on a hotel but wants a great experience.”

Once you broaden that approach to it, you create a design that, to us, has some level of familiarity, but it’s not of the past; it’s of the future. It’s not just a modern hotel that’s generic, but it has some emotion attached to it because it feels friendly to you, but it doesn’t feel trite. We’re not trying to appeal to you by thinking, “Oh yes, Millennials like bright colors, they like that nightclub approach or blah, blah, blah.” We wanted something that had a bit of a sincere approach, and it’s distilled.

That was explained in our approach, and it was agreed to by Marriott and the developers thought, “Oh, that makes sense to us.” We believe the Moxy in Times Square does exactly that. It has familiarity, but it’s not a recreation of the past. It’s forward thinking, and it’s intelligent and then it solves all of the central hotel problems that George just mentioned.

Like storage: There are all the things that you need in a tiny little hotel room. It’s very thoughtful in its approach. It has its own character. It has a personality. It will be loved by many. It has longevity to it, too. You can’t label it like, “This hotel is like a Brooklyn hotel or this hotel is like a Millennial hotel.” This is just a great little hotel. It’s a great hotel with sweet little rooms.

Years and years ago we ended a project in Las Vegas for MGM [a renovation of the massive MGM Grand Resort & Casino], and they have the largest hotel in Las Vegas. The original hotel was actually 600 rooms, and they were like motel-sized rooms, and they kept adding and adding and adding. They gave us the challenge to renovate these tiny rooms. We did the reverse room where the bed didn’t face out to the window, because there’s nothing to see, and you never come home until late at night. We faced the bed in and made the room feel bigger, and we made these tricks. [With these new rooms] they actually got a better room rate than they did in much bigger rooms. It’s not the scale of the room, it’s the experience that you create for people that counts.

Skift: Do you see yourselves doing more hotel design projects for brands outside of the luxury realm going forward?

Pushelberg: We are. We’re creating a hotel for Equinox, a high-performance hotel for people on the go. It’s taking the essence of what that type of person who uses Equinox fitness clubs and live the Equinox lifestyle. That’s not a classic luxury brand.

Edition hotels is not a classic luxury brand, either. We did the first three of them, and we’re doing our fourth Edition in Times Square for next year.

What we’re interested in is not necessarily doing luxury. We’re interested in creating new brands for people, or reinventing brands. I think that’s much more interesting than following a brand standard in existing hotels.

A rendering of a Queen bedroom at the Moxy Times Square. Yabu Pushelberg specially designed the sink featured in every room. Source: Moxy Times Square

Skift: What were some of your favorite details or design elements from the Moxy Times Square and what inspired you most?

Yabu: I think there’s always the romance of staying in hotels in the past. I think that was lost, and a lot of that romance comes from traveling with your parents. When you talk about childhood vacations, for the most part, it’s a very positive experience. Although, perhaps, in reality, it may not have been as wonderful in that respect as it is in your mind.

What we thought we would do is play on the wonderful innocent aspects of vacation days gone by. The old rotary dial telephone. Going to the resort swimming pool. What we did with the shower tiles, it says “No diving.” That sort of response to a memory that you had in the family vacation going down to Florida for example.

One could say these are old clichés, but you have to give it a twist, a little bit of wit if you’re going to rejig these visual memories. Even in the doors that we did for the hotel, going down the going down the corridors, they’re almost like little windows. It’s like going to school, back to school. There were those schoolroom doors with the wired windows, and the little roller blinds for privacy. Obviously, if you are going to do that you can’t be trite, so it had to have a purpose for it. It has messages on it like “Do Not Disturb” on the button.

In high school in Canada we had some buttons on the door when the lab is on. When you’re working in the lab, or you’re working in the darkroom, we have these orange glow buttons for “Do Not Disturb.” When it’s not used for that message, it’s just a light for the corridor. It’s sort of like there are all of these subliminal notions of romantic little happy times, and it’s a little less naïve today because we’re a little bit more aware.

A Quad bedroom at the Moxy Times Square sleeps up to four guests and features a foldable table and chair designed by Yabu Pushelberg. Source: Moxy Times Square

Skift: What were some of the unique design challenges involved with the Moxy project, and what kinds of solutions did you come up with?

Pushelberg: Because of the extreme lack of square footage in the guest rooms, if you didn’t need a desk to work, or you didn’t need one to eat, you could just fold the table and hang it on a hook on the wall. It’s a Shaker design principle that they perfected. Also, you have to do multipurpose furniture.

If you need an extra chair, well, in some rooms you just don’t have space for an extra chair. You can pull away the night table and the night table acts as a chair as well. We had to test it out in terms of live loads and things like that. Visually, you saw there’s a little lumbar support at the back so you know it is something you can sit on. When it’s beside your bed, that lumbar metal tube is a backdrop for your night table.

There’s also lots of storage underneath the bed for your luggage, because you don’t have closets. There’s no space for closets. You have to put your own luggage underneath. There are plenty of hooks, going back to that Shaker notion. It’s basically a continuous peg hook system around the room. You can have spaces for everything. Your towel, your knapsack, your flip-flops, everything. It’s just really cleverly thought out without being, self-consciously, a designer hotel. Things look familiar. “I remember, I remember that. That makes sense.”

With the bathroom of course, you have complete privacy of the water closet. The shower is contained in the bathroom and on the outside, you’ll find the sink space that we had made in France. We have to use the legs of the scepter that holds up the sink. We had to use it to hang the toilet paper and a little shelf trough for the hotel amenities that are provided for free. Everything had to be cleverly thought out, almost like an airplane.

Skift: Do you see micro-hotels design as being the future of hotel design?

Yabu: It’s just the pressure of the growing global travel business. I think that there will be an upward trend in micro-hotels. The cost of real estate in city centers — that’s going to put upward pressure on the size of all hotels, no matter what level.

Pushelberg: With respect to the micro-hotels, I think it’s an emerging part of the hotel market, and a lot of the early examples of it are not that sophisticated. I think, as there is more competition, like with the Moxys that we’re doing, for example, the level of design will elevate itself.

I think that with some of the other [micro-hotels] — I’m not going to name them — but I think it’s Baby Boomer executives pretending to think they know what younger people want out of their hotels. I think it’s a bit naïve. They’re going to be usurped by other more innovative and smarter hoteliers.

Even in [Ian] Schrager’s Public hotel is pretending to be a starter brand, but it’s not really because he’s clever. He’s getting rich. He’s getting $400 to $500 a night now; it’s not really entry-level. The design is much stronger, and the experience is much better.

Yabu: Moxy Times Square was designed by this generation that are going to use it. We’re talking about the team within our office. Our muses are our employees.

The lobby/bar/ lounge area of the Moxy Times Square. Source: Moxy Times Square

Skift: Are hotels doing enough to cater to the next generation of hotel guests? Are you seeing the hotel design space evolve in a better way, than from when you first started working in hotel design?

Pushelberg: I don’t know whether it’s a better way, but I think the way we live and what we want out of our life today is continually changing. As everybody reads, we all want experiences, we don’t work in the same way, we work off smaller devices, we don’t live in the same way as we used to. As designers of environments, we have to be tuned into the changes in the way people make their choices about how they live, and so, for example, how we eat and when we eat.

We tend to not just sit in a formal restaurant for breakfast because it’s boring. We want to have the choice whether we want to have a full meal or we want to just graze on something or we want to catch something as we go. We may want to work with people around us in the lobby, we may want a semi-private area.

It’s much more fluid, and so our job is to give people choices to live the way they want to live. Through technology, our life changes. I remember the Joan Rivers movie when she talked about her daughter, Melissa. She was standing in her formal dining room on the Upper East Side of New York with butler service. She says, “I don’t understand why my daughter is eating a sandwich over a kitchen sink for her lunch.” We live a faster life, so we need those choices. I think that we just need to be tuned into the way society changes and the way we live. Hotels need to respond to that.

Skift: You’re also working on the second Moxy hotel that is opening also in New York with the same developer. Is the design going to be similar to the Times Square property or will it be different? Are the two designs that you are doing for these two hotels going to become the new design standard for Moxy going forward?

Pushelberg: The two hotels that we’re doing for Moxy, they have some things that are the same and of course the basic principles are the same. The hotel in the Flower District, the NoMad District, it has some characteristics that we believe belong in the Flower District and that are separate from Times Square. You open up into a garden shop. The materiality of the public spaces responds more to the area that it’s in.

Design-positive hotels shouldn’t be cookie-cutter. They need the connectivity to each other. Our wish would be that as they build up Moxy, things like the furniture can be a connecting thread. There can be changes in the restaurant and some of the public spaces to give the individual hotels a character more appropriate to the place they’re in.

You need to respond to the place. I think that when you go on vacation and you go in the sunshine at Miami, it’s about the light and the airiness and the feeling of being on vacation. In Chicago, which is more serious and gray city, it has a different experience attached to it. The public spaces need to respond to that.

A meeting studio space at Moxy Times Square. Source: Moxy Times Square

Skift: Has Marriott said anything about taking some of the design elements from the two New York Moxy hotels and incorporating them into future properties?

Pushelberg: We designed this furniture, as George said, that folds up and hangs on the wall — the chairs, the table — a whole bunch of items. We’ve prepared a menu so their developer customers can purchase the furniture for their hotels. We’re hoping that that’s the connected element and it looks like that’s going to happen. They’re promoting that. It makes it easier and faster. It’s great for everyone.

Skift: Any particularly memorable hotel projects that you’ve worked on over the years that really stand out to you?

Pushelberg: I think that working with Ian [Schrager] on the Edition hotel, because it was a game-changer. We just finished a Park Hyatt in Bangkok and Hyatt is a more forward thinking five-star chain and that particular hotel is artistic in its quality, and it’s fluid and it’s modern, but it’s timeless. I think those are interesting challenges.

The first Four Seasons Hotel we did, it opened in 2002 in Japan and was a 57-room hotel. It was a contemporary hotel. It was beautifully executed and had this subliminal Asian-Japanese quality to it without being overt. It was a game changer.

I think doing the W Hotel in Times Square, which was their flagship hotel and had made, at that point, made W a more design-positive brand. It’s diminished itself I think even. There’s a hotel that we did in Beijing three years ago, where we distilled Chinese iconography and made it appropriate for a modern way of living.

We were fortunate to be blessed with doing lots of great projects and those are two examples. I think as we look forward, I think that we’re very, very excited about the Equinox brand and how it will change the game again. I think it will open next year, in about a year and a half, in Hudson Yards [in New York City.]