#And honestly it's all just a matter of getting my knickers in a twist; I know there's a lot of people who are fine with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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A stupid game turned serious;

Honestly? Most shit involving The Knights (AKA, Camelot’s man-children) is something stupid turned serious (or occasionally, vice-versa).

In which King Arthur realises he barely knows anything about his manservant, and the knights want to turn it into a competition.

It started as all serious discussions start: a group of grown men hanging around in the middle of a forest, bored out of their minds. Obviously.

Alright people, lets do this one last time (except not really).

The Gang, today consisting of Sirs Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, King Arthur, and The King’s manservant, Merlin, are in the woods doing... something. It doesn’t really matter what to be honest. Maybe a patrol, maybe a hunt, maybe a quest, maybe a picnic. Whatever the reason, they’re gathered around a roaring fire, darkness falling around them as they stare apathetically into the flames.

Gwaine finally decides that it’s time to break out his secret weapon, and pulls a large water-skin from his bag, waggling his eyebrows as he takes a gulp and passes it to Percival, sat next to him. Percy takes it hesitatingly, but smiles widely and takes a glug of his own after sniffing at the lid.

The water-skin gets passed around the circle, Arthur eventually asking:

“What’s in that then, ale I presume, Gwaine?”

Gwaine holds a hand to his chest and gasps in mock offense:

“Why Sire, you really think I, the noblest of knights, would drink ale whilst on the job?”

The others snort at his tone, and the obvious lie, and Arthur just raises an eyebrow as the water-skin finally reaches him. He sniffs it, and rolls his eyes before taking a swig, Gwaine smirking victoriously as he says:

“It’s cider, the very best. I was saving it as a treat for a rainy day and look at me, sharing it with all of you, I’m so nice.”

Merlin had been about to take a long swig from the skin, but grimaces as Gwaine says cider, and passes it over to him instead. Gwaine shrugs, not questioning it, but Arthur looks to his servant curiously:

“Not a fan of cider, Merlin? That surprises me, with how often you’re at the tavern.”

Merlin shakes his head, ignoring the tavern comment and responding with an easy smile:

“No not really, more of an ale person myself.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything, fiddling with his hands as quiet conversation flows easily between the other knights, The King and Merlin sitting comfortably in their silence. After half a candle mark of Arthur’s incessant fidgeting and soft frowning, Merlin thumps him on the arm, gaining everyone’s attention as he says:

“For pities sake, Arthur, you’ve been thinking for ages, it looks wrong on you, what’s got your knickers all in a twist?”

Leon and Percival are the only ones who manage to cover their snorts entirely, but Gwaine openly laughs at Merlin’s comment as Arthur briefly scowls before responding thoughtfully:

“You know, Merlin, we’ve known each other for ten years. I hate to admit it, but you probably know me better than anyone, yet I was unaware that you don’t like cider. It’s odd, how little I actually know about you, don’t you think?”

Merlin just raises an eyebrow, smirking as he says:

“I’m an open book, sire, it’s not my fault you never ask questions.”

Arthur huffs, and then does so again even louder when he sees the victorious smirk on Gwaine’s face:

“Why don’t we make a little competition out of it? Arthur can ask questions about Merlin, us lot have to answer. Whoever knows most, wins.”

Leon rolls his eyes:

“Wins what, exactly?”

Gwaine shrugs, taking another swig of his cider and snatching his hand away with a stuck-out tongue when Percival reaches for it with a pout:

“I don’t know, my respect?”

Everyone snorts in laughter and Gwaine huffs good-naturedly:

“Oh, fine. The chance to say they know Merlin best. Considering half the Kingdom likes him, and the other half loves him, that’s a fairly impressive prize.”

Merlin blushes and Arthur looks incredulous, but doesn’t argue when the rest of the knights hum in agreement and nod, as if Merlin being popular were the most obvious thing in the world. Gwaine grins, gesturing at Arthur vaguely:

“Go on then, princess, what don’t you know about Merlin?”

Everyone looks to Arthur expectantly, even Merlin, and The King throws a glance his way before sighing, and giving in:

“Fine. Lets start simple, what... uh... what is Merlin’s favourite season?”

Lancelot throws his arm in the air immediately almost yelling-

“Spring!”

- in his excitement. Merlin just laughs and nods, and the other knights sulk slightly at having been beaten before looking to Arthur again:

“...Right. When’s Merlin’s birthday?”

Everyone looks shocked at that, and Leon takes advantage of their surprise to answer smoothly:

“First day of the year. I mean no disrespect, My Lord, but how on earth do you not know his birthday?”

Arthur flushes as he looks indignantly back at his First Knight, his petulant tone making everyone else laugh:

“He never told me!”

Leon just raises an eyebrow:

“He never told me either, I asked eight years ago, and in return he asked mine, and we’ve exchanged gifts every year since.”

Merlin smiles fondly at the memory, and gives Arthur a sharp elbow to the ribs when the man goes to argue some more, cheerfully saying:

“First of the year is right. Next question?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, responding to Merlin’s jab with a gentle punch to the arm (or gentle as far as he is concerned) :

“Hmm. What... is Merlin’s favourite food?”

The knights all scramble to answer, but it’s Gwaine who shouts the loudest, standing up to make sure he’s noticed:

“Blueberries!! And strawberries!! Any sweet fruit, basically.”

All of the knights, even Arthur, look to Merlin in suspense as he thinks over the answer. He finally blinks in surprise and nods, and Gwaine pumps his fist in victory before sitting back down again. Merlin smiles and shakes his head, saying in a disbelieving voice:

“It’s kind of flattering that you knew the answer before I even did.”

Gwaine covets Merlin’s words, grinning proudly at the servant’s fond, though still slightly shocked smile.

Arthur rolls his eyes yet again, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention:

“Alright, alright. How many summers has he seen?”

The game goes cheerfully on for a while, long into the night, and it’s hard to say who’s winning. All (bar one) answer many questions, and they’re having so much fun (and Arthur is learning so much), that The King can’t bare to stop them. He doesn’t think anyone will mind the exhaustion tomorrow.

Eventually, all (bar one) are asking Merlin questions, and all (bar one) are answering them, though Arthur is growing mildly embarrassed at his lack of general knowledge on the man he’s seen everyday for ten years.

The game turns a little sombre, when Arthur clears his throat and asks the circle:

“What does Merlin know of his father?”

As far as Arthur was aware, it wasn’t a sensitive topic for Merlin; his father had come up briefly in conversation a few times years ago, and Merlin had never seemed bothered, but those few short conversations hadn’t actually told Arthur anything about the man, and he was curious to see if his servant had confided in any of the others.

Lancelot looked shocked at Arthur’s query, but the others just look around the circle blankly, realising that no one knew the answer. For some reason, Arthur had to resist the urge to smile victoriously at that. After a few moments, Leon shrugged, looking to Merlin with a questioning expression.

Merlin gave the knights a tight smile before answering quietly:

“Met him for the first time a few years ago, he died almost immediately. Only got a couple days with him.”

Lancelot gritted his teeth, reining in the glare that he wanted to send Arthur’s way as The King stares at his manservant in shock. Merlin keeps his gaze trained on the ground, even as Arthur quietly apologises. Leon clears his throat, and Merlin gives him a slightly easier smile, gesturing for him to continue at the knight’s questioning look:

“I have a good one. Has Merlin ever been in love?”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp, but no one notices as a few of them begin talking over one another. Gwaine is the loudest (as per normal), shouting-

“With me, of course.”

-and sending a wink Merlin’s way. He quickly drops his playful smirk when he sees Merlin’s barely concealed sorrow, but before he can ask what’s wrong, Arthur scoffs, and answers:

“Ok, even I can answer that one. No, Merlin has never been in love.”

Merlin scowls briefly before schooling his face into something a little more blank, answering in a monotone voice:

“Once, a long time ago.”

Arthur looks taken aback, and all the knights (bar Lancelot, who is looking more and more distraught at the topic, having been briefly told of Freya) lean in curiously. The King rolls his eyes and smirks:

“Fine, going by your morose expression, I’m guessing it was either unrequited, or they left you, so which was it, Merlin?”

Lancelot looks to him sharply, grinding out his name in a whispered, though horrified tone. Before he can reply, or even blink to be honest, Merlin waves a hand dismissively in Lance’s direction, staring at his fiddling hands as he quietly answers:

“Neither, she... she died, actually.”

The intake of breath of everyone else in the circle is audible, and Merlin looks up, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but giving them a mournful smile. Leon gulps, frowning in concern as he gently asks:

“What happened? If you don’t mind us asking, of course?”

Merlin’s expression changes to that of assessment, and the knights wait with baited breath as he gazes at each of them in turn, Lancelot quietly saying:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, it’s fine.”

Merlin shakes his head slightly before taking a deep breath and sitting up straight, answering Leon’s question:

“She was a non-practicing Druid, kidnapped from outside of Camelot by some bounty hunter looking for easy money and dragged here for the reward.-”

A few quiet breaths are taken in at Merlin’s admission of falling in love with a Druid, but no one interrupts him:

“-I felt bad for her, helped her escape. I hid her for a while, kept her safe, did the whole... falling in love thing.-”

His eyes go glassy and he stares into the middle distance as he continues, tears gathering but not quite falling:

“-We were going to run away together, build a home on the shores of a lake with mountains and trees nearby; grow our own food.-”

Merlin gulps, taking a deep breath as he begins fiddling with the hem of his tunic slightly:

“-But something went wrong, she was found, chased by knights. I caused a... distraction, helped her escape again, but not before she gained a fatal blow. I got her out of the city, but the wound was too serious; I didn’t have any of my equipment with me and there was no one nearby who could help. She... she bled out.”

He finishes in almost a whisper and he quickly wipes away the lone tear on his cheek, sniffling slightly before he looks up to the shocked knights again, a fake smile on his face:

“Not the happiest story, I know.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, staring at Merlin with wide eyes as he murmurs:

“Merlin... how did I not know about this?”

In a moment of weakness, Merlin is almost tempted to tell him the truth, tell everyone, that Arthur was the one who killed her, that Merlin had to clean her blood from his sword the next day with a smile on his face, but he quells the urge, giving him a weak smile and a pat on the leg:

“Because I didn’t tell you. It’s understandably not something I’m fond of talking about.”

Arthur nods gently, wiping the frown from his face as he pats his manservant awkwardly on the shoulder, not knowing quite what to do. Gwaine clears his throat, and quietly asks:

“What was her name?”

Merlin smiles, and the others are grateful to see that it’s real. Sad, but real. Lancelot stays quiet; he knows the answer, but he also knows that this is less about Gwaine’s stupid competition, and more about Merlin’s friends wanting to know him:

“Freya. Her name was Freya. I laid her to rest in a lake not too far from the city limits. I can take a little peace, some days, knowing that she ended up exactly where she wanted to, in the end.”

Leon nods knowingly, a soft smile on his face as he murmurs:

“Freya. It’s a beautiful name.”

Merlin’s smile grows and he nods his agreement, before blinking the memories from his eyes and clapping his hands:

“Come on, that’s enough of that moroseness, next question.”

And so, it continues even further, all the knights (bar one) asking questions; some generic: “name of Merlin’s childhood best friend?” (Arthur knew the correct response, but stayed quiet, the guilt just a little too much as he lets Gwaine answer instead), and some a little more specific: “Would Merlin rather live on the bottom of the ocean, or above the clouds?” (They all shouted guesses, and Merlin decided that, in the end, he’d rather live above the clouds with his namesakes).

Though eventually, hours and maybe hundreds of questions in to the game, Elyan holds a hand up, drawing everyone’s attention as he clears his throat:

“I’ve noticed, Percy, that you have neither asked anything, or answered anything. I know that you know at least a few of the answers, so what gives?”

Everyone looks to the gentle giant curiously, thinking back on the game and realising that Elyan is right; he hadn’t said a word since they started.

Percival gives Merlin an odd look for just a fraction of a second, before schooling his face into a smile and looking at the others with a raised eyebrow:

“It’s fun watching you lot scramble. I already know Merlin, I don’t need to win some competition.”

Elyan rolls his eyes fondly, but Gwaine pouts:

“Come on, Percy, there must be something you want to know. Anything, come on?”

Percival hums as he stares into his lap, before looking up at Merlin again, that strange look back on his face. Merlin tilts his head (though his face remains blank), at the man’s expression; an odd mix of challenging and anxious and knowing.

The knight clears his throat, muttering almost to himself:

“Maybe one thing.”

Merlin raises an (almost condescending?) eyebrow, and Gwaine pats Percival on the back encouragingly. The giant takes a few more moments, staring at Merlin assessingly, before he nods, and asks his first question:

“Do the Gods hear our prayers?”

Everyone is taken aback at that, but Percival doesn’t break the stare he has with Merlin. The servant looks a little nervous at first, and glances at Arthur quickly before turning his gaze back to Percival, his expression schooling itself back into neutrality. The knights stay silent, just figuring it was an odd man’s way of asking whether Merlin was religious or not, which surprisingly none of them know the answer to.

Merlin is obviously considering the question, and Lancelot is the only one to notice the way his eyes harden as he makes a decision. The corner of Merlin’s mouth ticks upwards in an almost imperceptible smirk (the servant is surprised at his own confidence, but hey-ho, he isn’t going to question it), before it falls down again and he answers, his one-word response firm, but quiet:

“Yes.”

Percival nods slowly, his expression not changing and his gaze not wavering as the other knights stare on, well and truly befuddled:

“Then why don’t They answer? Thousands of voices all crying out in agony, pleading for help, for mercy. How can They hear that and not answer?”

Merlin takes a deep breath and tilts his head, forgetting all around him bar Percival, his answer falling from his lips in a tone that was just slightly biting:

“They did answer. They just answered in the way that most benefitted Them. They don’t pay attention to the sacrifices made in the mean time, as long as They get what They want in the end. Do you honestly think They care about the suffering of mortals?”

Percival clenches his jaw, as if he were expecting that answer but isn’t any less disheartened to hear it said out loud, but he still doesn’t look away, not even at Merlin’s harsh, blank stare, or his forceful, bitter voice. His voice almost shakes in his response:

“And you? Do you care?”

The other knights are too confused by this conversation to say anything, all staring on in bewilderment, perhaps thinking they had had too much to drink. Lancelot is starting to realise with numb horror what might be happening, and glances rapidly between the two oblivious men.

At Percival’s question, Merlin smirks openly, his expression somehow dangerous and mournful as he glances to his lap, before staring back up at the knight again:

“A tool can hate those that use it, and still be willing to be used.”

Percival frowns slightly:

“And whose tool do you see yourself as? The Gods, or humanity?”

Merlin tilts his head, his smirk leaning slightly more to the dangerous side as the knights continue to listen in on the confusing conversation, starting to think that maybe it wasn’t for their ears:

“Both. You both use me, do you not? The same means, to the same end, for different reasons. They want balance for Their own selfish agenda, because it suits Them, and you want mercy, because you understandably don’t want to suffer.-”

The smirk falls from Merlin’s face, his expression and tone turning dark and his hands clenching tightly as Percival pales:

“-You think I don’t hear those thousands of voices? I could recite every prayer word for word, even your own, Sir Percival.”

Percival takes in a deep breath, his eyes widening, looking to the floor and nodding mutely, completely oblivious to the confused and now slightly worried stares of the other knights. Lancelot is really hoping that no one sees how panicked he is, especially when he notices the moonlight disappear behind heavy, angry looking clouds, and the wind howling just a little more violently than was natural.

Merlin finally looks away from the now subdued knight and glares to the sky with a scowl when a loud clap of thunder echoes out across the darkness. Percival flinches at the sound, but doesn’t look up, and Lancelot stares at Merlin in concern, aware of how his... gifts, sometimes get away from him. The servant ignores him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as the clouds begin to slowly recede once more, and the wind dies down.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice the rapid weather changes, too caught up in... whatever just happened between Merlin and Percival.

Gwaine finally breaks the silence:

“What the hell was that?!”

Everyone looks to Merlin expectantly, but he just raises a condescending eyebrow:

“That, Sir Gwaine, was thunder. No need to be afraid, I promise it won’t hurt you.”

Percival looks up at the servant sharply, evidently aware of the weather’s unnatural manifestation, but he doesn’t say anything, and no one notices. Elyan scoffs:

“I think he meant the freaky ass conversation that you and Percy just had. What prayers? What Gods??”

Merlin looks to him coolly, tilting his head as if deciding what to say before speaking slowly:

“Both of us grew up in rural areas, with different... beliefs. If you don’t understand our conversation, then you are simply unfamiliar with our beliefs.”

Elyan looks dubious, and Leon speaks next, his voice slow and concerned:

“You said you heard prayers, Merlin. We may not know what you have faith in but that’s... something else. Are you feeling ok?”

Merlin gives him a smile that’s just a little too sharp, but before he can say anything, Arthur finally breaks his silence.

He had previously been sat still as a rock next to Merlin, staring thoughtfully into his lap as he considered his manservant’s words. Prayers? Of thousands of people who are suffering? Gods? Balance? Balance of what? As much as Merlin might like to joke, Arthur really isn’t as stupid as he seems, and the question he asks has everyone in the circle stiffening in surprise:

“Merlin, what are your opinions on magic?”

Lancelot is almost vibrating in his seat at this point, and Percival looks almost scared of Merlin, though no one else takes notice of them, not even of the way Lance grasps loosely at the sword against his hip, or the way Percival’s hands are shaking. They’re all too busy considering The King’s question, and realising that, even in situations when opinions had been welcomed, had been asked for, they had never heard a peep from Merlin about magic.

Merlin slowly turns his head to look at the man next to him, his expression making a jarring transformation from venomously confident to nervous and afraid. He takes a subtly deep breath before settling an assessing gaze on The King, surprised by the blonde’s genuinely curious expression. He hums thoughtfully, schooling his face into neutrality once again as he speaks clearly:

“Magic is just a tool, like a quill or a sword. You can’t blame all blades for the action of an assassin whose weapon of choice is a dagger. Magic can cause pain, yes, but so can fire if mishandled. And just like fire, magic can be beautiful, warm. I’ve seen magic heal, grow, brighten. I see it in music, in food, in the growth of a meadow and the laughter of children. Magic...-”

He turns to the fire as he pauses, fiddling with his hands slightly as he internally reaffirms his decision to be truthful, fully; but he knows that he also has to be careful:

“-it ties this universe together. It’s woven between the very threads of existence, you can’t escape it. You can’t wipe it out, no matter how much you try, no matter how many you burn or hang or hunt, it will always grow, in cracks if it has to. Magic will... will always have a song, playing in the minds of those who want it. You need only listen.”

Merlin’s voice grew soft towards the end of his little speech, and the knights stare at him in shock. The camp is silent save for the rustling of beetles through the leaves and distant yowling foxes, until Gwaine once again speaks; though this time his voice is gentle, pained almost:

“How can you stand to live in Camelot, when you believe that? No offense, Sire,-”

He nods briefly at Arthur before continuing, and the use of Arthur’s actual title for once lets everyone know how serious Gwaine really is:

“-how can you serve a Pendragon?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything or argue, he knows that Gwaine’s question is valid. How can Merlin have such a high opinion of magic and serve the family that ordered its genocide?

In response, a weak, though slightly amused smile graces Merlin’s face, though he keeps his gaze firmly on the flames:

“Destiny is a tricky thing. Some days I remember that my whole life has been taking from me and planned ahead, through horrors I scarcely understand until I’m forced to face them alone, and its crushing, but equally, nothing and no one since Freya has tempted me to leave. When... when I can think of nothing but my fear, I distract myself with promises of a golden future, and it helps me rest.”

Everyone takes subtle gasps at Merlin’s mention of fear, understanding the implications intrinsically. Thankfully, they all gloss over the destiny comment; Merlin has talked about his father and Freya and magic all in one night, with Arthur, he’s not sure he can manage any further difficult conversation.

Gwaine, like Lancelot, now has a hand on his sword, sobering instantly as he looks around at his fellow knights, nodding briefly at Lance before his sweeping gaze searches for any signs of anger or hatred in the other faces.

Arthur gulps at Merlin’s words, taking a deep breath before he asks his next question:

“Merlin, do you have magic?”

Arthur knows the answer, and maybe a small part of him always has, because he isn’t stupid, but he wants, no, he needs, the truth from Merlin’s lips. Gwaine and Lancelot stare at him intensely, but the others focus their curious (not angry, not hate-filled, just curious, and maybe a little fearful. For him, though, not of him, thankfully) gazes on the dark-haired servant at his side. Merlin takes a deep breath, finally looking up at Arthur with an unreadable expression:

“I was born magic, it’s what I’m made of; Ma looked down and my eyes were already golden. She thought the threat of torture by pyre hanging over my head would scare me into learning to control it better, so she sent me to Camelot. It worked, I suppose,-”

He looks to the sky and gestures vaguely to where thunderous clouds had roiled briefly, though violently earlier:

“-though sometimes my emotions get the best of me.”

He looks back to the fire, trying not to show the relief on his face when no one makes any moves to attack him. He feels Arthur shift besides him, but he doesn’t feel tense, nor does he feel angry or scared. The knights seem frozen in time, and with the rolling emotions in Merlin’s gut he feels the need to glance up quickly, just to make sure that they aren’t frozen in time (something he’s done accidentally more than once). Their eyes are wide, and they are still, but he can see the slow rise and fall of their chests and if he really listens, he can hear their quick heartbeats. He looks back down to the fire.

Arthur takes a fortifying breath, staring into the same flames as his manservant:

“Destiny?”

Merlin sighs:

“It’s a long story. To put it quickly, the many, many prophecies say that you’re destined to bring magic back to balance and begin a golden age, and I’m meant to help and protect you along the way.”

He feels Arthur nod, but still doesn’t dare to look:

“You said you... you hear prayers.”

Merlin tenses, and he can feel Arthur’s heartbeat speed in response to his sudden... discomfort, but still he waits for Merlin to answer:

“This destiny of ours is... old. It’s ancient. Beliefs, faith, they have power, just like words and just like magic. If enough people believe in you, if enough people pray to you... well... it’s bound to bleed through eventually. How do you think Gods are born?”

It's Arthur's turn to stiffen now, and he settles an intense stare on the side of Merlin's head. The King gathers his bravery, and forces it up his throat and out of his mouth, asking the question on everyone's minds:

"Are you a God, Merlin?"

Merlin smiles slightly, shaking his head with a gentle guff of laughter, and everyone relaxes, just a little bit:

"Not quite, thankfully. I struggle as it is looking after you idiots, I don't think I could handle the responsibility of being a God."

Hesitant, though genuine smiles materialise around the circle. Gwaine releases the hold he has on his sword and laughs, though Lancelot only loosens his grip slightly, still a little... twitchy, for his friend's safety.

Arthur snorts at Merlin's words, shaking his head slightly with a smile as he responds:

"You are a terrible servant Merlin, perhaps the world is safer with you as a human. Plus, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of having to... worship you."

Merlin smiles, nodding his head in amused agreement. Lancelot relaxes fully, and all the knights stare at Arthur in slight confusion. To say they were expecting a far worse reaction to Merlin not only being magic, but being so magic he was almost a God, would be an understatement. But to be fair, none of them reacted badly, and as much as they might all be just a little jealous of the fact, Arthur was much closer with the man than they were. Perhaps him being accepting shouldn’t surprise them.

The King’s smile falls and he frowns, though the expression is more sad than anything:

“The things I’ve done to you, Merlin, the things I’ve said. Prophecy or no, how are you still here? How can you have so much faith in my supposed destiny?”

Merlin huffs out a gentle laugh and shakes his head as if the answer was obvious

“I don’t have faith in the destinies, nor the prophecies or fates or visions. I just have faith in you. You’re a good man, Arthur, you love your people and your kingdom endlessly, you are empathetic to the point of self-destruction. How could I not have faith? One day, the world will be united, and golden, and it will have been entirely down to you, not some centuries old blurry dream.”

Arthur lets out a breath at the way Merlin replied so softly, at how effortlessly the words fell from his lips, as if it were both the most apparent thing in the world, and something that he believed with his whole being. Tears gather in The King’s eyes, but they don’t fall as he swallows his emotions, reaching blindly for Merlin’s hand as they both stare into the fire. Their fingers find each other naturally, without effort, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed it before: how easily they always found each other.

Percival finally seems to have relaxed, though he still regards Merlin with an odd mix of reverence, and a gentle teasing fondness you feel for a younger brother. The other knights stare upon the two with an odd mix of annoyance (at owing Gwen a great deal of money when they get back to the city) and varying levels of barely concealed adoration.

The camp is silent for a while, but comfortably so. Just because they’re all ok with Merlin’s magic, with everything that has just been revealed, doesn’t mean it isn’t a lot to process. Silent that is, until Elyan frowns in confusion, tilting his head before looking at Percival:

“Out of curiosity, when did you figure out what Merlin was?”

The knight flushes slightly as he shrugs, saying:

“Since he first fell asleep in front of me: I felt it.”

Merlin nodded knowingly, muttering something along the lines of “I’ll have to work on that” under his breath with a thoughtful hum, but Arthur furrows his brows, slowly repeating Percival’s words:

“You... felt it?”

Percival takes a deep breath, looking like a man who has spent his entire life afraid, and has decided to be brave all of a sudden. He clears his throat, and unties the collar of his tunic with quick fingers, pulling it down to reveal a part of his chest. Everyone gasps in shock when he mutters something unintelligible, eyes flashing gold as a Druid Triskelion reveals itself tattooed over his heart. The King lets out an almost unheard, dumbfounded “huh.” and Merlin smiles, giving Percival a proud nod.

The knight returns his smile, only hesitating slightly, before asking:

“How long have you known what I am?”

Merlin snorts and rolls his eyes:

“From the moment I saw you. I can hide my gift, at least a little, you can’t hide yours, not from me.”

Percival looks shocked, and the knights are back to staring confusedly between them:

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

The servant tilts his head slightly and smiles (the knights try to pretend that it isn’t just a little sharp again):

“I was curious. I wanted to see how long you would try to hide it from me, how long it would take for you to start resenting me, doubting me. About six years, apparently.”

Percival flushes, embarrassed at having been caught out:

“I apologise, My Lord, for my lack of faith.”

Everyone is taken aback at Percival’s address of Merlin, and Arthur looks very much like he’d like to argue (though still hasn’t let go of the younger man’s hand, something that no one will draw attention to), but before he can say anything, Merlin winces and shakes his head rapidly:

“Please don’t, I hate it when you lot get all... worship-y.”

Percival nods, cheeks turning redder, but Gwaine just barks out a laugh and repeats some of Merlin’s earlier words:

“I can recite every prayer word for word, even your own, Sir Percival.”

A blush rises on Merlin’s face, reaching his ears as he rubs the back of his neck in his embarrassment:

“Yes, that was a little dramatic of me wasn’t it.”

Arthur snorts, before tugging Merlin’s hand to get his attention. The servant looks at him curiously, and Arthur swallows down his timid smile when he feels Merlin squeeze his hand gently:

“How powerful are you, exactly? You’re obviously not just some ordinary sorcerer if there are prophecies and Percival is calling you My Lord. Oh, and you’re almost a God.”

Merlin grimaces slightly and Arthur frowns in concern; definitely not the response he was expecting. Percival and Lancelot both raise an eyebrow at him, curious to see if he would tell the truth or not as everyone else stares at him, waiting:

“Uh... fairly powerful,-”

Percival scoffs, and Merlin shoots him a brief glare:

“-some say I’m the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth. I’m... uh... I’m not great at healing magic, but other than that, I haven’t really found a limit to what I can do.”

Lancelot looks proud, and Arthur finally realises the man’s unsettling behaviour had likely been because he already knew. The King pushes down the red hot jealousy swelling in his lungs, and instead makes a mental note to thank him later: for keeping Merlin safe and loved when Arthur could not.

Leon, and Elyan look a little dumbfounded, obviously struggling to bring together Merlin, someone they thought of as a clumsy, sweet, brother, with TheMostPowerfulWarlockEver™. Gwaine just had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Arthur almost shuddered at the trouble he would no doubt deliberately get himself into now that he knew Merlin could literally do anything he put his mind to.

Arthur shakes away his worry. It’s been one hell of a night, and frankly, he’s not in the mood to get all... authoritative. He’ll ruin Gwaine’s fun one day, just... not today. He squeezes Merlin’s hand again, running his thumb over his manservant’s surprisingly calloused knuckles (he’ll have to ask if Gwaine has been dragging him into barfights) before smiling softly, gazing at the side of his face:

“Show us something?”

A grin spreads across Merlin’s face, but he doesn’t look away from the fire, giving the distinct impression that he’d been waiting for that specific request.

He doesn’t wave his hand, or mutter a spell like Percival had, he just moves his gaze upwards, eyes flashing gold as his smile turns soft, and smoke begins to rise thickly from the wood. It warps unnaturally in the air, as if it were being painted on the breeze, and the soft edges sharpen into an image: the Pendragon crest. Merlin’s gaze flicks down briefly, and as he lifts his chin again, embers fly up in a quick whirlwind. The smoke warps once again, merging with the bright embers into a more life-like dragon. It breaks free of it’s smoky restraints, and the knights all gasp in wonder as it flies around their heads before diving back into the embers and dissipating into the air.

Once the light show finishes, a gentle round of applause goes up around the circle and Merlin blushes, bowing his head and tightening his hold on Arthur’s hand.

Gwaine laughs and claps his hands again loudly to draw everyone’s attention. They all raise eyebrows and groan when they see his normal cheeky grin adorning his face, but he doesn’t look away from the group’s Warlock:

“So, who wins?”

THE END!!

I really loved writing this. There’s a special place in my heart for Druid!Percival (and also slightly unsettling!Merlin), and I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Like normal, you wanna write it up properly or expand it, let me know and go for it!! Credit and tag me ✌️

Check out This List to see what I might be working on next, and let me know what y’all would like me to prioritise!!

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windschildfanfictionwriter · 2 years ago

Note

I read your Ron with an ED piece and it’s 💔. Was it a one shot or did I miss other parts?

I was in the middle of working on a much larger project for Ron suffering from an ED piece. The one you saw posted was one I tossed out of the outline because it compromised the story I was trying to tell.

The bigger piece is actually heavily Ron and Neville Friendship.

Excerpt:

The most bizarre thing to ever happen to Ron- more so than running into a Hag crossdressing as a goblin, was having Neville Longbottom throw him against a wall.

He was honestly too shocked to be angry.

“Um, what’s up Nev?”

“You promised,” Neville snarled.

“Promised what?” Ron said blankly, staring at the much shorter sixth year. Last he’d seen of Neville was in the common room last night and nothing had been out of sorts then so he was sort of drawing a white slate here.

“You’ve started changing in the bathroom,” Neville said in disgust, shoving him away. “You think I don’t know what that means?”

Ron relaxed marginally, relieved to know what had upset the normally gentle Gryffindor. He waved his hand dismissively, smiling and nudging Neville away from him.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m eating plenty, I just…” Ron grimaced, not wanting to put the problem into words. “I had another growth spurt and… it caused… wardrobe malfunctions.” He knows his ears are burning red. He unconsciously crossed his arms, feeling his shirt stretch tight over his back as he avoided Neville’s eyes. “I’ve been using magic to loosen the seems,” he admitted unwillingly. “And now their falling apart.”

Neville was quiet for a long moment before sighing.

“I’ve got an idea, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

Before Ron could question what he was going on about, he found his arm grabbed and Neville was dragging him down the hall.

“I’m not taking money or clothes from you,” Ron told him bluntly.

“Of course not,” Neville said airily. “Because you’re a Weasley and that would be sensible and we all know Weasley’s aren’t sensible.”

“We aren’t pity cases,” Ron hissed.

“Godric forbid a Weasley have a human weakness,” Neville said, rolling his eyes as he spoke. Ron decided this new found confidence Neville was showing was not his cup of tea. Every time Nev decided he had a backbone and a mouth, it seemed it was directed at Ron rather than in his favor.

End Excerpt.

But the piece seems to be coming together to be about the Dorm room boys: Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus as the central cast.

Which is fun. I've not seen many stories featuring them. Which I think is part of the reason I got rid of Fred and George as it made the story more family focused.

I decided a while ago that I want to complete entire manuscripts before I post because I've become notorious for long times without posting. This is my way of fixing that issue is to just write the whole project no matter how long it takes and THEN start posting.

I've got like 6 half written projects- most 100k plus at this point. Including the first year of my Grim Ron story. Quite a few arcs ahead of Spitfire. And some more thorough writing of Boogeyman along with other projects.

Once I have them fully finished I'll post everything on Archives rather than fanfiction.net as that place seems to have fallen to the homophobes. I've gotten a LOT of poisonous things sent to me about Spitfire through PM's and I'm not having it. Same username though for anyone who wants to find the pieces.

But yes, this is one of the projects.

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soulwillower · 4 years ago

Text

tozier • ben hanscom

(ben hanscom x tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here's my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: swearing, smut, unedited bc im a lazy asshole

ok guys here’s part one of the new series! i’ll probably have to go back in and edit some stuff n probably change the name but lmk what u guys think and what u wanna see for the next parts :)

[losers and reader are in college in this.]

2.8k words

♡

you know richie pretty well, if you say so yourself. hell, you grew up with him - you've known him your whole entire life and even now, as 19 and 20 year olds, you're still at each other’s throats constantly.

naturally, growing up with richie as your brother was full of ups and downs - like the time that you were still a baby in your crib and he'd curiously wandered into your nursery and twisted your finger, causing it to break. or, that time when you two got into a fight over who took the last of the ice cream in the freezer and didn't speak to each other for almost three whole days.

but there were really good times, too - like when richie picked you up after your disastrous senior prom night and drank vodka with you in the back of his pickup truck while you threw rocks at the creepy house on neibolt street. or the time where you bought him a new pair of glasses so your parents wouldn't kill him for breaking them and he bought you ice cream for a month as a thank you.

richie was the most frustrating, annoying, rude, arrogant older brother, and yet even when you were away at separate colleges, you talked on the phone almost every night.

you share one of those really, really competitive relationships - a lot of it, you’ve realized, stems from your parents constantly pitting you two against each other to vie for their attention and praise. but no matter, you still hated richie most of the time and he hated you just as much.

but right now, you might fucking murder him.

you have so much hatred for him as you storm down your stairs, phone clutched violently in your palm as you stalk into the basement, hollering, "richard!" at the top of your lungs. it's a hot august afternoon and you've just come back from the pool with your best friend, now filled to the brim with white hot rage for your brother.

when you'd been at the pool, cecily, your best friend, had stretched her neck and you'd noticed a hickey (naturally, you'd teased her about it). but when you pried, she got secretive and defensive until it finally slipped out that the boy she'd been with was none other than your gangly, stupid older brother, richie.

you were completely disgusted and beyond addled as to why she'd choose richie, of all people, but more than that you were extremely pissed and stormed off, driving home with knuckles tight against the steering wheel.

and now, as you make it down to the last step of the basement, you're aware that you're still in your bathing suit with shorts thrown haphazardly on top as you storm towards your fuckwit brother.

he and all of the losers he hung out with are down here, sprawled on the large sofas and on the floor in front of the tv. you don't dare break your eye contact with richie as you glare, face heated with anger.

"well hey there, little sis. what's got your knickers in a knot?" he says with a lopsided grin that you just want to punch clean off his face. he's sitting between ben and bill and you turn a little pink as you notice both boys’ eyes on your body. yet you barely think for a second before slapping richie straight across his cheek, hard.

the slap is a sickening sound as it quiets the whole room - you can feel bev's eyes on you, hear eddie's short gasp, and see out of the corner of your eyes as stan turns his head to watch the scene. richie stares at you, hand on his cheek. "what the hell, y/n?" he asks with a glare as he stands up, rising to his full height above you. but you’re not afraid.

"you talk to cecily today?" you ask with feigned sweetness, a sick smile on your face as you cross your arms. richie just blinks at you, mouth opening and closing like the dumbass he is. "how long have you been fucking her?" you ask when he says nothing.

the room bursts in exclamations after your words - from mike's "you didn't." to bill's "what the f-fuck is wrong with you, m-man?" and ben's, "oh my god, dude."

richie just shakes his head, looking way too casual as he places a hand on your shoulder with a grin, "y/n/n, can we talk about this later? we’re trying to watch jeopardy." he smirks, but you immediately shake his arm off, recoiling in frustration as you glare at him. "no, richie! you’ve been fucking my best friend! my ONLY friend!" you ask, shaking your head. “you’re such a shitty person, i fucking hate you. why did you do it?”

as you make eye contact, he sighs almost forlornly, as if he’s about to apologize. but this is richie, so of course he doesn’t. "....she's just so fuckin’ hot." he says with a grin.

you take a sharp breath, rubbing your face with your hands as you back away towards the stairs.

"c'mon, sis! don't be so sensitive." he calls to your back and you can practically hear the nasty grin in his voice. you hear eddie hiss, "quit being a fucking asshole." to your brother and you want to scream. "don't fucking talk to me, richie." you snap as you make it up the stairs, ignoring richie as he laughs his stupid hyena laughter.

you're finally changed out of your suit and into a shirt and shorts by the time you've calmed down enough to take a few deep breaths. a knock makes you jump, though, and you glare at the closed door. as you're about to yell for whoever it is to go away, you're stopped by a voice.

"hey, y/n." ben's voice sounds through the door, and it's almost shocking how quickly your shoulders relax. you smile shyly as you open the door, your heart beating wildly, this time not from anger but out of your proximity to ben.

ben hanscom had been your brother’s friend for a while, and you simply did not understand. all of them are jackasses, richie being the king of the pack, but ben really does seem to be so fucking genuine. maybe it’s because you’ve always had a small thing for him, but then again it may just be because you’re furious with richie.

"hi, ben. sorry i was.... sorry about that." you say awkwardly as he walks into your room and shuts the door gently. he laughs quietly as he leans against your wall, looking down at you knowingly. "it's richie's fault. you have every right to be mad. he’s a dick sometimes"

you nod thoughtfully, touched that ben came to check in on you. "i know he is. you know, i'm not even mad that they had sex, honestly, i’m just mad because i know he did it to piss me off." you say, biting your lip as you stare up at ben, his hair glinting under the soft light of your lamp.

ben nods as he reaches out to rub your shoulder, making your stomach flutter as you look up at him. "if i can be honest, you two have the weirdest relationship i've ever seen, y/n. i'm sorry he did that and didn’t tell you, that's really unfair."

you smile lightly at the floor where your feet point towards his. "well now i have, like, nobody to hang out with this summer." you mumble, thinking about how cecily is really your only friend from derry, and how all your college friends live hundreds of miles away.

you shrug, leaning into ben's touch. "you have me to keep me company, though." he says with a shy grin, cheeks heating up at your smile.

"oh, just you? i like the sound of that." you ask, lifting a brow playfully. he chuckles a bit at your look and it makes your chest flutter.

"yeah, of course you do, y/n." he says as he pulls you into a hug. he's warm and smells like cinnamon cologne and it makes your chest glow sweetly. you pull back only slightly, hands sliding up to his chest as you look into his golden eyes. "ben..." you whisper softly, eyes going down to his lips and then bouncing back up, not wanting to make a move if he's not comfortable with it.

he clearly is thinking the same thing, because you're both moving closer and closer, his hands lightly squeezing your hips as he stares at you with hooded eyes. "yeah?" he asks, just as quietly. you swallow, wanting nothing more than to just close the gap just to see what it'd be like. to have one of richie's friends, for a change.

you don't know how to initiate it, though. "do you want to-"

"yes." he rushes out quickly, apprehension only flashing across his face just after he'd rushed out the answer, in fear that you'd been overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. but it's enough for you, and you grin slightly before pulling him into a kiss.

his lips are hot on yours, your hair still drying from the chlorine at the pool as his fingers tangle in the strands. you moan a bit out of shock, having not kissed anyone in a while and feeling touch starved. his hands are strong and soft in all the best ways and you try not to smirk as you think about your stupid brother sitting in the basement, currently unaware of what you’re about to do with one of his best friends upstairs.

but then, just as your hand slips to the hem of ben’s jeans, he pulls back a bit. “is this a bad idea?” he asks.

you sigh, looking away. “yes.” you say with barely any hesitation. “but i don’t fucking care.” you say honestly, and ben grins, “well, me neither. you’re...” he looks you up and down before smiling. “so fucking pretty.” he ends with and your stomach flutters, face growing hot at the compliment.

"but i don't want to, like.... t-take advantage of this situation, or-" ben starts, but you shake your head, biting your lip as you stare at him. he's so fucking amazing, so caring. he's always been like this - respectful, considerate, and interested in your well being, which really just makes you want him even more.

"no, ben, i... i really want this. if-if you do too." you say honestly, fiddling with your fingers as you watch him through your lashes. he grins as he nods. "you sure?"

you giggle, pulling him towards you by his neck. "yes. are you, ben?" you ask as he leans down closer. "definitely." he whispers against your lips, his breath coming out in a short huff. and then his lips are on yours, pressing strongly and fully as you stumble a bit, grasping him tightly as you kiss back.

he presses you against him, hand at the small of your back as he moves his tongue deftly against your lip, exploring your mouth as you suppress a moan. one moment later, you pull back a bit.

"you're not..." you trail off, and he shakes his head. "no, are you?" he asks, and you also shake your head as you cup his cheek and pull him back in for a kiss. "me neither." you mutter, falling back down onto the mattress, hand blindly fumbling around inside your bedside drawer for your box of condoms.

he's kissing down your neck, his hands palming your breasts softly as you finally pull one out and set it beside you, wrapping your arms back around his neck.

he grinds slowly against you and you let out an embarrassedly loud moan at the friction against your clothed clit. he's already pretty hard and your mind flickers to the basement, how chilly it had been against your skin and how your swimsuit top probably didn't leave much to the imagination as you'd stood right in front of him. it makes you giddy at the thought of ben's eyes on you, his mind drifting to what you'd look like underneath him.

which is where you are right now, as he rolls the condom onto himself and pumps slowly. you kick your shorts and underwear off, aching and dripping with need as he slides between your legs, bracing himself with one arm above you.

"ready?" he asks softly and you let out a strangled whimper as you feel him line up at your entrance, teasing your folds a bit and making your hips buck. "yes." you say, staring deep into his eyes.

ben grasps your hand then, steading both you and him as he eases into you, sinking slowly and letting out a shuddering breath. you let out a small whine at the feeling of ben stretching you out, having been too antsy and not having enough time or patience for foreplay. once he's fully inside you, he kisses your cheek and gives you a few moments to adjust as you breathe into his neck.

and then he starts to move, his hips rolling slowly as he fills you up and hits a perfect spot inside you, your toes curling almost immediately. "oh god, ben." you moan out and that makes his hips move fluidly as he thrusts into you, kissing your neck softly as you whimper in pleasure.

the hand that isn't steadying himself above you holding your hand dances around you; exploring your curves, fingers lightly tracing over the stretch marks on your hips and then his palm sliding to caress your sides, his touch making your skin feel on fire.

after a few more minutes, he picks up the pace, hips angled slightly deeper and making your toes curl. he starts to moan every few thrusts, right into the shell of your ear, and it pushes you closer and closer to that feeling growing in your abdomen.

"shit, y/n, i'm already close." he mutters, eyes closed in bliss as he leans his head back slightly, the sight heavenly to your eyes. and you don't even blame him because he's probably just as pent-up as you are and you know this has to be quick or else richie will come up, wondering why ben was taking so long to ask if you're okay.

so you lean up a bit as he thrusts into you and you attach your lips to his neck, sucking lightly enough that it won't mark. "so am i." you say breathlessly as you move your hips, chasing the high that's building deep inside you.

you press your hands to his chest, stopping his motions momentarily. "let me ride you." you say breathlessly and his eyes widen with something akin to hunger as he pulls out of you, rolling onto his back with a shocked look. you smirk as you climb back onto him, straddling him as you pump him a few times. he bites his lip as you sink yourself onto him, moaning and covering your mouth so as not to carry the sound all the way to the basement.

as you start to bounce, you smile, realizing that you're not at all insecure in front of ben - his hands are all over your body, running over and gripping the plush skin as you sink onto him, taking him perfectly. he's groaning and moving his hips with yours as you mouth wet kisses over his chest and neck.

ben lets out a moan that pushes you near the edge as you pick up the pace, his cock hitting a new spot inside you that has you whimpering. as his hands fall to move your hips with his, squeezing your soft thighs tightly, you hit your high.

you tremble as the feeling of him inside you makes you clench hard, your eyes squeezing shut in bliss as you moan out, "ben!"

your hips stop moving as you ride out your high, only making small movements as you clench around him in complete pleasure. he groans below you, eyes still shut as he juts his hips upwards, taking over to chase his own orgasm.

and his hips start to stutter a few thrusts after as you slump on his chest, one hand on your tits and the other on your hips to move you with his thrusts. he cums a few moments later with a moan that is muffled by your hair, his hands sliding down to your ass, your lips on his collarbone.

after a few moments, you roll off of him and sigh, shocked and unsure as to if that really just happened. you're embarrassed at how quickly he made you cum - you want to blame it all on the fact that it has been quite some time since you'd had sex, but it really was the thrill of hooking up with him, especially because your brother was just downstairs.

ben's cheeks are red as he sits up quickly, pulling on his boxers and then his pants, only looking at you after he tugs the hem of his shirt down. "um, i would totally stay, but-"

you shake your head with a grin, "no, i get it. this was... just a spur of the moment thing."

he beams at you, seemingly relieved that he wasn't hurting your feelings - that was amazing and you're both glowing in your post-orgasm high, but you both know that this was a one-time thing. he pecks your cheek sweetly and as he turns to leave, you mutter, "wait!"

he lifts a brow as he turns to you and you run your fingers through his hair a few times to make it look the way it did before he came up here. "thanks." he says with a grin before he disappears, closing the door behind him and making you get dressed with red cheeks in silence.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @brxken-heartsclub

#ben hanscom x reader #ben hanscom smut #losers x reader #richie tozier x reader #tozier series #beverly marsh x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #mike hanlon x reader

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bedbellyandbeyond · 3 years ago

Photo

What Happened?

(Story Post)

“…A severe weather anomaly in the Thunder Bay area took place last night, at 11:45pm…” Dax heard the sound of the radio as he slowly woke up. He was exhausted and rather sore all over, his body feeling like a pile of bricks. “…Locals reported seeing a big bird made of light fly through the clouds while scientists are saying the lightning, in combination with Canada Day fireworks, may have appeared similar in shape to a bird…” Dax couldn't ignore that and he sat up straight, looking around for the source of the news broadcast. There was a little clock radio on the bedside table reading out 5:44am. Moments later, he realised he didn't recognise his surroundings. He wasn't at the hotel but he was in a bed. He was alone in a room with wooden walls and big glass windows. There was a closet and a dresser, with little wooden animal figures lining the top. Outside, he could see over a small lake. It was awfully familiar.

The bedroom door opened and Kent stuck his head in, glaring at Dax. “So you're awake.” “What? Where am I?” Dax asked. “What happened?” “This is my room, dumbass,” Kent said. “Now get the fuck out.” “Um, how did I get here?” Dax asked. Kent narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember flying in here like a bat out of hell?” Dax shook his head. Kent huffed. “Best you don't, then...” “Please, I... All I remember was going back to the hotel with Nathan, and then... Then...” He wracked his mind. “I don't know... I don't remember a thing.” “Again, it's best you don't. Get out.” “You don't understand!” Dax said desperately. “I never lose control like this anymore! This isn't normal for me! I need to know what happened. I can't let this happen again. It sounds like a whole city saw me!” “At least the bird's all they fucking saw...” Kent grunted. “You came falling in like a shootin' star and then barge into my house and into my bedroom.” “Really?! I'm so sorry!” Dax apologised. “Please tell me I didn't hurt you!” “Hurt me?” Kent scoffed. “Fuck no... You think you could hurt me, veggie boy? Get fucked.” “So, then... What?” Dax asked. “What did happen last night?” Kent clenched his jaw. “Nothin'. You went to sleep.” Dax blinked. “...Seriously, Kent. What happened?” Kent just set his jaw and didn't make eye contact. Dax started to panic. “...Don’t tell me... We didn't... You and I...” Kent just retreated and closed the door behind him. “Get your clothes and get the fuck out!” he called through the door. Dax dropped his head into his hands. “No... Shit, shit, we can't...” The aches of his body told him otherwise though. He got up with the blanket wrapped around his waist, and looked for his clothes. He found them on the floor and pulled on his boxers before hobbling to the door, opening it again. His eyes found Kent standing in his kitchen watching his coffee pot drip. “Kent,” Dax said getting the bear man's attention. “We need to talk about this.” “We absolutely do not,” Kent growled. “Your bags are there.” Dax looked down to find his and Nathan's overnight bags at his feet. “I need to call Nathan... Let me borrow your phone.” Kent huffed and went through his kitchen drawers before he pulled out a smartphone and tossed it to Dax. Dax wasn’t prepared and fumbled it, but his managed to catch it. “Be careful! These things are fragile and expensive...” Kent just shrugged. Dax tried to turn it on but he got nothing but an empty battery symbol. “It's dead...” “Yep.” “You have to keep it charged up,” Dax said. “Where's the charger?” Kent frowned. “Don't know.” Dax groaned in frustration. “Have you ever charged it?” Kent shook his head. “Nope.” “So, I imagine you never took the charger out of the box,” Dax assumed. “Do you have the box?” Kent opened the same drawer again and pulled out the box onto the counter. Dax went over, giving the bear man wide berth, and took the box before going through it. He pulled out the phone charger and looked around for an outlet. “Hopefully this thing charges fast,” he said as he found an outlet by the light switch and plugged it in. “Although it'll be a pain if you never even set it up...” “It's set up,” Kent said. “It went off a whole lot before it crapped out.” “It just lost charge,” Dax said. “It's probably like brand new. They even provided you a case and screen protector. I wish people gave me free thousand dollar phones...” “That thing costs a thousand dollars?” Kent exclaimed. “You have to be kidding me!” “No, this looks like the latest device...” Dax said. “I can't google it right now, but these big brand ones can run you anywhere from $1000 to $1900 depending on if it's the fancy version or not.” “Shit, you ain't joking...” Kent went over and picked up the phone where it was charging. “If I'd known, I would've pawned it off immediately...” “Good thing you didn't since you're going to have to use it if you want to be in contact with your kids,” Dax said crossing his arms. Kent sneered. “I’d just buy a normal land phone.” “Um, you're off the grid. Your house literally isn't near any telephone lines. It's a miracle you have cell reception in the first place.” Kent groaned and put the phone down. “Still though... How am I supposed to use this thing anyway? There's no real buttons and my hands are too big." “No, they're not. Look, there's accessibility settings in the phone to help you out if you really need it,” Dax said, picking up the phone to see if it had enough charge to turn on. He got a happy little jingle and the logo appeared. “Yes! Alright, after I call Nathan, I'll show you how to use it.” “Don't need it,” Kent said firmly. Dax frowned. He stood up straight and looked Kent dead in the eyes. “Look, asshole. You have been nothing but rude to me this entire visit. I get it. I'm the other guy. I'm the one Nathan chose to raise his kids with. I'm the one in the way of you having a happy little family or whatever... But I'm really not your enemy. Nathan has said a lot of bad things about you, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt because I didn't know you. I even tried to convince him to bring the kids up to meet you in the first place. And now that we're here, I still think you deserve to see your kids, but you need to show me at least a tiny ounce of respect. I'm literally just trying to help you. Nathan, like everyone else in the ‘First World’, is smartphone dependent. If you can't use one, he's not going to bother trying to reach you some other way, and you're not going to see your kids. Let me show you how to use the damn phone.” Kent crossed his arms and didn't say anything. Dax sighed and just tried to figure out if he could access his contacts online through Kent's phone. When he managed to log into his own account, he found Nathan's phone number and called it. After a couple rings, Nathan picked up. “Hello?” “Nathan, it's me, Dax!” “Dax? Oh, thank god... Are you alright?” “I think so... I'm at Kent's. I'm using his phone,” Dax explained. “Yeah, I'm on my way over now. APID tracked down your location, but they insisted on me waiting until they had everything under control around here before they let me come get you... I'm really glad you're okay. You really scared me last night.” “Nathan, I'm so sorry... I honestly have no idea how I even ended up here,” Dax said. “The thunderbird took over and I...I don't understand what happened to me... It's been years since I've lost control like this, and it's never been this bad...” “It's okay, babe. What matters is you're safe and it's over. I'm coming to get you. Just relax, okay?” “Yes, alright...” “Can I talk to Kent for a moment?” “Sure.” Dax offered the phone to the bear man. Kent took it and grunted into the receiver. “Nate?” “Yeah, hey... I'm coming to get Dax and you better be nice to him. He's freaking out, and I'm kinda freaking out too, so give him a break.” “Veggie boy's fine here,” Kent said. “Don't get your knickers in a twist.” “What state was he in when he got to your place? Did he cause any damage?” Kent hesitated. “...No, he just swooped in and passed out...” “Okay... Well, we're ten or fifteen minutes away. You can tell me everything when I get there.” “There's no everything, that's it. You should be telling me what the fuck happened for sparky to come bustin' in here in the middle of the damn night.” “Aw, did he ruin your beauty sleep, big boy?” “Shut up... Come get your boy toy and y'all can get the fuck out. Go back home and get my kids for me.” “That's pretty much the plan,” Nathan said. “You just have to uphold your side of the deal.” “I already trained you some, damn dog. I earned my time with my damn kids.” “You're gonna see them. Relax.” “I better.” “Give me back to Dax.” Kent handed the phone back before going to his room and closing the door behind him. “Nathan, I want to apologise again if I hurt you at all...” Dax said. “I never wanted you to see me at my worst...” “Dax, you've had to be there at my worst countless times already. I'm willing to do the same for you. I care about you.” “...Thank you, Nathan. That means a lot.” “I'll see you in ten, okay?” “Okay. See you soon.” “See you.” Dax hung up the phone and walked it over to Kent's bedroom. He knocked on the door gently. “Hey, let me show you how to make a call before Nathan gets here... Then you can show him what you learned.” The door opened and Kent stood there, looming over Dax. “...Are you plannin' on tellin' him what transpired last night?” Dax shuddered. “...I still don't know exactly what happened last night. You still need to fill me in on the details.” Kent set his jaw. “What do you want me to say?” Dax pursed his lips. “...If I cheated on Nathan, I need to know.” Kent glared at him. “Nothin’ happened!” “I know you're lying to me,” Dax said. “I know you're scared of being gay or having feelings for men and whatever, but this isn't just about you. My relationship is at stake here!” “You think I don't fuckin' know that?” Kent growled. “Do you think Nathan would let me see my damn kids if he found out I fucked his limp dick boyfriend?!” Dax stepped back, his body feeling weak suddenly. “Oh god... So we did... We actually did...” Kent grabbed Dax's shoulder. “Listen, celery stick. Nothin' happened if no one says anythin' happened. Got it?” Dax shook his head. “But what did happen? I don't remember a thing... Did you...did you take advantage of me?” “Advantage?” Kent snarled. “Are you insane? You came on to me! You came into my fuckin' room and tried to ride me!” “Maudite château de marde...Sacrament...” Dax rubbed his temples. “But you let me?” “Don't try to fuckin' blame me,” Kent growled. “There was something wrong with you, you had all these damn pheromones reekin’ up my damn room, I didn't have any damn control. The bear had control!” “I fucked a bear?!” Dax felt like he was gonna pass out. “Well, no. I was still mostly human,” Kent said. “It ain't that time.” “If you didn't transform, you were in control!” Dax said. “You didn't fuckin' transform and you weren't in no damn control!” Kent said. “I’m not a therianthrope, the Thunderbird has different levels of control, it's all complicated!” “Well, I'm complicated too, damn it! I ain't fuckin’ no man on purpose!” “Bullshit!” Kent grabbed Dax's arms and turned them both around before shoving him against the wall beside his bedroom door. “Listen, you little bitch!” Dax gasped in pain. “You're hurting me...” “Nathan ain't going to hear about this,” Kent growled. “Nothin’ happened. Do you understand?” Dax frowned looking up at Kent. “I'm not going to lie to him.” “I will fuckin' kill you,” Kent threatened. Dax didn't back down. “And then what? Nathan will be here in minutes with agent Hanover. You'd be arrested on the spot, sent back to the US, and they will execute you for real this time. You'll never meet your children and they truly will be the kids of a murderer.” Kent just glared at him a few more seconds and then he squeezed Dax's wrist, digging his thumbs in. “Why do you want to tell Nathan? You want to lose him?” “Of course, I don't, but I...” Dax bit his lip. “I understand what it's like to be cheated on. I know how horrible it feels to be lied to and to be made to feel guilty about something someone else did. But I love Nathan, and this was a mistake. The best chance for this all to work out the best possible way is to be honest and work through it together.” “...That's hippy crap,” Kent said. “He's going to kick your ass to the curb.” “Then...so be it,” Dax said. “But I trust Nathan to be a better person than that.” Kent just let go of Dax and walked back to the kitchen in a huff. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Dax exhaled, his heart racing faster than he wanted to let on. He rubbed his wrists and found small punctures where Kent had dug in with his sharp nails. They bled a little. “I can still show you how to use the phone...” Dax offered, trying to be the better man. “I'll need a couple Band-Aids first, though...” Kent popped the lid off his beer with the edge of the counter. “Bathroom, under the sink. But don't bother with the damn phone. Nathan’ll be here soon...” “Well, if we got started, we'll at least look like we're getting along when he gets here,” Dax said as he went to the bathroom. Kent grunted. “Fine. But get dressed.” “You don’t have to tell me twice…”

#lore #Dax #Kent #Nathan #werebear #thunderbird

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

Text

Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

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He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

#pls I'm doing my best #i've also got anxiety to the moon and back #spencer reid #oc #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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“It's just like déjà vu, me standin' here with you, So I'll be holdin' my own breath -- Could this be the end? Is it that moment when I find the one that I'll spend forever with?”

~“Gotta Be Somebody” by Nickelback

x~x~x~x

In 1941, the vampire called Bat Varney was murdered by the dark wizard Grindelwald for aiding the resistance movement organized by Ministries across Europe. Bat left behind many friends, including Danny Gibson @catohphm and the Selwyn-Ellison family @that-ravenpuff-witch -- but the person most devastated by Bat’s death was his most constant companion, Atticus “Grim” Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier. Never in his life had the retired professor considered that he’d be the last one standing, out of the two of them -- and in his last days on earth, just before he died peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, all that he wished was that he might see his first true friend again. Little did Atticus know that -- in his last moments alive -- Bat had made a similar wish...praying that maybe he and his mate Grim could meet again someday, somewhere where Bat didn’t have to regulate how much or how long they touched...maybe even with his real face...as Robert.

About a decade after Professor Grimsley’s death, the only son of a well-respected Pureblood family started his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was Sorted into Ravenclaw house. The boy -- appropriately enough also named Atticus -- wasn’t particularly popular at school, given his hyper-focus on his academics and on satisfying the high standards of his father. Not only was Atticus expected to bring his family honor and esteem, but he also had a rival at Hogwarts who he was expected to “outdo.”

Bartholomew “Barty” Gilbert (pronounced “JO-behr”) was the only son of an up-and-coming Pureblood family who’d just emigrated from France and made a lot of money investing in robe shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade alike. He was also now a Gryffindor in Atticus’s year, and Atticus’s father was very firm that Atticus not let the boy surpass him in anything. Although Atticus normally obeyed his father with a certain degree of reluctance, in this case, he didn’t like the thought of losing to Barty Gilbert either. Not because the Gryffindor wasn’t pleasant -- no, in fact, he was almost too pleasant...too amiable, too inoffensive. And that made it so that even though Barty got away with doing whatever he wanted without worrying about his family’s expectations, it only served to earn him more friends and admirers. Even before that, though, when Atticus had met Barty in passing before school, he still couldn’t help but dislike the other boy. There was just something off about him -- something Atticus could hardly put into words. It was like whenever Barty opened his mouth, he sounded wrong -- whenever he smiled, it looked wrong...even his eyes weren’t as they should be. There was something almost familiar about Barty’s auburn hair, face, and height -- and yet something was wrong. And it just made Atticus upset for a reason he couldn’t really explain. It reminded him of those times, when he was a very small child, when his mother would try to comfort him after he woke up sobbing and could hardly explain why. Something about someone with red eyes squeezing his shoulders, tears streaming down his face and laughing like his heart was breaking...

So Atticus was determined to throw himself into his studies and do everything expected of him. Just because Gryffindor Golden Boy Barty Gilbert refused to do things the right way didn’t mean he shouldn’t -- and Atticus knew karma would eventually go his way in the end, if he put in the proper work. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still sometimes feel somewhat resentful every time Barty Gilbert waved to him in the hall, his two best friends at his side. One of them was the most popular girl in their year (of course), another Pureblood witch named Cecelia “Ceci” Crouch -- the other was one of Atticus’s own dormmates, a poor Muggle-born boy who in third year had become Ravenclaw’s Star Chaser named Robert Bellamy. Despite sleeping in the same dorm for five years, Atticus and Robert had really never talked -- Atticus was focused almost exclusively on his studies, of course, but even Robert seemed actively disinterested in talking to Atticus. Perhaps it was because of how much Atticus kept sticking his nose up at his best friend Barty -- perhaps it was because of how much of a stick-in-the-mud Atticus was -- or perhaps it was for a reason Robert couldn’t quite put into words, the same way Atticus couldn’t completely explain his instant dislike of Barty.

One day at the beginning of fifth year, however, Atticus and Robert were forced to engage with each other when Professor Binns inexplicably decided to actually assign a paired homework assignment. (A possible result of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore casually reminding the History of Magic professor of a similar assignment he’d assigned his OWL class back in the days when he was still alive.) Although Binns of course didn’t remember any of his students’ names, he nonetheless paired Robert with Atticus. Neither of the Ravenclaws was particularly pleased, but none of them was the type to actively argue or complain.

After class, Atticus approached Robert outside the History of Magic classroom. Robert told Barty to go on ahead to the Great Hall and that he’d catch up. Once Barty was gone, Atticus uncomfortably questioned Robert about when they could meet to work on their oral report on the Witch Hunts of the 14th century.

Robert frowned slightly, his well-toned arms crossing casually over his chest.

“Hogsmeade weekend starts tomorrow,” he said placidly. “You occupied then?”

Unlike the rest of his classmates, Robert wore his bronze-trimmed blue Quidditch robes over his disheveled uniform, instead of his usual black school robes. Atticus couldn’t help but wonder if Barty Gilbert’s buddy just liked to remind everyone that he was one of Ravenclaw’s Chasers.

Pushing this faintly condescending thought aside, Atticus shook his head. “No -- I’m available.”

“Good. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks and we can talk there.”

He turned on his heel as if to go. Atticus couldn’t help but sputter and he quickly rushed in front of the other Ravenclaw to stop him from walking away.

“What is there to talk about? We need to get started right away!”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Tomorrow isn’t soon enough for you?”

“The project’s due on Monday,” said Atticus seriously. “We’ll need to spend a good deal of time at the library, if we want to be prepared -- ”

“No need,” said Robert with a shrug. “I already know everything we need to know.”

Atticus couldn’t keep himself from quirking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh really? Robert Bellamy, slacker jock who always dozes off in History of Magic, knows enough about the Witch Hunts of the 14th century to get us an O on our oral report? Somehow I doubt that.”

Amazingly Robert didn’t react with anger -- instead his black eyes turned very cool.

“The Witch Hunts really can’t be narrowed down to just the 14th century,” he said in a very level, matter-of-fact voice appropriate to a professor. “Not only did the ‘witch hysteria’ phenomenon last well into the 18th century, until the Age of Enlightenment, but there was a lot of set-up beforehand that laid the groundwork for it. Witchcraft, specifically black magic, was considered illegal even in ancient times -- the Romans considered it a capital offense. And of course one can’t ignore how early Christians demonized pagan beliefs by associating them with witchcraft, hence why images of the Devil came to embody traits associated with the nature god Pan. The Witch Hunts of the 14th century largely came about because a bunch of Muggles got their knickers in a twist about an increased interest in necromancy and herbal remedies among the poor, spurred on by the printing and circulation of older Islamic texts. The fact that many of those people who had the most use for those herbal remedies were women -- frequently mid-wives -- scared the church as well, of course, given the sexism of the time. And of course when bad things happen and there’s no explanation for it, people love to find a scapegoat. Add a text like the Malleus Malificarum that tells the terrified masses all of their problems are the fault of evil witches to the mix, and Incendio -- you’ve got yourself a bonfire.”

Atticus was completely sideswiped. He caught himself staring with his mouth open, and quickly closed it.

“That...well...”

He felt very sheepish. His ears burned -- his mother would’ve been scolding him if she were there, for jumping to conclusions like that.

“...That’s really impressive,” Atticus said self-consciously. “Forgive me, I...I was very rude, just then.”

He brushed a loose piece of his dark brown bangs out of his eyes.

“...How did you even know all that? I don’t recall Professor Binns ever saying -- ”

“I doubt he did,” said Robert. Once again he didn’t seem the least bit offended by what Atticus had said and was currently grinning cheekily. “I got my hands on the fifth year History of Magic syllabus from an older student before term started. I went to the Muggle library and borrowed a whole stack of books about the Witch Hunts so I could read them over the summer.”

Atticus blinked. “Muggle books? But -- but wouldn’t that information be incomplete?”

“In some ways, yes. But honestly, magical history isn’t much better that way -- it leaves plenty of stuff out.”

“I suppose it does -- but Professor Binns expects you to know what he teaches too. That’s why he does those lectures.”

“And puts the whole class to sleep,” said Robert with a snort of laughter.

“That’s beside the point,” said Atticus firmly. “It’s good that you studied the material so thoroughly -- very admirable, in fact -- but there is a right way to do things, and falling asleep in class when your professor’s trying to teach you will only make it harder for you to get top marks.”

Robert shrugged. “Guess I don’t see the need to regurgitate my professor’s lessons like a parrot. And how do you know I don’t already get top marks? I don’t remember you ever asking to see my grades.”

Atticus faltered. “Well -- it’s just -- I never see you study.”

“Probably because you never leave the library,” said Robert with a rather mischievous smile.

The words were an unpleasant barb in the corner of Atticus’s chest, and his eyes narrowed to hide the slight hurt he felt. Noticing the shift in the other boy’s expression, Robert immediately put down all trace of humor.

“Only joking,” he said defensively. “Crimey...you really are too grim for your own good...”

As soon as the sentence had left Robert’s mouth, there was a strange, silent ping that seemed to ripple through both young men’s ears. The word “grim” had hit Atticus in the heart stronger than anything else Robert had said. The young Pureblood had stiffened sharply, and his expression tensed further when he realized that Robert too seemed to have suddenly gone oddly pale.

Did...did the word affect him too? Did he also find it so strangely, frustratingly, achingly familiar? Why?

The two stared at each other, both looking incredibly disconcerted. Then Robert, stuffing a hand into his pocket, quickly strolled past Atticus.

“...I’d better go catch up with Barty,” he muttered. His voice sounded oddly calm to Atticus’s ears -- almost evasively so. “Is tomorrow at noon okay?”

Atticus glanced over his shoulder to look at Robert’s retreating back.

“...Yes,” he said quietly.

Robert didn’t turn back around.

“Three Broomsticks?”

“All right.”

“Good. ...Bring some books from the library, if you want. I’m sure Madame Pince will have some suggestions I haven’t read yet. Just don’t tell her we’ll be at the Three Broomsticks -- poor thing would probably throw a fit if we spilled butterbeer on her books...”

With that, the Ravenclaw Chaser departed down the hall without looking at Atticus again.

Atticus didn’t move from his spot in the hall for a while afterward, unable to completely shake the heavy, invisible weight that had settled down on top of his heart.

He’dd only ever felt such a strange, irrational kind of déjà vu around Barty Gilbert before, but this kind...this kind was different, somehow. The feeling that accompanied Barty Gilbert made Atticus feel irritated for no reason at all. This one accompanying Robert Bellamy...it was cold, and yet also so soft at the same time -- like the feeling one has when they hear a beautiful, sad song...or when they wake up sobbing from a dream where someone is squeezing their shoulders, while tears stream down their brokenly laughing face...

#golden era #hphl #atticus grimsley #bartholomew varney #my art #my writing #au #reincarnation!au #OH MY GOD #REINCARNATION TIME BABY #let's give grim and bat a real happy ending shall we?!#I mean sure bat had a lot of happiness in his life before he finally died but he only lived a half-life as a vampire #and this way bat can be there for grim when he's younger so grim can live the life at hogwarts he deserved #without his father's influence looming like a shadow over him the entire time #also yay bat can touch! and actually grow up! and actually be a professor!#I see bat and crew being in cedric's year #so they'll be seventh years when cedric dies and just be starting careers when the wizarding war starts #of course we all know bat would join the order of the phoenix because...duh #but yeah so this means bat flies alongside cho chang!! :D #robert hasn't gotten the nickname 'bat' yet but he will #and of course atticus isn't 'grim' yet -- even in his original canon he only ever was okay with bat calling him that </3 #robert's discomfort around atticus really comes back to him seeming famiilar and yet 'off' too #in this case because grim is supposed to be happy!! he's supposed to smile!! he's supposed to dance and have fun!!#and yet he's this huge stick in the mud that has a beef with robert's BFF -- what's up with that?!#he really doesn't *dislike* atticus at this point but he is uncomfortable and unsure and when bat is uncomfortable he tends to disappear #in all universes bat does not like being uncomfortable or talking about things he doesn't want to talk about XD;;#also yeah bat is smart AF but is the type to only express it when his intellect is useful #he doesn't show off his intelligence by answering every question in class or sharing his grades or going to the library constantly #instead he most often expresses it whenever he's tutoring someone in something or when the knowledge solves a problem #so it's no wonder atticus had no clue that robert's not just a dumb jock XDDD

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mea-laetitia · 4 years ago

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remus lupin finally snaps

CW: some bad language

---

It was cold, and his bones were stiff. When he walked up the stairs to the dormitories it was a slow and painful experience that wasn’t helped by his mood. Every time he stumbled or took too long to take a step up Remus Lupin grumbled. He was not in the mood to deal with his lycanthropy tonight, and why the fuck couldn’t he manage a flight of stairs for Godric’s sake? It had been two whole days since the night of the full moon, a particularly bad one judging from his aches, but nonetheless he didn’t see why he couldn’t manage the stairs. He had been in bed for the entirety of those days and taken every unnecessary potion Pomfrey shoved in his face. So why was he still in pain?

By the time he reached the door to the marauder’s dorm he was thoroughly pissed, and in the mood for a fight. He knew that someone behind that door would most likely oblige him if he only prodded enough, and so, using the last of his energy he kicked the door open dramatically and stalked inside.

Three heads turned to him briefly, noted his expression, and then promptly turned to face each other once again. Remus could practically smell their confusion, it almost made him laugh. He sat on his bed and shut the curtains violently, laying down and stretching his entire body out.

And then he waited.

He knew it was only a matter of time before one of them tentatively peeked through the curtains and tried to ask him what was wrong. If he wasn’t in such a bad headspace he would recognize how nice that was of them, and that really, he had some damn good friends. But now, he thought it annoying, and an invasion of his privacy. He prepared to shout at whoever opened the curtains just that point.

Anxious whispering could be heard from James’ bed, which Remus rolled his eyes at. God they were so fucking nosy. A few minutes passed and the voices rose to a crescendo, though Remus couldn’t make out any individual words. He heard the dorm room door open and swiftly close, but the presence of one person remained, Remus could smell him.

A few seconds of tense silence lapsed between the two boys. One who was nervous and had clearly been left with the job of talking to Lupin, the other waiting for him to do so, and ready to rip him to shreds no matter what he said.

Not the healthiest of arrangements really.

If Remus was to take a guess at who was behind the curtain he would probably say Peter. If it was James then he wouldn’t have hesitated this long, and he probably would have been the one to start the fight, telling him unless something very wrong had happened he was being a dramatic prick. If it was Sirius he would also not have hesitated, and probably would have just hopped right in and started fighting with him.

Plus there was the added fact that if James and Sirius both didn’t want to talk to Remus there was nothing stopping them, and Peter would be left to sort the mess out almost one hundred percent of the time.

It was because of these assumptions that Remus forgot about his anger for a moment when he saw Sirius of all people peer through the gap in the curtains.

Why had he hesitated?

When Remus didn’t immediately bite Sirius pulled back the curtains more and sat across from him.

He attempted casualty at first. “Alright mate?”

“Yes everything’s peachy.” Remus snapped.

Sirius didn’t immediately respond, which Remus found to be strange. Normally he would have an almost instantaneous retort and then the fight would begin. Why was he being so cautious?

“Did something happen or are you just grumpy from the moon?” He pressed, resting his chin in his hands as he watched his friend.

“‘Just grumpy from the moon’?” Remus growled. “Have you ever transformed into a fucking monster and lost your mind for hours on end and then been in horrible pain for days afterwards?”

He was shouting already, but Sirius seemed unfazed. He actually chuckled at this. “Yeah fair point I guess.”

Remus felt like he could turn into the wolf again he was so pissed off. He wanted to reach forward and throttle Sirius but at the same time he looked so beautiful in the soft lamplight of their room that an equally strong desire to just kiss him overcame him too, and it made him angrier while also making it hard to stay angry.

“Why can’t you take this seriously?” He snapped. “And don’t you fucking dare say you are Sirius or I swear to Godric-”

Sirius laughed. “I actually wasn’t going to say that but now you’ve done it for me. Nice one!”

Then he had the audacity to reach for a high-five. Remus glared at him and he promptly lowered his hand. “Wow your knickers really are in a twist tonight.”

“My knickers are perfectly fine thank you very much! And stop changing the subject.”

“What?” Sirius smirked. “Trying to stay angry are you? Looks like you’re struggling. What are you even mad about?”

“I’m mad that I’m a fucking werewolf and that I’ll probably die young because of it and that my life won’t even be fulfilling in the meantime because everyone will be unable to see past what I am!”

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but Remus wasn’t finished.

“And it hurts EVERYWHERE and I’m sick to death of you!”

Sirius blinked at him. “Me?”

Remus didn’t know why he added that last bit, but he knew for sure he was now bordering on dangerous territory. If he wasn’t careful he might just let his feelings for Sirius slip and he would finally have something legitimate to complain about.

But he couldn’t deny that the fight was already making him feel better, and he was still angry enough that any common sense was long gone. He tightened a fist around the bedsheets they sat on and stared Sirius dead on.

His voice grew dangerously quiet. “Yeah. You.”

“What did I do?” Sirius matched his tone. Any trace of laughter was gone and he finally looked concerned.

“Godric you still haven’t fucking noticed have you? You’re so blind and oblivious it actually hurts. Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

Sirius clearly still had no clue what he was saying, though he looked almost scared to admit it. “Very?”

Remus threw his pillow at the boy, who swiftly caught it and returned it to its place on the bed without breaking eye contact.

“You know what? I thought you might have finally caught on this year but you’re still prancing around like nothing’s changed. It’s been four years, Sirius how ignorant are you?”

“Four years since what Remus? Clearly I have no idea what you’re talking about so just tell me!” Sirius said, finally losing his patience with the werewolf.

But Remus wasn’t listening, he was on a roll and he didn’t feel like stopping anymore. Any punishment that ensued would be worth it because he was finally voicing the anger that had been building up for years.

“I couldn’t have made it more obvious if I tried! Honestly I drop at least a hundred hints a day, you haven’t seen me with anyone literally ever, despite the fact that I’ve been asked out numerous times.”

Sirius was speechless.

“But worst of all is that you just haven’t noticed. If James was in my place you would have figured it out the day it all began but with me you just didn’t see. Like it made sense for me to be acting weird around you all of a sudden and flinch at your touch and blush at your gaze. And then when I gained enough confidence to attempt flirting with you for fucks sake you still didn’t notice. ‘That’s just my Moony, best friend, telling me I look beautiful this morning and stumbling over his words.’ I thought that even if you didn’t feel the same way you might have the decency to pull me aside and tell me rather than letting me flounder in my love for you but as time went by I started to realize that the problem wasn’t your lack of reciprocation but rather your complete and utter obliviousness. Even now I bet you still haven’t fucking realized it have you?”

He was finally done, and rather than the soul sucking fear he anticipated he might feel when he finally told Sirius his deepest secret he felt relief. It was over. No matter how he responded now at least there were no more secrets between them. Sirius was staring at him with a look that even Remus couldn’t decipher. There was either a complete lack of emotion behind his eyes or there was too much going on that they looked utterly glazed over.

And then Sirius spoke.

“What?”

He was shaking his head in confusion and Remus felt like screaming again. What did he mean ‘what’? Did he need more fucking clarification? What else could he do to make it clear?

Before he even finished thinking that he knew, and he decided to do something very stupid indeed.

Without thinking about the consequences Remus suddenly lunged forward, ignoring the stabbing pain in his body, and grabbed Sirius’ face, pulling it towards his own. Their lips crashed together forcefully and all of a sudden nothing else mattered. Remus’ anger disappeared, replaced by nothing short of joy when he felt Sirius kiss him back, fisting his shirt and pulling him desperately closer to him.

Remus chanced a brush of Sirius’ hair, tentatively reaching up to run his hands through the messy waves, and heard a tiny hum of pleasure from the boy in response. He smiled into the kiss and deepened it, and he faintly realized that he should be in pain right now from crouching so awkwardly in front of Sirius, but in fact he was far from pain. Holding Sirius in his arms and having him hold him back was better than any healing potion Pomfrey had ever given him. It was addicting, he was getting high off its effects.

All too soon they broke apart for air, both panting slightly but grinning nonetheless.

“Is that clear enough for you?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

And Sirius actually blushed, looking almost apologetic for not realizing until now. “Clear as day.”

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders oneshot

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anunvalidcritic · 4 years ago

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The Boys: SN2.1

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.)

THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN!

THE BIG RIDE

I’m really just seating here smiling watching the Season 1 recap! (Photo Credit: @01091006)

Yeah that’s right cut that bitch out of the statue! #FuckStillwell

GIIIIIAAAANNNNCAAARRRRLOOOOO!!!! (Italians are smooth af)

DAAMMN RIGHT IN THE CUP!?!?!

BLACK NOIR = The Oprah of throat splitting

HOMELANDER has gone platinum blonde....

lowkey forgot about TRANSLUCENT

the costume design on the show is incredible I don’t know if I said this but I’m saying it now

STARLIGHT CAN SING?!?!?!

Sounds like a gospel song honestly LOL

oh... it is...

THE DEEP is still TRASH!

I see they’re marketing STARLIGHT and HOMELANDER as a couple...

Or at least it’s coming off that way.

OH NOOO NOT THE TITTIE PADS!!!!

HUGHIE up in this bitch!

KIMIKO the baddest motherfucking female to grace the superhero race

I knew they were going to meet up smfh

HUGHIE + STARLIGHT = The Touching Knees

Now she didn’t have to do him like that we all know he can be a little sensitive.

Queue another mental break down by THE DEEP

“You think this is fun? You think waters suppose to be fun?! Try swimming in the Marina Trench you little fucking idiots! Yeah not so fun now. No it’s dark and its cold and you’re so alone... you’re so goddamn fuckin’ alone. ” - THE DEEP

The way his ass came off that metal bench... disgusting

A Closer Look with Chris Hansen

that re-enactment was something else lol

wow this dude killed STILLWELL and is still stuck on her smfh

He better not drink this fucking baby milk...

EWWWWWWWWWW

Ol’ “got milk?” type bitch

alright alright BLINDSPOT gots some mov...

Never-fuvking-mind

“This must be some kind of a joke. Ashley... What made you think I would ever allow a cripple into The Seven? For fuck sakes, Ashley, don’t look at him, look at me! ASHLEY! Look at me.” - HOMELANDER

dang did y’all see that spit come out his mouth?? you know he means business when that happens DEAD

that blood is everywhere jesus...

how the hell did y’all not notice her?

HE BETTER BE ABLE TO GROW BACK HIS LIMBS IF HE’S GONNA LET SOMEONE DO THAT TOO HIM!!!

damn I called that shit

ICONIC DIALOGUE

“For an extra grand I’ll let you chop off my dick.” - GECKO

“...Where’s the nearest ATM?” - UNKNOWN

STARLIGHT re-enters the frame

I wish i spoke french...

who tf got that ship out the water?

food for thought: what if KIMIKO’s brother were to show up this season??... think about it...

EAGLE a little weird for starring at THE DEEP while he’s sleeping

“How did you end up here?” - CAROL ... You know why the fuck he’s there!!

BUTCHER must be with his wife or something.

“If you’re the fucking reason why I can’t finish that Vermont Country dollhouse, I will fucking end you.“ - MOTHER’S MILK

It’s obviously for his daughter

okay ANNIE playing the bad cop and doing it well to get the job done!

*HOMELANDER approaches* >>> “My Nana’s your biggest fan.“ - STORMFRONT

lmaooo she ain’t shit for that but I already like her!

You know I’m on ASHLEY’s side for this one. He said that he wanted to know everything that was going on on Floor 99 not Floor 82 so he can get his knickers out a twist sit down somewhere and have a nice ol’ cup of STFU.

WTF NOT RAYNOR

Wooooowww HOMELANDER really thinks he can fuck with THE GIANCARLO ESPOSITO!?!?!?

That’s right put that bitch in his place

AYYYEEE IT’S THE MAN OF THE FUCKING HOUR!!!!

“This is a fucking mess, son. We got a Super Terrorist, RAYNOR’s blown her canister, and we’re the most wanted cunts in the country. But don’t you worry, Daddy’s home.” - BUTCHER

_______

Hello to my new subscribers! Thanks for liking my post and understanding my awful sense of humor. I would like to apologize for the delay though. I didn’t think it would be out before 12:00 until I looked it up online. But let’s not dilly dally and get onto the next episode! Let’s continue to remember that everyone’s a critic when their opinion matters the least.

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mldrgrl · 4 years ago

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Safety in Numbers

by: mldrgrl Rating: R Summary: The Hanella in quarantine fic some of you have been waiting so patiently for.

It happens so quickly and it’s shocking, even if she suspected it might happen. Overnight, everything just stops. An emergency conference call is held and just like that, she’s teaching in a virtual classroom and toilet paper is suddenly one of her biggest concerns. And the nightmares come, stealing her sleep and leaving her restless. It’s only been a week.

Unable to sit still to give a lecture, she creates a station for herself on the butcher’s block in the kitchen area. If her students only knew the things that had happened on that butcher’s block, but she could say that about nearly every wall and surface of the loft. They’d probably never imagine she was capable, not in a million years. She’s heard stories of other classrooms turning this new landscape they were in into entertainment - wearing silly hats, creating silly backgrounds on their screens, wearing pajamas - but not her. She makes it clear from day one, criminology is a serious study and they are to treat it as such.

She’s just ended a discourse on crime scene containment when Hank emerges from the bedroom. He hasn’t showered or shaved yet, even though it’s noon and she knows he’s been up writing since before she began her lecture. His eyes are squinted and his lip is curled up as though he’s just eaten something distasteful.

“What timing,” Stella says, closing the lid of her laptop.

“Yeah, I…” Hank pauses and rubs the back of his head so that his hair spikes up. “Uh…”

“Something the matter, Watson?”

“Karen just called me.”

Stella is immediately awash with concern. “Everything alright? Is someone ill?”

“I don’t know. She wants you to call her. Said she would’ve actually called you herself, but she wasn’t sure of your teaching schedule and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I’ll ring her now. Any idea what it’s about?”

“None. She assured me no one was dying, but that it was important. I’ve been climbing the walls in the room waiting until your class was over.”

“Well, you were quite prompt.” Stella crosses the room to the coffee table where her mobile is charging. She unplugs it and unlocks the screen. She pulls up Karen’s contact card and initiates the call.

“Oh good,” Karen answers immediately. “Hank told you I called.”

“Yes, he’s pacing the room like a caged animal. Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Please, I want to run something by the both of you, actually.”

“Alright.” Stella sits down on the sectional sofa and puts the call on speaker. She holds the phone in her palm and points it towards Hank who’s biting his thumbnail and shuffling back and forth along the other side of the coffee table.

“I’ve been trying to get Becca to come up here once this whole quarantining, shelter-in-place thing started happening.”

“We tried as well,” Stella says.

“I know. And I totally get that she’s an adult and has her own life and all that, but she finally agreed this morning.”

“That’s wonderful.” Stella glances up at Hank. “It’s been a concern for us.”

“Well, what I was thinking is that you guys should come up too.”

“Us?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I mean, you should come stay in the guest house.”

“That’s a very generous offer-” Stella starts, but she’s interrupted.

“I’m worried about the two of you as much as Becca,” Karen says. “Have you been outside at all? Can you even go outside?”

“Not since Hank’s birthday, actually.”

“See. You guys can be here and Becca will be here and then we won’t have to worry about you. Stella, Fish said he’ll set you up in his office for your classes. He’s turning the garage into a studio anyway and isn’t even using it.”

There was muffled shouting in the background.

“And he says the barbeque is ready,” Karen adds. Hank rolls his eyes in response.

“I think it’s something we’d need to discuss,” Stella says. “This isn’t likely to last just days or weeks. We’re looking at months. It’s possible travel even between states could be restricted.”

“Exactly,” Karen says. “That’s even more reason why you should come. If it gets that bad, you may not be able to get here.”

When, Stella thinks. Not if.

“When are you picking Becca up?” Hank asks.

“Saturday. Probably mid-morning. We can just pop over after that and grab you two before heading back.”

“You’ve certainly given us something to consider,” Stella says. “We’ll have a chat about it and get back with you.”

“I just really think you guys should be with family, you know?”

It’s that statement that tightens Stella’s chest. She’s been without a proverbial family for most of her life and still lacks experience with feeling accountable to another person, let alone others. But, she does feel accountable now and though she’d like to write Karen’s offer off as being a polite, albeit meaningless request, she knows it’s not.

They have a few more minutes of lighter conversation and then they hang up with Stella promising they’ll seriously consider Karen’s offer and get back with her. There’s a few moments of silence after Stella disconnects the call and she watches Hank. He’d slumped down on the sofa before they’d hung up and began chewing the inside of his cheek and staring out the window.

“Thoughts?” Stella asks.

“I don’t even know what to fucking think right now.”

“Are you inclined to say no?”

“Are you inclined to say yes?”

“I’m not inclined to say anything until we discuss it.”

“You didn’t think it was weird?”

“No more strange than being invited for weekends, really. And we’ve certainly done that.”

“So you want to go?”

“I’m merely positing that I don’t believe it was a strange or disingenuous offer.”

“I wonder how she wore Becca down.”

Stella shrugs and then slumps back beside Hank. “I’m glad she’s going. It’s a better place for her to be instead of cooped up in her flat all alone. Or here, really, where privacy would be limited.”

“And what if something does happen, like Karen said? How would we get there.”

“That may not be an option.”

Just as Stella drops a gentle hand on Hank’s knee, he jumps up from the couch and begins to pace again. She folds her hands over her lap to give him the time he clearly needs to put together his thoughts.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m living in a world where I have to consider moving in with my ex and the guy she’s shacking up with.”

“And your wife.”

“I mean ‘I’ like the royal ‘we.’ There is no ‘I,’ there’s only we. Us. Whatever. You know what I fucking mean.”

“So then we’ll not consider it. It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind about it already anyway.”

“Feel free to chime in with your thoughts at any time.” He puts his hands together as if in prayer and bows towards her slightly. “This feels like a rather one-sided discussion.”

“I could think of dozens of reasons to stay, but weigh that against one very good reason to go and, well...”

“Becca?” Hank asks.

“I know what it’s meant to you growing closer to her since we’ve been back. It’s actually meant something to me as well. And, I think I have an idea of what it might be like for you to go from seeing her so often to not at all, with no idea when the next time may be.”

Hank puts his hands to his face and pulls his skin down as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead.

“What has your knickers all in a twist over this, Watson?” she asks. “It’s only an offer and we can respectfully decline.”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head and drops his hands. “I just...Karen and I were together for a long time and we’ve been through a lot of shit together. I love her, but there are times...I suddenly remember how much I fucking resent her and the chain events she started. And I realize that might sound like...I mean, it doesn’t account for the actual contentment and happiness I have at this time in my life. I just can’t fucking forget sometimes. It’s easier to do that when we’re apart.”

Stella is not a coddler by nature. Offering comfort isn’t something that comes naturally or easy for her, but there are times when the inclination to soothe comes over her. She stands and takes the few steps necessary to reach Hank. First she takes him by the hips and then slides her hands up to his chest and then over his shoulders to link her fingers behind his neck.

“Are you thinking you’re sorry you married such a pussyass bitch?” Hank asks.

“Strange as it sounds, I was actually thinking about how much I love you,” she answers.

“Stop it, Sherlock, you’ll make me cry.”

She pinches his nape lightly. “Don’t be such a pussyass bitch.”

“And suddenly I’m very turned on.”

“You’re always turned on.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

She shrugs. “I’m not going to give Karen an answer until tomorrow. I want you to think very hard about what you want to do because it’s not something we can change our minds on.”

“Do you want to go, Sherlock?”

“I told you, I can think of one very good reason to go and many reasons not to.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, but I feel like that’s an ambiguous answer. Do you want to go?”

Stella loosens her fingers at Hank’s neck and let’s her hands slide back to his shoulders. She isn’t quite sure how to express the depth of the anxiety she feels about the situation to Hank or how hard she’s fought to suppress it. The pages of her dream journal are rapidly being filled though.

“I think,” she says. “For once, I might like to escape from danger instead of staring down the barrel at it.”

*****

They have one more discussion about Karen’s offer and though Hank still seems torn about what to do, he tells Stella he thinks they should go and asks if she’ll call Karen. Before she can even grab her phone, he goes up to the roof and so she places the call by herself. Karen is thrilled. Stella can feel her elation through the phone, if that’s possible.

“This is so great,” Karen says. “Bring whatever you need and even if you forget something, I’m sure we’ll have it. Or we can get it. You don’t have to worry about anything. You know, honestly, I expected to have to sell you guys even harder than I did Becca. I’m so relieved.”

“How did you manage to convince Becca to come up and stay? She seemed very adamant about remaining on her own when we spoke with her.”

“I think I opened her eyes a little to how isolated she might be. I also may have shamelessly reminded her that the pool was heated and all her meals and laundry would be taken care of, which was going to be my next tactic with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Well…” Stella hesitates for a moment. “Actually, I feel I should warn you that I’m rubbish in the kitchen. We always order out.”

Karen laughs. “Well, then you’re coming to the right place, honey. I love to cook, and it’s way more fun when it’s for more than two. Or three.”

“My fear is that you’ll tire of us. I don’t want to be an added burden in any way.”

“Hank, maybe. You, never.” Karen laughs again. “And, honestly, if Hank and I start to piss each other off, it never lasts long.”

“His fear is that the two of you might quarrel.”

“He does get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but it’s been a really long time since we’ve sworn we’d hate each other for the rest of our lives. A lot has changed since then. For the better, obviously.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“The only thing I’m certain of is that if we haven’t killed each other by now, we probably won’t.”

“I do suppose the odds are favorable in that respect.”

“Listen, I want you guys here, I really do. Maybe I’m being silly or overreacting to this, but I think if we can be together during this, we should. I think we’ve talked about this a little before, but Hank and Becca, they just function better when they remain in each other’s orbit.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So, I think this is really in the best interest of all of us to do this. I know what I’m like when I’m crazy worried about Becca and I know what Hank is like. But, then it’s you and Fish that have to suffer for it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering.”

“But, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never been a parent-”

“Bull shit, Stella.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s bull shit. You might have come around later in her life, but you’re a Mom to Becca. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those women who can’t deal with the idea of their kid having an extra parent. I only wish you would’ve been here sooner.”

Stella blinks, stunned into a sudden silence. Her throat tightens a little and her nose stings with the onset of tears, but she swallows them back and takes a calming breath.

“I was going to say that I’ve never been a parent, but having had Becca in my life for these past few years, I can understand the inclination to want to protect and prioritize one’s child.”

“I know you understand. That’s why we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you for that, I…” Stella stops and pinches away the burning sense of emotion between her brows. “I feel as though I’m the lucky one.”

“Let’s call it mutual.”

“We can do that.”

“And honestly, one of the selling points for getting Becca to come up was that I told her I’d have the two of you on board as well. You can’t make a liar of me.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

“Okay, so we’ll see you guys on Saturday. I’ll call when we’re leaving Becca’s. Everything will be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Alright. We’ll see you soon.”

Stella hangs up the phone and then sits quietly for a few minutes before she goes up to the roof to find Hank. The sun has gone down and grey twilight has set in. Though it was an unusually warm day, it’s gone a bit chilly. She pulls her thin silk robe a little tighter and crosses her arms over each other for warmth. Hank is reclining in one of the lounge chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Did you tell Karen the happy news?” he asks.

“I did. She was very pleased.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t think there will be anything to worry about.”

“No?”

“No.” Stella straddles Hank’s lap over the lounge chair and sits on his thighs. He puts one hand on her hip and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“The world is so fucking weird right now,” he says. “I don’t know how to comprehend it.”

“No one does, I’m sure.”

“Even you, Sherlock?”

“Even me.”

He tips his head back to look at her and brushes the hem of her robe aside to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh. They gaze at each other for a long while, he rubbing the top of her thigh and she plucking mindlessly at the black t-shirt covering his chest. Her robe slips down her shoulder a little and he reaches up as though he’s going to slide it back in place, but instead he caresses the back of her arm and pets the strap of her tank top with the back of his hand. Eventually, he sets his whiskey glass down on the little table next to the lounge and unties the knot holding her robe closed.

“Still fantasize about fucking on the roof?” he asks.

“It was never a fantasy, just a fleeting thought.”

“Is it crossing your mind right now?”

“It might be.”

“It’s definitely crossing mine.”

“I can tell.”

She reaches down to cup the rigid bulge straining the fly of his jeans. He grunts slightly and rubs the strip of skin showing below her navel with his thumb, between the loose edge of her tank top and lace edge of her panties. Her skin becomes rippled with gooseflesh. Within seconds, she’s swollen and pulses with arousal.

Deftly, Stella pushes the buttons free along the fly of Hank’s jeans, from top to bottom. He adjusts his hips as she brings him out into the closed heat of her fist. It doesn’t take but a few strokes and strategic swirls of her thumb to have him panting and groaning under her.

“Quiet,” she whispers, leaning close enough so she can flick her tongue out and catch his bottom lip.

“Make me,” he murmurs.

She strokes him a little harder and then stops to raise up onto her knees. Still gripping him tightly, she hooks her panties to the side and sinks down in one swift motion. If he misses any extended foreplay, he doesn’t show it. It’s a shut up and fuck me moment for her where all she wants and needs is his cock inside of her at just the right angle and she can handle the rest. And he knows her well enough by now to know when to lay back and enjoy the ride. She’ll make it up to him later by letting him fondle her in the shower, perhaps surprising him by requesting he wash her back, and then her front.

For the most part, Hank just holds onto the flare of Stella’s hips and lets her set the pace. She grips his shoulders and uses them for leverage to lift up, to arch her back, to roll her pelvis forward, and then to relax her thighs and do it all again. They both know, from time and experience, just how quick and effective this particular move is for both of them.

“So fucking good,” he purrs. He reaches up and grips Stella’s hair at the back of her head and pulls her down for a brief, but deep kiss. She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip before she pulls away. He licks the sting of it away.

When his little grunts of pleasure and encouragement grow too loud, she slaps her hand over his mouth and slips two fingers inside. He bites down lightly and slips his tongue along the seam between her fingers, and she burns just a little more painfully with desire for him.

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand down from his shoulder to root out his nipple over his shirt. When she finds the taut little pebble, she gives it a tweak between her thumb and forefinger, grinding her pubic bone down against his as she does.

Hank gives a muffled cry from under her hand and his hips jerk up. The muscles in his neck strain when she does it again and his fingers dig roughly into her ass as he holds her in place. She squeezes him boneless and moves his hand out of the way as he tries to help bring her over the edge to do it herself. When the tension finally breaks and she splits apart with a terrible tremble, she gives a long moan of relief and then slowly brings herself down to rest against Hank’s chest. He puts his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re all that makes sense to me right now, Sherlock” he says.

She doesn’t answer, but she finds the spot on the left side of his chest where she can feel his heart beating and presses her lips to it.

******

Saturday afternoon, they’re packed and ready. Stella took the lead on preparation, experienced in planning for extended time away from home. Becca and Karen’s arrival is awkward as no one quite knows what the protocol is for both reuniting and remaining distant at the same time. They’ve talked about keeping cautious for the first week or so and keeping masks and gloves on for safety.

The ride up to Connecticut is gloomy. It’s drizzled off and on for a few days and today it finally culminates into a steady downpour. No one knows quite what to say, and even Hank, who normally can’t tolerate silence, doesn’t say much. When they arrive, they take their bags out to the guesthouse which has been transformed once again with a nautical theme. The last time they were there, at Christmas, it had a distinctly rustic flare.

“I’m seasick just looking at it,” Hank says, pulling his mask free from his ears. “I might vomit.”

“The accent wall is a lovely shade of blue.”

“Tell me again we made the right choice.”

“We made the right choice.”

“And this will all work out.”

“It’s going to work out.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, none can compare.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had,” she parrots. “None can compare.”

“Smartass.”

“You walked right into that one.”

******

The first week feels endless and strange. Stella has to utilize the upstairs office in the main house for her lectures and they all gather for dinners outside on the patio, but conversation is stilted and there is tension in the air.

It’s quickly apparent that the situation has brought underlying anxieties to the surface. Stella’s strange dreams start to bring on episodes of sleep paralysis, something she hasn’t dealt with in some years. Hank also seems to cling to her more tightly and for longer periods of time when they go to bed. He doesn’t even try to initiate sex, prefering to hold her than fuck her. It would bother her, but she also discovers something about herself that gives her pause and makes her re-evaluate her stance on cuddling: when faced with the reality that she is now in the same room on a daily basis as the people she loves most in the world, but is simply not able to embrace them, the ache it brings puts the importance of touch into perspective. And if she’s feeling this way, she knows it’s exponentially worse for Hank.

Her birthday approaches and she asks Hank to please not mention it, to please make sure it comes and goes without acknowledgment. Aside from waking that morning with Hank’s face between her thighs and the double chocolate brownies that are served after dinner, it passes unnoticed. She’s grateful for that.

As the second week comes to a close, everyone seems to exhale and begin to relax. The turning point seems to come when Fish unexpectedly asks Hank to come and have a look at the studio he’s been working on. With Hank occupied, Stella asks Karen if she could help in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to instruct me on what to do,” Stella says. “And don’t assume I know the difference between dicing and chopping.”

“Lesson one,” Karen answers. “We start with a glass of wine.”

Thus begins the evening cooking lessons. Becca joins in when she discovers what they’re doing and the three of them spend those few hours a day drinking and laughing while also trying to give Stella a handle on the basics of simple meal preparation.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Karen asks Stella one evening. They’ve gathered around the kitchen island, making lists of recipes to try. Karen is looking everything up on her phone, elbows on the counter. “Something you love,” she adds. “But that you wouldn’t think you could make for yourself?”

“Oh, that’s a rather difficult question,” Stella answers, but gives it some thought, sipping her glass of wine. “It isn’t really a meal, but I do miss the Cornish pasties I used to get from time to time at a shop back in London.”

“Mmhm.” Karen taps Cornish pasties recipes into Google while Becca looks over her shoulder.

“They look like empanadas,” Becca says. “Wait, go back, there’s a vegetarian one too.”

“We could totally do these. Put skirt steak, leeks, and rutabaga on the list. We’ve got enough onions. And potatoes. Check to see if there are any carrots left.”

“How did you first learn to cook?” Stella asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was studying all the time and stuck at home with this one,” Karen answers, pointing her thumb back at Becca. “Hank would be at his typewriter and the noise of it would make me insane so I’d put some music on and look at recipes I’d torn out of pages from magazines. Not because I cared much about what it was, but because I liked the pictures of them.”

“You were trying to design food when you couldn’t design interiors.”

“Yeah, pretty much. And then I just decided to actually try some of them.”

“She makes the best spinach ravioli,” Becca says. “I went through a phase where I would only eat Italian food when I was little.”

“Must be because of the garlic,” Stella adds.

“I do love garlic.”

“I know, your dad told me the story of it once.”

“What story?”

“How you were ill one night as a toddler.”

“I don’t know this story.” Becca looks from Karen to Stella and then back to Karen again. “Mom?”

Karen looks slightly confused. “Yeah, I don’t...I’m not sure what story that is.”

“I’m not going to have all the finer details,” Stella starts, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed for having knowledge of an event that Karen and Becca seem unaware of. “Your dad was telling me once that he’d been genuinely terrified one night when you were a toddler and you’d had a rather high fever. A neighbor woman, someone in the building you lived in with many children, came up and used some oils on you, one of which had a strong odor of garlic.”

“Holy shit,” Karen says. “Yeah, that’s...yeah I do remember that. Kind of. Oh god, what was her name. Melanie, or something close to that. She used to call Becca ‘Pretty Baby’ all the time.”

“I don’t remember this lady,” Becca says.

“You were really little,” Karen says. “She also moved out of the building by the time you were two. But, yeah, she put all this oil on you and this little t-shirt and socks. It smelled terrible, but it did the trick. And holy fuck, did you smelled like garlic for a full week.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“That was always the thing about New York. People were there one day and then they weren’t.”

This subdues the trio for a few moments. The current reality is that there are a lot of people who have been there one day and then not there the next, and not just in New York, but everywhere.

“And perhaps that’s why you love garlic,” Stella says softly, finally, breaking the silence that followed.

“Interesting.” Becca contemplates her glass of wine and drums her fingers against the kitchen counter for a few moments. “I have some writing to do.”

Karen leans forward and stretches her arms across the kitchen island after Becca leaves and covers one of Stella’s hands with both of hers. “I love that you know that story,” she says.

“It’s something we used to do back when we were still long-distance. Tell stories. Mostly Hank, though. I’m sure you’re aware that he has a need to fill any silence.”

“That’s an understatement.” Karen laughs.

“Indeed.”

“Oh god, can you imagine if this had happened while you were still doing long-distance? Or even when you guys were still in London.”

“No, I really can’t. It would be…” Stella can’t even think of a word that’s fitting. Difficult. Strange. Unfathomable. The thought of it actually makes her feel a bit anxious. Karen nods and squeezes her hand.

Fish and Hank suddenly emerge from the studio and stroll into the kitchen. Fish stands just behind Karen and squeezes her hips. Stella reaches out and takes Hank’s hand in hers and brings his arms around her.

“So, what do you ladies have up your sleeve for tonight?” Fish asks.

“Salads and a cold pasta tonight,” Karen answers. “We’re going to get experimental next week.”

“I like experiments. I’ll be whipping up some more marinade tonight for the steaks this weekend. Where’s Beckster?”

“She wanted to do some writing.”

“I can learn a thing or two about discipline from her,” Hank says. “That’s exactly what I need to be doing.”

“Go on,” Stella says, patting his arms. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Hank kisses the side of Stella’s neck before he leaves. Karen starts to pull items out of the refrigerator as Fish comes up next to Stella and leans against the kitchen island.

“Your hubs been telling you about his guitar lessons?” Fish asks.

“You’ve been giving him lessons?”

“Refreshing what he already knows. He’s been helping me teach my group.”

“Has he?”

“He’s gonna duet with one of my kids for the concert comin’ up.”

“Are you still holding that?” Karen asks, lining up mixing bowls along the counter. “How can you?”

“We’re gonna Zoom it. That’s how they’re all doing their school now anyway.”

“That’s how I’m doing my lectures as well,” Stella says.

“Well, you ladies are of course invited. It’s on Saturday, in two weeks.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Karen answers. “So many places to go right now. So many plans.”

“Hah!” Fish comes around to the other side of the island and pinches Karen on the side before giving her a bear hug from behind. “Funny lady.”

Later that night, after they’ve had dinner and Stella and Hank are lying in bed, she turns to face him and he plays with the strap of her tank top, running his finger over her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.

“I hear you’re playing in a concert in a few weeks,” she says.

“Yeah. The Trout roped me into that before I knew what was happening. He’s got me plucking out Blackbird with some 12-year-old. Supposed to be a confidence booster or something.”

“For you or the kid?”

“He didn’t specify.” Hank leans over and bites the top of Stella’s shoulder lightly and then rubs the spot with his thumb while he places kisses across her chest to her throat.

“Mm,” she answers.

“Actually,” he says, and pulls away. “I didn’t know this, but The Trout is like, a gazillionaire.”

“I presumed he was fairly wealthy from his family history.”

“Yeah, but no. He actually made a shit ton of money on investments after designing some landmark building and so he retired and now he doesn’t have to do anything and his money just makes more money.”

“Why did he retire though?”

“He didn’t like being an architect and just went with the flow of the family business, but he wanted to be a musician. So he quit and all the lessons he does now, he does it for free with this community program.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I know. When this whole shitshow started, he actually made sure all the kids he taught for had iPads so they could continue their lessons. And then because he wants them to still have their spring concert, he’s making sure all their extended families that were going to attend have iPads to watch it.”

“He has a generous soul.”

Hank flops onto his back and blows out a sigh. “And we’re just sitting here doing fucking nothing.”

“What we’re doing is equally important.”

“What are we doing?”

“Not going out and risking exposure. For ourselves and for others.”

“It feels like nothing. Just sitting, doing fuck-all.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I have no idea. I’m barely qualified to exist.”

Stella scoots closer to Hank and drapes her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh. He tips his head towards hers and holds onto her wrist as he falls asleep.

*****

In the middle of the third week, Stella is taking attendance at the top of her lecture, as she always does. She makes note of a student’s absence and starts in on the chapter outline. At the end of class, she does another attendance check.

“Mr. Diaz, would you please indicate your presence if you’re at today’s lecture.”

A moment of silence passes and then another student’s window comes into her screen. “Hector tested positive, Professor,” the student tells her. “He’s in the hospital.”

In her years of training, Stella has conditioned herself to remain emotionally neutral in all varieties of situations. However, she is out of practice. She blinks once and then nods slightly, but feels her chin begin to wobble.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and pauses for a moment to keep her breathing steady. “Please be sure to complete the chapter exam prior to Friday’s lecture. We’ll be starting on new material next week.”

She signs out of her lecture platform to a chorus of ‘yes, Professor.’ After closing her laptop, she places her hands on the lid and breathes deeply. It’s just like the conversation they were having the other day. Someone is there one day, and gone the next.

When she comes downstairs, she finds Hank, Becca, and Fish in the sitting room, tuning guitars. They’re smiling and laughing about something. She turns to take the long way around to the side door so they don’t notice her, but runs into Karen in the front room, who asks her to form an opinion on some fabric samples. She obliges her and then excuses herself under the pretense of needing to review assignments.

Later in the evening, she musters the enthusiasm to assist Karen and Becca in preparing kebabs for Fish to grill, feigns engagement in the discussion about a Netflix documentary over dinner, helps with the nightly emptying and filling of the dishwasher, and begs off a dessert of sliced fruit to go to bed early. No one questions her, but she can see the concern on Hank’s face as he looks up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist as she’s leaving. Karen, too, seems to know that something is amiss, but doesn’t say anything.

Deep into the night, she’s not sure what time it is, but she wakes with Hank breathing hotly against her shoulder. The ceiling is shimmering with silver light and she has to rub her eyes to see clearly. She hears a noise, like the soft paddling of a boat on a river. Carefully, she extricates herself from Hank’s arms and out of bed. She steps outside and takes the extra time to silently close the door behind her.

The kitchen in the main house is dimly lit with the muted glow of the overhead light above the stove. She moves towards it almost like a beacon, but stops when she hears the paddling once again and then a soft splash. Stella blinks into the darkness and is able to make out the silhouette of someone in the pool.

“Karen?” she whispers.

“Oh shit,” Karen whispers back. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I...no.” Stella steps cautiously towards the pool. Her eyes are adjusting more to the darkness and she can make out the dark shape of Karen swimming towards her from the opposite side. She reaches the edge just as Karen does.

“You should come in.”

“I’m not sure where I put my swimsuit. I’d probably wake Hank trying to find it.”

Karen laughs quietly. “Who needs a swimsuit?”

“I’ve never skinny dipped before.”

“It’s fantastic. Especially after midnight.”

“Is that why you’re out here at this hour?”

“Sort of a habit of mine if I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“If I knew, I’d probably be able to sleep.” Karen suddenly dunks her head underwater and then comes back up and clears the water from her face. “Come in. I always bring extra towels down, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.”

Stella considers the available options of entering the pool. She decides to use the stairs in the shallow end and leave her nightclothes on one of the deck chairs nearby. She undresses with her back to the pool, but doesn’t hesitate to turn around and descend the steps. Initially bracing herself for a sudden chill, she’s pleasantly surprised that even though she knows it’s heated, it’s still warmer than she was expecting.

As she wades in further, past her knees, past her hips, up to her shoulders, she’s amazed at how different and exhilarating it feels to slip through the water completely bare. She had no idea the absence of a swimsuit would make such a difference. Towards the deeper end of the pool, Karen floats silently on her back and Stella glides closer.

“You’re right,” Stella says. “It is fantastic.”

“Mmhm.”

Doing a half-turn, Stella lays her head back and pulls her legs up before natural buoyancy takes over and she relaxes, floating next to Karen, but in the opposite direction. There is no moon that she can see, but the longer she stares up into the sky, the more stars appear.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Karen says. “But, you didn’t seem like yourself at dinner. Everything okay?”

Stella could easily lie and tell her everything is fine, but even the thought of it feels wrong to her and she doesn’t want to risk putting up walls between herself and Karen. Not when all she needs to do is share such a small piece of herself.

“No, it isn’t,” Stella says. “I had a student that was absent from my lecture this afternoon and found out at the end of class that he had tested positive and is in hospital.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I don’t know what the proper thing to do is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking over it all evening. I’ve been...reflecting on certain experiences in my life. One in particular, which was quite challenging.”

Stella doesn’t realize she’s drifted so far until she bumps the side of the pool. She pushes lightly away until she’s back to center.

“What was it?” Karen asks. “Or, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“One of the last cases I worked as an active investigator was a serial rapist and murderer. It was extremely taxing for a variety of reasons, but when we had the suspect in custody, he managed to overpower one of the guards and attack me during an interrogation.”

“Jesus!”

“It was vicious and brutal and to put it bluntly, I was severely beaten.”

“Oh my god, Stella.” Karen finds Stella’s hand in the water and holds it tightly.

“I’m quite alright. It was many years ago now.” Stella gives Karen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but Karen doesn’t let go.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s alright. The reason it’s been on my mind is because whilst in hospital being treated after the incident, I had a very kind doctor who sat with me because he didn’t like the idea that I was alone. It occurred to him, but it did not occur to me, that I might need someone. I had no close friends, no family, no relationship to speak of because I could not and would not let anyone close to me.”

Karen let’s go of Stella’s hand. The water ripples around them as Karen comes out of her float and treads water beside her. Stella also comes out of her float and begins to tread water.

“How did you get from there to here?” Karen asks.

“I’m a work in progress. Do you know that it took me years just to be able to hold Hank’s hand in public?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Stella breathes deeply and lifts her left hand out of the water to flex her fingers. Her wedding ring twinkles softly. “I called Hank, actually,” she says. “After the case was closed and I returned home, just a few days after being released from the hospital. I called him. I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only asked him if he would come to London to see me and he came straight away.”

“That certainly sounds like Hank.”

“We had only met twice before that. And both times...to be perfectly frank, our only connection was sex. I asked him to come to London knowing full well there was a strong possibility he would be angry with me for luring him out under false pretenses.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do that. And not just because you guys are where you are today, but because I know Hank.”

“I didn’t know him. Not at that time. I only knew that I did not want to be alone and he was the only person I could think of that might not judge me for it.”

“Do you know, that’s something that used to piss me off so much about him? I always felt like he was such a selfish prick because he would drop everything for anyone at any time, no questions asked, regardless of how I felt about it. But, really, I was the selfish prick because what I really wanted was for his full attention and to make me his only priority.”

“I had to learn how to bth be a priority and to prioritize someone else into my life.”

“The funny thing is, even when I was his only priority, I still wasn’t happy.” Karen shakes her head suddenly and then dunks herself underwater. She comes back up, slicking her hair back. “Let’s come over to where we can stand. My arms are getting tired.”

Stella follows Karen towards the shallow end of the pool. Where Karen can stand with the tops of her shoulders exposed, Stella is still chin deep and moves back just a bit.

“Back to your story,” Karen says. “I don’t think you were finished.”

“It’s just that what we’ve seen, what we’ve read, I know that those that have fallen ill and are in hospital are alone. And not by choice. There is no option to have a loved one sit by.”

“It fucking sucks. I don’t even like the thought of it.”

“I know. But, it makes me think back on the training I went through and how it was instilled in me to be calm, rational, to think critically, to compartmentalize my emotions to be able to do the job.”

“You were a really fucking good detective, weren’t you? Hank said you were.”

“I was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes. And no. When I began teaching, I saw it as an opportunity to mold my students into the kind of detective that I was. I think I may also be guiding them towards the same mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“It took me a very long time to learn compassion and empathy, and how to use it appropriately.”

“Is that something that can really be learned?”

“I think so. I told my students at the start of all of this, we were going to proceed as though nothing has changed. That this would be a lesson in adaptation to swiftly changing circumstances.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind.”

“I should have stopped to consider the effect this might have on their mental health. Stressed the importance of self-care. All I’ve wanted is to prepare them in the way that I was, but I should also be preparing them in the ways that I wasn’t.”

“What do you think you should do? To prepare them?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

“Maybe just ask them how they’re doing.”

“I thought of that, but in my head it sounds so very superficial. When I thought about the student that’s ill, it occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him. Any of them. I don’t know why they’re in my class except that it’s a required course in the criminal justice curriculum. I don’t know where they are now or who they’re with or even if they’re alone. They’re all so much younger than Becca. I’m...worried for them.”

“I think you’ve got the hang of the compassion thing pretty well.”

“I think I preferred being emotionally stunted.”

“No, you didn’t.” Karen chuckles a little and then tips her head back. She slips easily into another float.

Stella pinches her nose and takes a deep breath. She dunks herself and stays under the surface of the water for as long as she can hold her breath and then rises slowly. She goes under again, this time doing a front stroke, gliding as far as she can before twisting while still underwater and coming up to her back. She grows drowsy as she floats somewhere in the middle of the pool, under the stars. She can finally see the half-moon, cresting high to the east.

“I’m pruning,” Karen says after what feels like hours.

Stella is slow to follow, only just coming out of her float as Karen is taking the steps up out of the pool, moonlight glowing off her hair and shoulders. Stella glides to the shallow end, accepting a large, soft towel from Karen even before she’s half-way out.

“Let me know if you ever feel like a midnight swim again,” Karen says. “It was nice to have someone else with me.”

“Fish never comes down with you?”

“How’s this for irony, Fish doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.” Stella laughs lightly. “That is...unexpected.”

“He does come down sometimes though. Sits on the edge and gets his feet wet.”

“Well, if you’re feeling the need as well and want someone to join you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Sleep well.”

“Good night.”

Stella retrieves her nightclothes and heads back to the guest house. She enters as quietly as she left and tosses her clothes off somewhere in the dark. It isn’t quietly enough though, and Hank shifts in bed.

“Stella?” he murmurs.

“Go back to sleep,” she says. She towel-dries her hair and hangs the damp towel up on the hook in the bathroom before she heads to bed. When she slips under the sheets, Hank rolls towards her and drapes a heavy arm over her.

“Your hair is wet,” he mumbles against the back of her shoulder. “And you smell like chlorine.”

“I went for a swim.”

“Mm.” He grunts a little and his hand makes a path from her hip to the back of her thigh. “You’re not wearing anything, Sherlock.”

“No. I didn’t know where my suit was and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are you saying you went skinny dipping? Without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“If nudity is involved, you should always wake me.”

“It was rather spontaneous. Karen was-”

“Karen?” Hank picks his head up and peers over her shoulder at her. “You and Karen were out there skinny dipping?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, no. Nope. Not a problem. There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now and none of them are a problem.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well, too late for that. My ideas even have ideas.” He pushes his hips lazily into hers and rubs her hip.

“We had a nice swim and a chat.”

“What about?”

“A student of mine tested positive. He’s in hospital.”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I don’t know.”

He snuggles closer to her and sighs. She pats his arm for him to ease his grip on her and then shifts onto her back. He rolls over as well and they lay in the dark on their backs, similar to how she had just been floating in the pool with Karen. She reaches blindly for his hand and twines her fingers into his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“The second life you’ve given me.”

“Same.”

She turns and curls towards him, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

*****

The pasties don’t turn out quite like how they’re supposed to, but they make her feel nostalgic. She ends up sharing a few anecdotes from her childhood over dinner that she hasn’t thought about in years. Then Fish tells a few tales, then Karen, then Hank, and then Becca. It feels normal and like for a few short hours, the problems of the world fade away. It gives her an idea.

At Friday’s lecture, instead of wearing work attire, Stella dresses in more casual clothes: a white linen button-down tunic with the sleeves rolled up her forearms to the elbows, and jeans. She doesn’t curl her hair, merely clips it back out of her face, and doesn’t wear any make-up.

“Good morning,” she starts. “We’ll begin momentarily, but first I would like you all to know that I believe I was wrong when I told you that we should proceed with this course as though nothing has changed. We are all living through an unprecedented time that is characterized by fear and uncertainty. You may be feeling anxious or overwhelmed right now. You may not even understand how you feel.

“What I would like you to know is that your emotional and mental well-being is just as important as your training. There isn’t enough schooling in the world that’s going to fully prepare you for what it’s like, emotionally, when you walk into your first crime scene, or speak with someone who’s just been through a trauma, or have to face the mother, father, husband, wife, children of someone who was the unfortunate victim of a homicide. Or what it does to you after many years.

“We need to be mindful, I think. More mindful now, more than ever. If you are struggling in any way, I would like to know. And I don’t mean just with the course, I mean in any way. I will help you.”

Stella stops and assesses the gallery of students on the screen. There is silence in the classroom. No notifications for messages. Someone unmutes themselves to give a brief ‘thank you, Professor,’ and others follow.

“In lieu of starting our next chapter on Monday, when we resume after the weekend, the assignment I am giving to you is to think of the place you would most like to be right now. Any place at all. Change your background for the day into that place. For the hour and a half we convene that morning, I want to hear from all of you why you’ve chosen that particular place.”

“Will you be changing your background too, Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Yes.” She pauses again to glance through the gallery. “The last thing I’d like to request before we begin the lecture is that you keep Mr. Diaz in your thoughts. If anyone has any updates on his condition, please share them with me as well.”

Over the weekend, two students will email Stella with the anxieties they’ve been experiencing and one reaches out to tell her that Hector Diaz has been put on a ventilator.

*****

At dinner that night, over lemon herb chicken and grilled asparagus, Stella tells them her plans for Monday’s class.

“Where you gonna pick?” Fish asks.

“I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that question all day,” she answers.

“Does it have to be somewhere you want to go or somewhere you’ve already been?” Becca asks.

“Any place. No restrictions.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Morocco,” Karen says.

“I really liked Japan,” Becca muses, stabbing at a spear of asparagus. “I think I would go back there.”

“Bora Bora,” Hank answers, reaching under the table to slide his hand over Stella’s knee. “Hands down, favorite vacation ever.”

“Oh?” she says. “Not Switzerland?”

He chuckles and gives her knee a shake as he shakes his head.

“Karebear, soon’s this is over and things open up, we’ll go to Morocco.”

“Where would you go, Fish?” Stella asks.

“I like it here.”

“That’s cheating,” Hank says, ratting the ice cubes in his whiskey glass. “You have to name another place.”

“Why? I got my BBQ and I’m surrounded by beautiful ladies, not to mention your ugly mug. Why’d I wanna go any place else?

”He has a point,” Stella answers, leaning into Hank’s side. He pinches her knee and she slaps his hand in retaliation.

“I also want to go to Greece,” Becca says.

“Greece is lovely,” Stella tells her. “Definitely go when you get a chance.”

They move on to another topic, but Stella continues to ponder where she’d choose to be, if she could be anywhere. The sun is setting as they clear the dishes and it reminds her of her wedding day at the clearing behind the woods. She pauses in rinsing plates and stares out the kitchen window.

Becca waves a hand in front of Stella’s face, breaking the light trance she finds herself in. She blinks and hands Becca the plate to load into the dishwasher. “Sorry,” she says.

“You totally zoned out there for a minute,” Becca says.

“The spot through the woods where your father and I were married, do you know the way there?”

“Sure. It’s down the back path.”

“Can we go there? Right now?”

“Yeah.”

They leave the rest of the dishes in the sink. Karen is wiping down the table and Becca calls to her that they’ll be right back to finish up. Stella follows Becca down the path away from the guest house. The woods are more lush and overgrown than they had been in the fall of her wedding. They step carefully so as not to trip over tree roots that have come unearthed, but finally they come out of it onto the other side and it’s just as she remembers it.

The sun is still above the treetops and the sky is a myriad of pastel shades of blue and pink and purple. She steps onto the manicured lawn and pulls her phone out of her pocket. She takes her time setting up the shot that she wants and then snaps a few photos. Becca stands beside her and after a few moments, lays her head on Stella’s shoulder. They stand quietly and watch the sun go down.

“I’m really glad you guys decided to come up and stay,” Becca says.

“I am as well.” Stella puts her phone in her pocket and links her arm with Becca’s.

“I thought I’d be cool being alone. I like being alone. And then after a week of it I was already...I guess I don’t like being alone as much as I thought I did. I like to be by myself, but with other people around. Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Why’d you want to come out to this spot?”

“Because I think that I already am where I want to be.”

“Like Fish.”

“Yeah.”

“I really hope that kid in your class is okay.”

“I do as well.”

“Do you think this will be over any time soon?”

Stella shakes her head lightly. “Not any time soon.”

*****

Monday’s class goes well. She starts off the informal chat by sharing that the photo she took over the weekend is where she was married and leaves it at that. A majority of students have chosen tropical locations as their preferred destination. One chooses his grandparent’s farm. Another has a cabin in winter. She’s surprised to see familiar scenery in one background that pops up.

“Am I mistaken, Mr. Peterson, or is that Kensington Gardens?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers. “My mother is from London. Her parents lived in Bayswater and we would visit every summer when I was little.”

“Is it safe to say you likely read Peter Pan just as often?”

He nods and laughs. “I was convinced the more time I spent there it might increase my chances of meeting him and being able to go to Neverland.”

“I have very fond memories of the park from my youth as well.”

The hours fly by and class comes to a close. She reminds her students to start on the next chapter and submit any questions ahead of the next lecture. When she closes her computer, she feels lighter.

At dinner, they ask how it went and though she would be able to recite to them every story she heard that day, she limits it to the most interesting or humorous. It’s a good start to the week and it makes her feel optimistic.

*****

The weekend comes and Hank spends most of the day with Fish, in preparation for the children’s concert. There are last minute practice sessions and testing of equipment to be done. Stella is both surprised and amused that Hank has taken such an interest in helping Fish with his students.

At the prescribed time, Stella, Becca, and Karen gather in the sitting room where Becca has set up the Zoom link to appear on the television somehow. Because the concert is early in the evening, dinner is postponed until later. Some of Fish’s students are quite young, only five or six years old, and they have strict bedtimes. The littlest one is a girl that plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a pink guitar so small it’s hardly bigger than a ukulele.

As the concert goes on, the kids progress in skill. Hank’s duet with the boy named Dylan is towards the end. It’s clear the boy is exceptional, but lacks confidence. There’s a tremble in his voice when he introduces himself and the song.

“My name is Hank, I’ll be joining Dylan tonight,” Hank says. “Any wrong notes you might hear belong to me and not the kid.”

The first few bars come slowly and haltingly, but once Dylan gets going, the song seems to pour out of him fluidly. His eyes stay fixed on the screen like he’s following along with Hank, keeping in sync and on tempo. When the song ends, the boy puffs his cheeks up and lets out a huge breath and his shoulders loosen.

“Virtual fist bump, D,” Hank says, holding a fist out and leaning towards the eye of the camera on him. “Bring it in.”

There are three more students after Dylan, one other boy and lastly, two sisters on electric guitar playing I Love Rock ‘N Roll. Even without knowing much about modern music or rock, Stella is quite impressed by the whole thing.

Dinner feels festive that night. Fish floats high on the success of the concert and fields calls from happy parents as he grills steaks. Becca reminisces about her time in a band and how much she used to love playing. Karen finds some videos on her phone from a few of those concerts. Hank tells a story about buying Becca her first guitar, and Becca follows with a story about Hank getting her an even better vintage guitar from a man that was clearly having a hard time making ends meet.

“He was trying to sell it back to the guitar store,” Becca says. “He had a little kid with him and you could really tell things weren’t going great, otherwise he would not be getting rid of a ‘61 Les Paul Special.”

“Beckster, I hope you still have that guitar,” Fish says.

“Of course I do.”

“Pete Townshend plays that guitar.”

“Who?” Hank asks.

“Wiseass,” Fish retorts.

“Anyway, the guy at the shop wasn’t interested,” Becca continues, and Stella recognizes the adoring look on her face as she tells the story. “But, since we were there to get a guitar, we really didn’t care where it came from. Dad stopped the guy on his way out and handed him an envelope of cash.”

Hank shrugs it off. “Dads gotta stick together.”

They part ways for the night after dinner. After finishing her nightly rituals in the bathroom, when she comes out, Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed with a guitar in his lap. She stands before him, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play,” she says.

“Guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“You’re quite good.”

“I’ve been practicing something for you.”

“Have you?”

He nods and plucks the guitar strings softly as he adjusts the tuning pegs. “Forgive the singing, I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.”

“A full serenade?” she asks with a smile.

“Goin’ all out for you.”

He starts playing and she doesn’t immediately recognize the tune, but just before he starts singing she realizes it’s Elton John’s Your Song. He’s right about not being the world’s greatest singer, but she doesn’t hear any imperfections. She only hears the man that loves her playing a song for her. Never in a million years would she have considered herself to be susceptible to something so cliche and sappy, but she is. It makes her chest ache in the best possible way, filled with how much she feels for him that she never thought she was capable of.

When he finishes, he looks up at her and smiles. She takes the guitar out of his hands and sets it aside. In two steps, she’s back before him and then straddles his lap. He pulls her in close and she cups his face in her hands.

“Go slow,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Despite the request, he leans back just a little and takes the bottom of the shirt to pull it off. He doesn’t remove her bra though, not yet. Instead, he buries his face in the valley of her breasts. He traces her peaks and curves with his tongue and then scrapes his teeth over the satin cups before pulling one side down to take her into his mouth. She threads her fingers through his hair to encourage him, reminding herself that even if this act doesn’t do much for her, it’s a form of worship for him.

Without warning, he takes a hard grip on the backs of her thighs and stands just long enough to turn the tables and have her on her back on the bed. He’s above her on his knees and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt and yank it off. She dips her fingers into the top of his jeans to pull him to her, but he takes her hands, one by one, and pins them to the bed above her head.

“Slow,” he says.

She nods, but arches up and pushes her chest into his. He eases his weight onto her to keep her in place and she wraps her legs around his hips. When he kisses her, he goes in deep and she moans her approval. He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around his back as he cradles her head.

She’s never told him this, but one of the reasons she prefers hard and fast over slow is that she doesn’t like the time that slowness gives her to think. It makes her susceptible, vulnerable, and opens something inside her like a deep need for more of him. Not physically, but emotionally. The slower he goes, the more she needs him and the more afraid she becomes of losing what she has because it’s so perfect. Perfectly messy and challenging and exasperating and lovely and crazy and perfect. Tonight, she thinks that if she were to ever lose him, she would lose so much more than just him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing at all.”

“There’s something.”

“I think I just understand what you meant a few weeks ago when you told me I was the only thing that made sense to you. Everything is right. Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart, you feel right. And...for the first time in my life, I am grateful to have someone by my side.”

“All that and you haven’t even been dicked down yet. I should’ve been singing to you years ago.”

“Rest assured it certainly wasn’t your voice that led me to that conclusion.”

“Ouch.”

She caresses his back lightly and then holds the back of his neck as her thumbs skim along his jaw. He leans in to kiss her again and again and again. They rock against each other. Stella pushes up and pulls him down just as he presses into her and pulls her up. They’re both breathless before they even manage to start removing the rest of their clothes. Her bra is the next thing to go and then his pants, her pants and lastly her panties. His jockey shorts only make it past his hips.

They both groan in relief when he enters her. She folds her knees back towards her chest and takes a firm grip on his ass. He starts off slow and deep, lazily rolling his hips against her. There’s sweat at his temples, but not from exertion, from the self-control he’s using to make it last. He pulls out and rolls them over so she’s on top.

“Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“Just giving you a chance to drive for awhile.”

“You’re a very generous lover.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She holds his gaze as she sinks down onto him. “I’m already right where I want to be.”

They play with the give and take for a bit, bantering and bartering for dominance and control of the pace, but then it gets serious. He brings her to her first orgasm with his hands as she grinds down onto him and he waits for her thighs to stop quaking before bringing her to her hands and knees. The stinging slap of his hand on her ass as he drives into her ushers in her second release. He soon follows, groaning out his pleasure as he pulls so roughly at her hips that she can already feel the sweet bruises blooming under his fingers.

They both collapse. He drags her up against him even though they’re both hot and sweaty and slippery. Her hair is damp and clings to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“In case you were wondering if quarantine had affected my virility, I think you just got your answer,” he says.

“Your virility is always my top concern.”

“Mm.” He kisses the back of her arm and rests the side of his face on her bicep. “What do you think about going skinny dipping? Unless you can only get naked in the pool with my ex.”

“Now?”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes, I’ve a rendezvous with my other husband in an hour’s time.”

“We can make it a quick dip then so you don’t have to keep him waiting.”

She chuckles softly as he presses exaggerated kisses down her arm and hip and belly. And then he lays his head down on her thigh and she strokes his hair for some time, content to soak in the afterglow. He finally gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns with two towels.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he says. “I want to get my naked in the pool with you.”

*****

Stella wakes in the morning to the sound of rain. The room is darker than usual, even for the early hour. She manages to slide out of bed without disturbing Hank and she grabs her robe to wrap up in before opening her laptop and sitting down at the small table in the corner. She has four emails from late yesterday evening all with the subject: Hector Diaz. She only opens the first one and then closes her laptop and sits in silence until Hank wakes.

“No fair not being naked,” Hank mumbles as his eyes drift open and shut. He rolls over and stretches languidly. When she doesn’t respond, he lifts up onto his elbows and blinks at her, hair spiking up unnaturally at all angles. “What’s wrong, Sherlock? Whatever I’ve done to piss you off before even waking up, I sincerely apologize.”

“My student succumbed last night.”

“Succumbed as in…”

Stella nods and steeples her hands in front of her chin.

“Shit,” Hank whispers and then drags half the bedsheets with him as he tries to get out of bed. He kneels down next to where she’s sitting and looks up at her. “Stella, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

*****

Sunday is brunch day, another meal where they gather together. And though Stella has no appetite, she heads to the main house with Hank anyway, determined not to sit and wallow. Besides, the rain has stopped and the sky is beginning to open up. As they make their way across the soaked grass and around the pool, he hooks his pinkie finger with hers and gives her a squeeze. She holds on, feeling anchored in that moment.

“Hey,” Karen greets as Hank opens the sliding door and ushers Stella inside. “I just put a fruit platter in the fridge. Becca wants waffles so I was looking for the...what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asks, already weary.

“Her student,” Hank answers.

“Fuck. No. Fuck. Really?” Karen is on Stella in an instant, smothering her an embrace so tight it makes Stella’s eyes water.

“It’s okay,” Stella murmurs, patting Karen lightly on the back.

“It’s not okay. I know you’re being polite, but it fucking sucks, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Karen sighs and releases Stella from her embrace, but keeps one arm around her shoulder. “What can we do?” she asks.

“Nothing. I need to consider what I’ll say in class tomorrow, but I don’t believe there’s anything that will help.”

“Right. It just feels so senseless, doesn’t it? All of it. So…”

“Yes.”

“However you need to deal with it, we’re all here. For whatever.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that.”

Stella does appreciate the sentiment very much, but she knows she also has a long way to go when it comes to openly sharing her feelings without thoroughly processing them ahead of time. She has spent too much of her life alone and had little use for depending upon anyone else. And the simple fact is, she’s confused and frightened by this situation. It’s not something she has authority or expertise in. She can’t control it or delegate tasks on it and hold anyone accountable. Even if she was still a DSI Gibson of the MPS, she would be futile.

*****

Stella spends Sunday evening in the upstairs office responding to messages from her students. As word spreads, her inbox fills with hesitant inquiries if her offer to chat informally is still open. She does her best to offer words of wisdom or comfort, knowing full well anything she says is inadequate.

Even though Stella has left the door to the office open, Becca knocks on the frame and waits for an invitation before she enters. Stella removes her glasses and beckons her in, glad for a reprieve from the glowing screen. Words have started to blur.

“I’m going to make some hibiscus tea,” Becca says. “Thought I’d see if you wanted some.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t trust a Yank with a tea kettle?”

Stella smiles. “I can’t think of a thing I wouldn’t trust you with, darling girl.”

“I also wanted to ask if you’ve thought of what to say to your kids tomorrow.” Becca plops down in the chair across from the desk and slouches, linking her fingers across her abdomen.

“My kids,” Stella murmurs, softly. “Such an unfortunate age to be in your first years university, isn’t it? Not quite an adult, not really a child.”

“Every age feels unfortunate when you’re there. And then you look back and think, it wasn’t so bad as I thought.”

“Yes, I think you might be right about that.”

“Teen angst was just becoming fashionable when I went through it. And I had a lot of it.”

“I can imagine that you did.”

Becca grins cheekily. “A lot of it was just for attention. Back then, with those two, they rarely heard anything except for themselves.”

“I’m glad things are different now for you.”

“I’m just glad they’re different. I don’t know if the me of ten years ago could deal with the situation we’re in today. Not like your kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was pretty ragey. I felt really destructive. Like I wanted to scream and yell and break shit all the time. I got some of it out when I played music. And then I started college not knowing what the hell I wanted to do. Your kids though, they’re probably driven. I can’t imagine anyone that isn’t highly focused or motivated studying criminology. Wanting to make that their career.”

“Would it surprise you then to find out that I was more like you in my youth than you think?”

“Really?” Becca looks at Stella with a certain degree of skepticism. “No, I can’t really picture it.”

“My outlets were...less creative.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re definitely not the artsy type. That’s for sure. What were your outlets then? Breaking shit?”

“Sex. Drugs. Self-harm.”

Becca’s eyebrows shoot straight up and she sits taller. “No way.”

“Very destructive. Yet, also highly focused and motivated.”

“Then I guess the question is, what would you go back and tell yourself if you were where we are now, but back then.”

“Ah. That is what I’ve been pondering.”

“It’s like when people say they wish they knew then what they know now.”

“Yes, very much so.”

“I think you’ll figure it out then. You’re the most intelligent person I know.”

“Thank you, Becca. For this chat and for the offer for tea.”

“Anytime you want to try my tea, you let me know. I can be trusted.”

“Absolutely.”

Becca pushes herself up from the arms of the chair and then she comes around to the back of the desk. She leans down and Stella turns to meet her in an embrace. Becca kisses Stella’s cheek before she leaves and a calmness comes over Stella.

*****

“I want to start today’s lecture by thanking each and every one of you for being here today,” Stella says. “For finding the motivation to be present when I know this is probably not how you’d like to be spending your afternoon. There wasn’t a single one out of all of you who did not reach out to me yesterday in response to Mr. Diaz’s passing. I find that to be exceedingly remarkable and it speaks not only to your character, but also of the effect that one person can have on your life.”

She pauses, her eyes moving over the kaleidoscope of her students’ faces on her screen. Tiny boxes holding the weight of grief and despair and disappointment.

“I wish that I could tell you this soon will pass. I wish that I could tell you this will be the last time you’ll have to endure what feels so senseless. But, I also know that you are in my class and on this path because of who you are.

“You are the ones that want to make a difference. You want to help. You want to right wrongs. You want to make the world a better place. You will only do some of that. Along the way you will feel discouraged, frustrated, and angry. What you do with your frustration and anger, your grief over what you can not change, is what will define you, and either make you a better person, or not.

“I want to reiterate my request to you to seek help. If not from me, from the school resources, from qualified professionals, from family, from friends. I promise you it is not a weakness, it is a necessity. And it is something I very much wish that someone had told me when I was in your position.”

Stella ends with a deep breath. She considers the group in front of her again. Her kids. She feels a deep and painful connection with them in this moment that she knows intellectually is a form of trauma bonding, but it doesn’t make it less real. They are the only ones who know what it’s like to be in this space, together, at this time. It feels like a watershed moment in all their lives. She only hopes the ultimate impact will be positive.

“Let us take a moment to thank Mr. Diaz for his contribution to our class and we’ll begin in his honor.”

*****

Stella comes down from her lecture feeling hopeful. Despite everything, her class was engaged and thoughtful. She expects to find everyone gathered in the sitting room or kitchen, as they tend to do in the late afternoon, but there��s only Fish, sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal, gazing out the window.

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Beckster and Karebear went for a walk. Moody took over Dylan’s guitar lesson today so they can continue an argument over who rocks harder, The Stones or Zeppelin.”

“Thank you for giving him something to do.”

“No, thank you. The kids love ‘im. He’s helped expand the business.”

“I thought you did this for free.”

Fish shrugs. “Business is business. The more the better.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in thanking you for allowing us to stay with you.”

“Bah.”

“I feel I only ever really speak with Karen about it, but I should be thanking you as well.”

“More the better. Family’s gotta stick together.”

“Yes, that’s what...I’m learning that.”

“Your class go okay? Kids alright?”

“I think they will be. I wish I knew how to do more though. Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought lately and I think that I might enroll in some psychology courses.”

“Huh. Would’ve thought with all you’ve done you’d’ve studied some psych.”

“Yes, I have two of my degrees in Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology. But, I was thinking of studying Child Psychology this time around.”

“How many degrees you got?”

“Hundreds,” she murmurs.

Fish nods thoughtfully. “Architecture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I got one up on ya then!”

She smiles. “And I can not play an instrument either.”

“I’ll teach ya. Come on in the studio some time.”

“I may have to take you up on that offer once the semester ends.”

“Hot dog. Got a guitar with your name on it even.”

“In two weeks time, I’d be happy to join the ranks of your esteemed pupils.”

*****

The week drags by. Even the weather seems depressed, raining most mornings and staying overcast throughout the day. Her students are subdued. Stella starts sleeping fitfully again, exhausting herself by the weekend. Sunday morning she wakes alone, which is strange. She’s usually up well before Hank on any given day and it’s still fairly early. It’s brunch day, so she doesn’t feel much compulsion to get up, but when she looks at her phone she also realizes it’s Mother’s Day.

Although she wonders where Hank has gone, she’s only mildly curious and not worried. It’s entirely possible he needed to help Fish with some lessons and forgot to inform her. She is surprised that she didn’t even feel him slip out of bed or hear him leave.

Stella gets out of bed and opens the closet. She’s had a gift for Karen stowed away that she’s needed to wrap for a few weeks: a photo of Becca on an evening they’d gone to dinner, back when she’d visited London and Hank and Stella were still living there. She’d had the photo turned to black and white, printed, matted and framed. Thank goodness for online ordering. All she needs to do is wrap it in tissue paper and arrange it nicely in the gift bag she also ordered.

And there’s also the matter of the card. She’s had it for weeks and has struggled to find the words she wants to write. It’s times like this that she’s envious of Hank and of Becca and their ability to express themselves so honestly. She sits at the desk with the blank card and a pen in hand.

Karen,

Thank you for sharing your daughter with me and for welcoming me into her life as well as yours. You will never know how much I have learned about what it means to be a mother from you. Thank you for your generosity and wisdom. You are an inspiration and you will forever have my esteem and my admiration and my gratitude.

Warm regards, Stella

Stella sighs and puts down the pen. It’s taken her a quarter of an hour to write the card and she’s still not sure if it’s adequate. It will have to be. She slips the card into its envelope, seals it, and writes Karen’s name on the front before she tucks it into the gift bag. And then she gets herself ready for brunch.

It’s surprisingly sunny and warm out. No rain and not a cloud in the sky. Karen is sitting at the patio table with sunglasses on, reading a book, when Stella comes up to the house. She waves her hand slightly as Stella approaches and closes her book.

“We’re banned from the kitchen,” Karen says. “They’re cooking up some sort of surprise in there.”

“Do we trust them?”

“I think so. Knowing Fish he would try to grill pancakes if he could, but since we’re not banned from the patio, that’s probably a good sign.”

Stella laughs and sits down across from Karen. Shyly, she slides the gift bag across the table towards her, grateful that she actually has the opportunity to give Karen the gift while they’re alone.

“What’s this?” Karen asks.

“I wanted to get you something.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even because I got you something too.” Karen reaches down and presents a similarly sized gift bag to Stella. They both laugh.

“Shall we open them at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Stella rifles through the tissue paper in her bag and Karen does the same. Since Karen takes the card out first, Stella does the same. Her name is written on the front in black calligraphy. The card itself is made of parchment paper and very simple. There are two birds in watercolor on the front, a large bird and a smaller bird.

Stella - Let me be the first to wish you the happiest of Mother’s Days and know that I couldn’t have asked for a better bonus Mom for Becca than you. You have enriched her life as well as mine and I am so so so so so so so happy to share this day with you.

Love, Karen

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Karen says, putting the card down and reaching across the table for Stella’s hands. Stella’s own eyes are watering as she gives Karen’s her hands.

“Words are not my forte like how they are for Hank and Becca,” Stella says.

Karen squeezes Stella’s hands tightly. “Are you kidding me? This is an amazing card, thank you.”

“What you wrote means a lot to me as well.”

“Ach, okay.” Karen lets go of Stella’s hands and then fans her face for a few moments. “Too much emotion without food. Let’s see what we got!”

There’s square box inside Stella’s bag and when she slices through the tape holding it closed with her thumbnail, she finds a framed photo of her and Becca from her wedding day. They both laugh again when they realize they both got each other photos of Becca.

“Obviously, Mom minds think alike,” Karen says.

“That must be it.”

They’re still laughing when Becca comes outside, holding a pitcher. She gives them both a rather dubious look. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Look what we got each other!” Karen exclaims, holding up her photo. “Photos of you!”

“You guys are weird.”

“And it’s your fault, Rebecca Moody,” Karen answers, lightly smacking Becca on the backside just as Hank comes out the door with five champagne flutes in his hand.

“What’s she done?” Hank asks. “Whatever it is, I take full responsibility. Daughter, I will defend thee to the death.”

“They’re being weird and blaming me. And now you’re being weird.”

“Actually,” Karen says. “If you think about it, it really is Hank’s fault. If he hadn’t knocked me up, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I will definitely take all the credit there,” Hank answers, placing glasses around the table. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Mimosas?” Stella asks, nodding at the pitcher in Becca’s hands.

“Bellinis.”

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Karen says.

“Thank you,” Stella says as Becca pours her a Bellini, but she looks at Hank when she says it.

*****

Brunch is exceedingly festive. They eat too much, they drink too much, and laugh a lot. Becca presents Karen with a necklace and Stella with a bracelet, both of which are sterling silver chains holding three interlocking rings of diminishing sizes in copper, gold, and silver. When Karen asks if it’s supposed to be the three of them, Becca tells her they’re meant to represent the links between the past, present, and future. Stella would like to blame the champagne for the tears that spring to her eyes, but she can’t.

Late in the afternoon, she and Hank return to the guest house and she’s full and drowsy. He lays down with her and she falls asleep to the warm press of his lips on just about every patch of exposed skin he can find. When she wakes, it’s dark outside and Hank is at the table with half a sandwich in his mouth and papers strewn all over. He’s shirtless, glasses on, a red pen behind his ear. He rips a piece of sandwich off with his teeth and chews quickly.

“What’s up, Sleeping Beauty?” he asks.

“How long was I out for?”

He shrugs. “Hungry? Made some PBJs a bit ago.”

“Still full from brunch. You should’ve woken me.”

He takes his glasses off, puts his unfinished sandwich down, and sits back in his chair. He folds his hands and swivels back and forth a little as he looks at her. “You needed it,” he finally says.

“I suppose I did.”

“Feeling better?”

“Refreshed, more or less.” She sits up and slides out of bed with the wobbliness of the freshly woken. “You editing?”

“Sort of.”

“Mm.” She rubs her eyes and stretches.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m writing a song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, trying. I’m doing the lyrics and Fish is going to write the melody.”

“Oh, it’s Fish now? Are the two of you, dare I say, best friends now?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“So, you’ve formed a band?”

“Yeah, the new Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Reserve your judgement until we actually manage to piece together a song.”

Stella slides one arm around Hank’s shoulder and sits down in his lap. He pulls back a little in surprise, but circles her hips and turns to a more comfortable angle in the chair. She strokes his nape and touches his face.

“Have you thought about returning to New York at all?” she asks. “Not that we’re able to, but have you thought about it?”

He holds a breath for a moment and then expels it roughly and shakes his head a little. “No. You?”

She shakes her head no as well. “I think it was a wise decision, coming here.”

“I have to begrudgingly agree.” He tips his head back and looks down the bridge of his nose at her. “The skinny dipping may have tipped the scales, so feel free to make that a regular occurance.”

She pinches the back of his neck lightly in response and he gasps and then scoops her up into his arms as he gets up from the chair. She laughs and holds on as he tries to dump her onto the bed so he ends up going down with her.

“Should we test that virility of yours?” she asks, drawing one finger lightly up his spine.

“I could go for a check-up.”

She hums a little and touches his face. He presses his cheek into her hand and then turns to kiss her palm. The bracelet Becca gave her slips down her arm a few inches and Stella stares at it as Hank nuzzles the inside of her wrist.

“Karen was right,” Stella says.

“I hate it when she’s right. About what? Coming here?”

Yes, but if not for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Funny how it sounds less accusatory coming from you.”

“She’s grateful. You know she is.”

“All that matters to me is how you feel.”

“Also grateful. You have given me the family I never knew I wanted or needed.”

“Then I take full credit for knocking Karen up back in the day and we won’t even mention how lousy she was at remembering to take her birth control.”

Stella chuckles and closes her eyes as Hank leans in to kiss her face. She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #hank/stella #quarantine fic #now you know what's up

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remedialpotions · 5 years ago

Text

Tomorrow

ffn | ao3

He remembers their first kiss, that chaotic clash of lips and noses and bodies and adrenaline flooding through him. And the second, of course, a softer and sweeter one, in the quiet of an empty Gryffindor common room. In the very beginning, he couldn’t help but quantify it, seeking tangible evidence of what he wanted desperately to believe: that she wanted him, continued to want him, chose him to be hers. Other firsts, too, are burned permanently into his brain: her hands sneaking into his trousers; her knickers on the orange carpeting of his bedroom; her back arching with unbridled delight. But at some point in those weeks after the war, he lost track, and now when he looks back, it’s all blurred together into a rush of happiness that most of the time seems too good to be true.

At times he worries that it is, that somehow she’ll slip through his fingers and he’ll wake up one morning to find that he never really had her at all - or worse, that the world will find a way to wrench this away from them. It always feels like he’s on borrowed time.

So they’ve snuck away from Sunday lunch at the Burrow to hide in the apple orchard. Even though it’s one of those cool, foggy days for which England is famous, he’s content to lend her his jumper and let goosebumps rise along his skin, because it means he’s with her, and that’s all that matters.

All is calm between them. They’ve found their favorite little spot at the edge of the orchard, lounging against the trunk of a tree. Hermione’s head rests on his shoulder, her denim-clad legs slung casually over his lap. Her hand slips into his, and as he interlocks their fingers together, he notices ink stains on her fingertips.

A pang of melancholy shoots through him.

“Have you been revising already?” he asks, causing her head to lift up from his shoulder.

“I supposed I should get started on things,” she replies, only a little bit defensive, “I took a whole year off, I can only imagine how behind I am-“

“Mhmm,” Ron interrupts with a barely-suppressed grin. “You’re so behind that McGonagall’s made you Head Girl. That’s definitely it.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “I just think I ought to be prepared. Now that it’s NEWT year, there’s so much more reading, and I’ve had to start on the schedules for prefect duties too. There’s just a lot to do.”

“And what about ‘spew’?” This only deepens her scowl, but he delights in it. “You starting that up again?”

“You mean S-P-E-W?” she says, tone haughty, before heaving a sigh. “I’m not sure, honestly. My two most active members won’t be there with me.”

“Your most active members?” chuckles Ron. “We only joined under duress.”

She scoffs. “You were hardly under duress-“

“We were!” he exclaims. “You came marching in with your badges, told us we were joining and demanded two Sickles from us. Didn’t have much of a choice, did we?” He laughs again at the recollection. “You even gave us jobs - I was treasurer, wasn’t I?”

“According to the governing documentation, yes, you were,” she confirms with a nod. “Harry was secretary, but he was awful at it. He never took minutes at any of the meetings.”

She joins him in laughter, then, and leans into him, and for a second everything is perfect.

“Like I said,” Ron grins, dropping her hand to wind his arm around her shoulders. Idly, his fingers trace random shapes into the fabric of the jumper. “We were under duress.”

Hermione purses her lips as she looks up at him. “So you’ve changed your tune again, then, from a couple months ago?”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes are shining now, alight with mirth. “I seem to recall a certain someone being very concerned about the welfare of the Hogwarts elves.”

The memory crashes over him like it’s done countless times since it happened: the Room of Requirement, the castle shaking around them, and the never-ending queue of students escaping to the Hog’s Head.

“I just wanted them safe, that’s all,” he says simply. “It’s not like I was standing round trying to think of ways to impress you.“ He sets a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. “Though, it looks like it worked.”

Ron smiles at her, but his amusement fades when she doesn’t return it, instead puzzling up at him. “That’s not why I kissed you.” As his stomach twists, she adds, “not really, anyway. It didn’t have anything to do with S-P-E-W.”

His fingers stop moving across her shoulder. It had seemed so simple, months ago, when his mind was spinning to process the turn of events: he’d finally done the right thing. Finally proven himself worthy. Had put the last missing piece into place, right in the nick of time, just as everything else was falling apart.

“It is that I looked so dashing about to charge into battle, then? Was that it?”

His attempt at humor falls flat. She’s still contemplative, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. As Ron watches, her teeth scrape over her lower lip.

“I thought we were going to die.”

The words hang there between them as something tightens painfully in Ron’s chest. Everything about this thing with Hermione has been so marvelously unexpected, right down to the fact that it’s happening at all, but he still didn’t think he would hear that.

He’s not sure what he even thought she would say. Something perhaps about how she can’t live without him, or maybe something remarkably Hermione-ish about how he had finally ticked all the boxes of her boyfriend criteria and was now deemed suitable. Just not imminent demise.

Not as the main reason, anyway.

“So did you,” she says gently when he remains quiet. “You said ‘it’s now or never’.”

“I know.” Thoughts swirl through his anxious mind, slowly formulating themselves into something worth speaking. “I just thought it was about more than ‘we’re about to die, so I may as well’.”

She recoils, clearly stung, and pulls her legs roughly off his lap; his arm drops off of her shoulder. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, actually-“

“Well, then - what if it never happened?” he presses on, even as he can see, as though he’s watching himself from above, that he’s on the verge of ruining the best thing he’s ever had. “What if that battle never happened, or I hadn’t said what I did? Would…” The words stick momentarily in his throat. “Would we even be here right now?”

“If that battle hadn’t happened, we’d probably still be starving in the woods somewhere with Harry,” she says, fingers toying with the lush grass between them. “But I don’t really know, because it did happen, and it changed everything.”

“Yeah, it did,” he agrees. “But is it - are you saying that everything changed but you want to… go back to how it was?”

“No,” she says, with such force that he recoils. “No, of course not-” She shakes her head, baffled. “Ron, we’ve - we’ve been having sex, we’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other-”

He holds his hands up, at a loss. “People get caught up in things-”

She goggles at him. “I have no idea how you can think for even a second-”

“Because you just said you thought we were going to die-“

“So did you-“

“But then we didn’t.” The words fall heavy between them. “Now we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, and I’m…”

He hesitates, because baring his soul isn’t something he’s ever been remotely comfortable doing, but then he figures that there’s no harm in honesty. If he’s going to lose her, he at least wants to know that nothing’s been left unsaid.

“I’m scared.” He can feel her eyes on her, though he can’t bear to look. “I’m scared that now it’s not ‘I’m going to kiss him because we’ll be dead within the hour’, it’s this thing that you’ve done that has consequences now-“

“Consequences?!”

“Yeah, consequences. You kissed me ‘cause didn’t think you’d ever have to deal with it afterward, and I…” He exhales heavily through his nose. He can feel himself shaking. “And I’m scared you got more than you bargained for.”

There’s not a sound to be heard, save the occasional chirping of birds and the trickling of the nearby stream. Beside him, Hermione shifts onto her knees and sits back on her heels. Her hands land on his thigh, warm and grounding despite the damp chill in the air.

“Ron.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “When you said ‘it’s now or never’... what did you mean by that?”

He forces himself to meet her gaze and finds only concern there, only affection.

Maybe it’s not completely bungled after all.

“I just didn’t want to die having never kissed you.” Of their own accord, his hands slip around hers. “My life can be complete without a lot of things, but it wouldn’t have been complete without that.”

Hermione swallows, head bobbing in a shaky nod. And yet, beneath the nerves, there’s a glimmer of happiness.

“I felt the same way - feel the same way. I still do. When you said what you said, about the elves, and Dobby...” The corners of her lips twitch into a faint semblance of a smile. “It didn’t really have anything to do with them specifically. It just reminded me of how wonderful you are, and - and why I love you. I just couldn’t see the point in waiting anymore.”

He picks up her hand, kisses the back of her knuckles. “I love you too.”

Using her hand to tug her close, he leans in to kiss her, but just as their lips meet, she starts laughing against his mouth.

“Do you really think that I just start kissing people for the sake of it whenever I’m in mortal danger?” Even as she’s teasing him, the smile she gives him is downright adoring. He’s not sure what made him question this for even a second, because the proof is right there in front of him. “Is that really what you thought happened?”

“No, of course not,” he laughs along with her. “I just reckoned…” He pauses as the right words slowly come to him. “I guess I just never thought we’d actually have this.”

Her smile fades. “Ever?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere along the way, I just stopped letting myself picture any kind of future, especially a good one, and this - I just reckoned this would be another thing that went wrong. And I wouldn’t get to have everything I want with you.”

Hermione looks at him, eyes dark and intense, and then swings a knee over him to straddle his lap. With hands half-covered in maroon wool, she cups his face and presses her lips firmly to his. He sinks into it, tension seeping out of him at her touch: it really is going to be okay. It’s the first time he’s actually let himself believe it, even with the war firmly behind them. It finally feels safe to let that hope rise above all of the uncertainty and the anxiety that’s had a hold on him for so long. The future doesn’t just consist of stolen minutes and hours and days anymore. It’s weeks and months and years, and she’s in every single one of them.

“I think you’ve actually gone a bit mad,” says Hermione fondly as her hands slide down to the sides of his neck.

“Yeah, well.” Ron tugs lightly on the sides of her jumper. “Whose fault is that?”

“Just for the record,” she goes on, taking that lofty tone that should drive him mad but that he actually loves, “I kissed you because I want all of that-”

“I know, I know.” He steals a quick kiss, smiling when she leans in for more. “Reckon I already did, it’s just hard to believe sometimes.”

“For me, too,” she admits. Her fingertips graze along his shoulders, down to the scarred skin of his forearms, and she tilts her head in alarm at him. “Ron!”

“What?”

“You’re freezing!”

Another shrug. “A bit, maybe-”

“And here I am hogging your jumper, we really ought to go inside-”

“But I don’t really care,” he tells her plainly. “I just wanted to spend as much time with you as I could.”

“We’ve got time.” Her voice is soft, reassuring, soothing the last edges of his self-doubt. “We’ve got plenty of it now.”

He considers this. They’re eighteen years old, and life stretches out ahead of them with no end in sight. Perhaps he doesn’t actually have to grasp desperately at every second anymore.

“Right.” He pats the sides of her legs. “Get up, then. It’s about to be time for lunch, anyway.”

She clambers off of him, and they rise to their feet, brushing stray blades of grass from their jeans as they walk toward the house. He does feel a bit less frantic now. Hogwarts still looms in the future, but there’s still so much more to come.

As they traipse through the garden, Hermione’s hand worms into his, her other one wrapping around his upper arm. He looks down to see her beaming at him.

“I was just thinking,” she says, “that just because I’ll be away, it doesn’t mean you can’t still be involved in S-P-E-W. Maybe you can even head up the London chapter-“

Ron holds up a hand to stop her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

#romione #rhr #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #my writing #battle of hogwarts #inspired by a post on tumblr that led to a post on reddit that made me think about how great their first kiss really is #all I know how to write lately for these two is summer-after-the-war stuff #I just like them in a new relationship figuring it out and all blissed out on each other

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years ago

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Promises Not Kept Part 36

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 36: Alfie and Tommy discuss life. Meanwhile Johanna and Charles are up to no good.

“Tommy, mate, you’ve got to get a fucking grip.” Alfie and Tommy took the walk down out to the pier. It was a bit away from where they’d shot each other on the beach.

Alfie let the man take a few deep breaths of the salt air before he began. With a grunt, he sat down on one of the low dock posts.

Tommy remained standing, his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I mean, honestly, when Leah called me I thought you’d been shot. Or someone had died. She were hysterical, mate. Said you’d lost your fucking mind because your family had come for Christmas. Now, what’s that about, aye?” Alfie clasped his hands together between his knees.

“There’s a black cat in my family.” Tommy replied, not addressing any of his actions that Christmas day. It was embarrassing enough to know that his wife was so distraught and in such a state that she phoned Alfie Solomons.

“Right, now I’ve no fucking clue what that means.” Not the man to speak in riddles like the Shelbys, he skirted around the ominous remark. “I’ve enough common sense to know you’re referring to a traitor. That right?” The slight nod was enough of an indicator that Alfie was on the right track. “So, you’ve got your knickers in a twist because of one traitor? ‘Tween you and me, we both fucking know how many men we’ve gutted for being traitors. Now either you really have lost your bloody mind or you’re using it as a fucking excuse.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the chat with Alfie. What did anyone ever expect from the man? Even still, he was wise to use the tactic he’d used for years in regard to their interactions. He let the Camden Town gangster run his mouth until everything was said. He could handle the pokes and jabs Alfie made at him, that wasn’t an issue. If anything, he felt mildly comforted. As if things had gone back to a simpler time. Back to when they would meet in Alfie’s bakery. They would negotiate business, perhaps Alfie would pull a gun or dish out a few colorful threats. And yet both knew that they weren’t in any real danger. Because they had an understanding with each other. One that was unspoken. It’s why they weren’t enemies.

“Lookit you, Tom, have you even fucking realized that the world has kept on spinning? You’re out there doing the same shit you’ve always done, ‘cept now you’ve got a fancy new office at the Commons. What’s that brought you then? Just a nasty mess, innit? Now your family’s involved.”

“They were involved from the beginning.”

“No, no, not that family.” He waved a dismissive hand at the rest of the Shelby family. “Your family. Your wife and kids.”

There was a break in Alfie’s rambling. Enough for Tommy to listen to the waves crashing against the pier. Steady, rhythmic churning that felt a lot like the state of his brain at the current moment. Anxieties and anger kept sweeping in. Unrelenting waves of stress and the unbearable feeling of being caged in.

Alfie let out a low chuckle of pity and shook his head. “We’re men of habit, Tommy, ain’t we? Don’t fucking learn, right, from our mistakes ‘til it really does some fucking damage.” He subconsciously rubbed a hand over the mangled part of his face. “Think ‘bout it. All of us going off, yeah to that fucking War, seeing the shit we did, then they fucking expected us to just come back. Some men did, can’t fucking understand it. They must’ve been able to shut off that part of their brain or sumthin’.” He shrugged. “We saw blood over there, didn’t we? Then we came back and didn’t see none. And that didn’t feel right, did it? So, we made the streets into a warzone. That felt right.”

Tommy watched the crests of the waves as they glistened in the dim sunlight. The clouds had made it a gray afternoon and the sky seemed at odds with the dark angry sea.

“Does it feel right now, Tommy?”

Finally, he looked over at Alfie. In a moment of vulnerability, his defenses lowered. “I’ve dug in too deep.” He admitted in a low voice. “You, Leah, Polly, Arthur, whoever can blame me for what I’ve done. You can tell me I was wrong for getting involved with Mosley. I don’t even fucking care what me reason was in the first place. What matters now is I’ve done it. There’s no way to reverse it. I can only move forward. That’s all I’ve ever been able to do.” When his voice broke, he lifted a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Alfie peered up at him. “So, is this what happens when you’ve run out of answers? You lose your damn mind? Tryna hold everything together by a thread? May I remind you that you’ve got people ‘round you that are waiting patiently to fucking help you?”

Tommy lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Including you?”

Alfie rolled his eyes and muttered a few incoherent words. “Didn’t fucking say that, but if it means helping out your saint of a wife, then yes.” He replied gruffly.

“The world really is upside down.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Although they hadn’t covered much ground, at least Alfie had managed to get Tommy grounded. The ocean and their usual banter had a strangely calming effect. For how long it would last, neither of them was sure as they walked back to the house.

Unfortunately, it would only last a few minutes past walking in the door.

Tommy, ever the perceptive one, almost instantly caught on that something wasn’t right. Both Charlie and Johanna’s coats, which he had hung up on the coat rack, were gone. Yet, Leah’s was still there, ruling out that she’d taken them out for a walk. Cyril was also sitting by the door as if he were waiting for someone to return.

Alarm bells going off, Tommy pushed past Alfie in the hallway and went into the sitting room. Molly was sleeping in her bassinette but the other two children weren’t there. “Leah?” He called down the hallway.

Still in the kitchen with Alfie’s maid, Leah poked her head out the door. “Yeah?” She was hopeful that the chat had gone well. But that hope was dashed when she saw the same panicked look that he had on Christmas Day.

“Where are the children?” He demanded.

Instantly, her heart dropped to her stomach. “What do you mean? They were in the sitting room?” She quickly dropped what she was doing and rushed out to find the room was empty aside from Molly. The sight made her chest seize, a hand going to her mouth.

Tommy ran outside. It felt like there was pure ice running through his veins. Dread made his head swim as he was desperate to keep afloat so he could find Charlie and Johanna. The yard was empty and there weren’t any nearby sounds of the two playing together. “Charles! Johanna!” He shouted. As he repeated their names, there was an overwhelming feeling that begun to mingle with the fears of the worst. His throat began to close up until he was gasping for breath. His vision started to cloud. It almost felt like he was drowning on dry land.

Alfie, Leah, and the maid came outside after calling through the house to see if maybe the children were just hiding. Leah, overrun by mother’s instincts, took off sprinting down the dirt path that led to the main road. Alfie’s maid headed down to the beach to see if they’d gone there.

But Tommy didn’t even notice, he’d dropped to his knees on the grass. He clutched his sides, continuing to hyperventilate.

Alfie recognized the symptoms. He’d seen many young men suffer a similar fate. Wide-eyed men, boys really, as they experienced the trenches first hand. Panic attacking them like a vicious monster, pressing down on their chests to make it difficult to breathe, overriding all thoughts.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Alfie grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and hoisted him up. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll find them, they couldn’t’ve gotten too far on them little legs of theirs.” He guided the hyperventilating man back inside and onto one of the couches. He picked up Molly to bring her somewhere quieter so she could sleep.

Tommy curled into himself, his forehead pressed to his knees, his arms thrown over his head. He trembled as he tried desperately to breathe. Darkness was starting to close in on him. Was this really how he was going to go out? Some attack? Hardly a fitting death for a Shelby man but he felt powerless to stop it.

Alfie returned to the sitting room and plopped down at his armchair. “Just try to breathe, mate. You’re alright.”

Alright?!

Tommy was sure he was dying and Alfie was just sitting there like it was nothing. He let out a broken sob, unable to really speak. His fingers knotted into his hair gripping so tightly he threatened to pull every strand out.

“Easy, Tom, just have to wait it out.” Unfortunately, as many times as he’d seen the abnormal condition, Alfie didn’t know how to snap a man out of it. He could distinctly remember smacking one private who had gone completely mad. But a slap hadn’t done much and Alfie didn’t want to beat up a man who was nearly catatonic. Wouldn’t be a fair fight.

It was just waiting game. Either until the person wore themselves out entirely or had a moment of clarity.

Alfie stood and looked out over the balcony. The beach was empty aside from his maid who was calling for the children. Of course, he was afraid for the wellbeing of Charlie and Johanna, but it didn’t help if everyone was running around like chickens without heads.

So, he stayed with Tommy as he endured the fit. Every so often, he’d offer a few words of comfort. Sometimes, he stood up to check on Molly before returning to sit with Tommy.

Gradually, the Blinder’s breathing slowed and the grip on his hair loosened. He lifted his head slowly and could actually see clearly for what felt like hours. It happened to be good timing too because the front door opened and Leah marched in two very sheepish looking children.

Charlie hung his head and Johanna was clutching a bag of chocolates.

“Now you go and apologize to Alfie and your father for worrying them.” Leah ordered firmly.

Charlie and Johanna stepped forward with pouts. “Sorry.” They mumbled in unison.

“Now where’d you go off to then?” Alfie asked with a tut. “Gave us all of fright, can’t go wandering off on your own like that.”

Neither of the kids answered until Leah prodded them. “Go on and tell them.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Charlie said a naughty word and I wanted to tell mummy but he said not to. So, then he said he’d get me chocolate if I didn’t tell mummy.” Johanna rattled off. She’d tattled on Charlie almost immediately upon seeing Leah running towards them on the road.

“That’s not what happened!” Charlie exclaimed defensively.

“Was too!”

“Alright, enough!” Leah interrupted the bickering and snatched the chocolates away from Johanna. “Go to your rooms. I don’t want to hear a peep from either of you.” She snapped.

Johanna whined and made grabby hands at her mother. She hated being in trouble and never liked it when Leah was the disciplinary.

“Go, Johanna.”

Reluctantly, the young girl followed her brother down the hall to the room they were staying in.

Leah sat down beside Tommy with a sigh. She put a hand over her pounding heart. “Spoilt, the both of them.” She mumbled. Although she was just grateful the two were alive and hadn’t been snatched up.

Her husband silently wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. The physical touch was enough to completely bring him back.

“Did you two talk?” Leah asked, her tone softening.

“We did yeah.” Alfie nodded. “’Course there’s always more to talk about, ain’t there? You’re all welcome to stay s’long as you need to.”

“Oh, Alfie, thank you but I don’t want to intrude on you with the kids.” Leah was slightly embarrassed by the fuss the children had already made.

“S’alright. Brings a bit of life to the house, don’t it?” Alfie chuckled. Cyril plopped down by his feet for a good tummy rub. “Doesn’t hurt to have this ol’ lug around again too.”

Leah smiled and Tommy there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “We appreciate it very much.” She said softly. “You’re giving us some time and a place to sort things out. I know we’ll be able to.” She said the last sentence to Tommy more than to Alfie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie Shelby liked to believe that he was fearless. At least braver than most boys his age. He enjoyed riding horses, never shying away from a challenge in the saddle. He wanted to be as tough as his father and uncles. Wanted to carry a gun in a holster and walk around with razor blades sewn in his cap.

Although he would never say such a thing to his mother. Leah would probably faint from fear if he ever said such a thing. She could barely stand the way he rode horses sometimes.

Tommy hoped for a long time that by the time Charlie was old enough to understand, their business would be one-hundred percent legitimate. He didn’t expect the Depression and he certainly wasn’t expecting the fascist movement. So, it worried him that his son would pick up on things he wasn’t meant to know.

Certainly, spending time with another notorious gang boss wouldn’t be the answer. But it strangely was. It took the children out of the framework of the company. Even though they spent most of their time in Warwickshire, business was still conducted there.

Meetings, parties, deals. Didn’t matter.

What mattered was pulling them out of that environment. Much as Leah had done when she took them to America. Putting them in a sort of safe-house was enough to draw their attention away from things they weren’t meant to be involved in.

Still, Charlie had either learned enough or it was simply ingrained in him by blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re writing an awful lot.”

Winter turned into spring and Leah was worried they had long overstayed their welcome at Alfie’s. But the man didn’t seem to mind or give hints that they needed to leave. In fact, he waved off any of Leah’s concerns about how long they’d been there.

Not that Leah wanted to leave. None of them did. The children were so happy to be there with Uncle Alfie. But they were also getting much closer to their father. And Tommy had a feeling he had Alfie to thank for that.

Tommy glanced up from his notebook. He and Leah were sat on the beach, enjoying the first warm afternoon of the season. The children were indulging in the sunshine as well, romping about with Cyril and Alfie along the beach.

“Can I know what you’re writing?” She wondered cautiously.

He tapped the tip of his pen on the paper. He’d promised to be more open with his wife no matter how difficult it could be. “Alfie mentioned something about keeping logs in the War and it reminded me of-well of the journals I kept.” He admitted. “I used to write as much as I could so that if I died, maybe they’d have something to give Polly.”

“And now you’re writing again.” She noted the number of pages he’d gone through in the leather-covered notebook.

“Yeah.” Tommy nodded. “Not really to leave behind to anyone.” He idly flipped through the pages already filled with writing. “Just to, I guess get me thoughts out. Somewhere other than my brain.” He shrugged.

“I think that’s a good idea.” She nodded and smiled warmly.

Her husband smiled back and for the first time in a while, she could see the sun in his blue eyes.

By the shore, Charlie was hopping from one rock to the other waving a piece of driftwood around like a sword. He’d been particularly taken by the pirate story Alfie had told them the night before. After all, who was more fearless than a pirate?

“Argh!” Charlie stabbed his makeshift sword at the empty air in front of him.

Alfie chuckled. “Captain Charlie, where’s your ship, mate?”

“Erm…it’s been…it’s been stolen!”

“Stolen, aye? What sorta scoundrels took your ship?”

Charlie frowned and hopped down from the large rock he was standing on. “It was-um-it was Queen Jo! She was jealous of my ship and took it!” He pointed his sword at his sister.

Johanna frowned. “I don’t wanna be a queen, I wanna be a pirate too!” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s no fair!”

“Girls can’t be pirates, Joey.” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Now, hang on, Charlie-boy. Plenty of women pirates of legend.” Alfie told them.

“Pfft, yeah right.”

“I’ll tell you the story of Anne Bonny tonight.” Alfie crouched down when Molly grabbed at his pant leg. “Legendary pirate of the Caribbean Sea.” He picked up the youngest Shelby. “And a woman.”

“Ha!” Johanna beamed triumphantly. “I can be a pirate!”

Charlie frowned. “Fine, but I’m captain.” He asserted.

“Very well then, Johanna can be the first mate and Molly can keep watch from the crow’s nest.” Alfie propped Molly up on his shoulders. “Now let’s set a course for mum and dad, I think it’s nearly time for lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~`

Charlie finished lunch before the others and wandered off when he was excused from the table. However, he wasn’t allowed to go back down to the beach by himself. So, he took to wandering around the sitting room. There were a few toys left out but he felt bored of the usual imaginary games he and Johanna played. Instead, he wandered back down the hall until he came across the coat rack. There, his father’s flat cap had slipped from one of the hooks.

The young boy, rapt with curiosity, picked up the cap and turned it over in his hands a few times. He took a hold of the brim and pushed back the part of the fabric that hid the razorblade carefully sewn inside. Too young to think through the consequences, he lightly placed his finger on the edge of the blade.

“Charlie! Drop that, now!” Tommy’s frantic voice from down the hall made Charlie startle and pull his hand back quickly. The motion caused him to cut his finger on the blade.

The moment he saw blood, Charlie began to panic. Fearless. He liked to think he was fearless. But he’d never cut himself so badly before. Before he could really react, Tommy picked him up, making him drop the cap. He brought Charlie into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to wrap around his son’s finger.

Alfie and Leah looked over from their spot at the table. “What’s going on?” She turned in her chair. "Is everything okay?"

“He accidentally cut his finger,” Tommy replied.

Charlie started to hyperventilate, tears pricking his eyes. He wanted to move his hand but his father kept a firm grip.

“Is he bleeding?” Leah stood up, suddenly locked into mother mode.

“Yeah.”

“Well, what on Earth happened?” She gasped as she saw there was blood seeping into the white cloth around Charlie’s finger. The boy had only been away from the table for a few minutes.

“He…he found my hat and was playing with it,” Tommy admitted. There was no use in lying.

“Why did you leave it out?” She demanded.

“I didn’t just leave it out!” Tommy argued over Charlie’s crying.

“Well, he got his hands on it, Tom!”

Alfie got up to separate the two. “Things fall from that coat rack all the time.” He said gently. “Let’s have a look-see then. If he needs stitches, there’s a doctor just down the road.”

Tommy tensed up but let Alfie take a peek at Charlie’s finger.

“Hm, doesn’t look too bad. Let’s get a bandage on it, yeah? You’re lucky, aye, your pirate name would’ve been Nine-Fingered Charlie!” The joke made the young boy laugh tearfully.

Leah took a deep breath and stepped back. Her eyes met Tommy’s. They both realized how fragile their relationship still was.

“I’ll go get something to wrap it up with,” Alfie said and headed down the hall.

Charlie sniffled. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I know, Charles, you just can’t play with sharp things,” Tommy replied quietly.

“But you wear it. Thought it would be okay.” He mumbled.

The hypocrisy was not lost on Tommy but he didn’t have an explanation suitable for the child. “I know. But you shouldn’t play with things that aren’t yours.”

Johanna peered over the top of her chair. “Is brother gonna be okay?” She asked.

“He’ll be fine, love,” Leah promised. “It was just an accident.”

“Just an accident.” Tommy echoed. He wiped Charlie’s tears. “Something we can all learn from.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @tarafaithgr @vampgirl1997 @evelynshelby

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

Masterpost

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelbyxofc #tommy shelbyxoc #ofc #oc #fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #ocs #cillianmurphy #cillian murphy character #cillian murphy #alfie solomons #charles shelby #season 5

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illfoandillfie · 5 years ago

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Interloper

Request: Sorry if this is a weird request but can you do a thing where the reader is apart of Queen and after a concert Roger, Brian and John just pass her around like she’s just holes to fuck but when they’re done they’re all super soft and sweet (and Reader’s maybe a little snarky)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Brian May x John Deacon x Reader

Warnings: Big Ol’ Smut-fest - 18+!, Hate fucking (kind of?), oral sex (m receiving), degradation, facial, handjob, unprotected sex, anal, light spanking, orgasm delay, choking, nipple play, tit fucking (blink and you’ll miss it), free use,dom/sub dynamics (sub!reader)

Words: 5990

A/N: I seem to have gotten myself a reputation for writing group sex and honestly i love that for me. (Is it my brand?) Anyway, I hope the anon who requested this enjoys it!

Taglist: @laedymoon @somekind-ofcheese @dtfrogertaylor @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @bowiequeen

The stadium was darker now than it had been when you left the stage. It was quieter too, no longer drowned in the noise of the music or the crowd. They’d been wild, making you feel truly welcome on the stage for the first time since the tour started a week earlier. You sighed and dropped what remained of your cigarette next to your previous one, grinding it under the heal of your boot. If you were lucky the boys would have already headed off to the afterparty, left you to get changed in peace and make your way there in your own time. It was part of why you stayed behind, hidden in the wings as you watched the last of the crowd drift out and roadies pack up the instruments and dismantle the lighting rig. You’d needed a smoke anyway, and to try and burn every second of the show into your long-term memory, so it was the perfect excuse. Although, you would have done anything to avoid the rude comments and criticism that were sure to be hurled in your direction had you headed backstage straight away. Because that’s all you’d been getting lately. Not from Freddie, though if anyone had a right to bitch and moan it was him since you were playing second vocalist. Brian’s attitude you could also understand since they had you on guitar for a couple of songs too, but John and Roger had absolutely no right to treat you as appallingly as they had been. You thought it was out of some stupid sense of band loyalty but Freddie insisted it was because they missed shagging you. Maybe you were both right.

Your footsteps echoed off the walls as you made the solitary journey back to the dressing rooms to change into something a little less stage worthy but no less eye-catching, praying you’d find it empty. You were almost there when you heard voices coming from the other end of the corridor. It had to be them on their way out. With a deep breath you squared your shoulders and held your head high and kept walking right at them. Roger whacked into your shoulder as he passed you, with far too much force for it to be an accident. “Watch it arsehole,” you spat at his back. He flicked the V at you. “Out of the way,” Brian snarled as he shoved past you, followed by a snickering John. You ignored them as best you could, continuing on your way. Clearly the phenomenal show had done nothing to change their minds. If anything, they were more aggro now, having seen the audience, their fans, embrace you wholeheartedly. Freddie was a few steps behind them, flashing you an apologetic look as he reached you, but you waved him off. “It’s fine,” “Their being right cocks and you know it.” “Yeah but I don’t know how to get them to stop. I’ve tried explaining, I’ve tried reasoning, I’ve tried being a bitch, I’m giving up. Clearly it doesn't matter to them that we used to get on so well, so I’m done trying.” “They need a good stern talking to. Sit them down like naughty schoolboys and yell for a bit.” You laughed, “Yeah, maybe." “All I know is It's getting boring, this winging.” “For me two Fred. But they can’t keep it up for the whole tour, that’s bloody months. They’ll have to get sick of it soon. His shrug was disheartening but he didn’t have a chance to say much more as Brian called for him to hurry up. “Do you want me to wait for you?” “Nah, you go ahead,” He nodded, leaving you with a squeeze of your shoulder. You took your time getting changed into a short tight dress, sequins around the hem to catch the light, perfect for a party and, bonus, not stinking of your sweat, before grabbing your stuff and heading out to the car.

The party was in full swing when you got there, music blaring and drinks flowing. You rolled your eyes at the sight of Brian chatting up a woman almost young enough to be his daughter and skirted around them on your way to the bar. You were two shots in, starting to wonder which of the people making eyes at you would be worth your time, when you felt a hand on your waist. Turning your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye you realised who it was, cutting him off before he could utter whichever godawful pickup line he was about to use. “Fuck off Roger, I’m not who you’re looking for.” His hand slipped away from you, “Oh for fucks sake, it’s you.” He was slurring just enough to notice, “Thought you’d be off slutting it up by now.” “Isn’t that your job?” “Pretty rich coming from someone who blew her way to the top. At least I fucking worked for it.” “You know I worked for it too,” “Sure, worked at suppressing your gag reflex.” “God I am so fucking sick of this shit. How many times do I have to tell you none of it was my fucking idea? Freddie was the one who set up the meeting with the record company and they were the ones who thought it’d be a good idea to stick me on the album. I didn’t volunteer for this. Believe me, if I had shagged myself into a record contract I wouldn’t be hanging around with you pricks. I’d be releasing my own album with my own songs.” “You used to like our pricks. Couldn’t get enough of them.” “Jesus, Freddie was right.” “About what?” “Nothing. Sod off would you? There’s a guy over there who looks hung and easy and your scaring him off,” “Not me, love, your atrocious singing’s done that already.” “You’re such a wanker.” “Bitch,” “Cunt,” “Now now children. Meant to be a party.” Freddie said, tapping on the bar for another drink. “It’s fine Fred, I’m...” “Don’t you dare say you’re going. This is your party too and it’s much too early for a cohost to leave,” he turned towards Roger, “pull your head in Rog, just for one night.” “Can’t believe you’d take her side in all this, she’s a fucking bitch,” “Used that one already Rog, getting sloppy.” “Oh enough already. I’m sick of the constant bickering. Where are Bri and Deaky we need to have a band meeting, upstairs, now.” “Christ, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” “Just find them.”

Freddie charmed the key to a function room out of the bartender’s hands and the two of you made your way upstairs. You both fell silent as you waited in the dimly lit room. There were a number of large round tables covered in white table clothes, each surrounded by chairs. Some of them were still laid out with cutlery and half-drunk jugs of water, left overs from whichever event had finished before your party started, the staff called away to help man the bar and offer appetisers to everyone downstairs before they could finish tidying up. “Wonder what was going on in here?” you asked as you sat in one of the chairs “Wedding reception?” Freddie ventured, halfheartedly. You both fell silent, not entirely sure what else to say. He’d listened to you whine about the other three enough times to know everything you were thinking and you could tell his patience was wearing thin. It took the others about twenty minutes before they joined you, grumbling the whole time. “C’mon Fred, what’s this about? Ruined my shot with Tabitha just now,” “Tabitha? That’s a cat’s name,” “Shut up Deacy,” Roger laughed as he dropped into a spare seat, already pushed out from a table. “Shut up all of you.” Fred said loud enough to make them pause. John turned away from Brian, looking for a place to sit, when his eyes fell on you, the grin sliding off his face, “What’s she doing here? Thought this was a band meeting?” “It is,” “She’s not part of the fucking band Fred,” “On this tour she is.” “No way,” Brian half shouted, “If that interloper is here then I’m going,” “Brian, fucking hell, just stop for two seconds.” Freddie stepped in front of the door to block Brian’s path, and looked over to you. For a moment you thought he was going to try and appease Brian by throwing you out but instead he just said, “give them a right bollocking,” before darting out the door and slamming it shut. All four of you were frozen until you heard the unmistakable sound of the lock and then Brian was at the door, jiggling the knob and yelling, “let us the fuck out of here Mercury, or I swear to God.” “Not until you sort your shit out.” Freddie yelled back, “I’m off to have another drink, I’ll be back in a few hours and I expect you all to be friends by the time I return.”

“This is all your fault,” Roger pointed at you, catching the attention of the other two, “You shouldn’t even be here,” “And why not?” “Because you’re not part of Queen.” “You heard Freddie, I am for this tour.” Your statement was met with scoffs of derision and rolled eyes. “Jesus, what is your problem?” You turned your back on Brian to glare at John and Roger, waiting for someone to answer. John was the first to speak, surprising you. His resentment had always been a bit quieter than the other two, whispered comments and underhanded criticisms rather than outright name calling. If anyone had been taking bets you would have placed your money on Brian throwing the first stone. “Our problem is you. Just turned up one day and started singing” “And playing guitar,” Brian chimed in. “Yes, exactly,” John continued, pointing at Brian to emphasise his point, “And we had to change shit to accommodate you.” “It was okay for a song or two but a whole album?” Brian scoffed, “And then we were told you were joining us on tour! Is it gonna happen again with the next album? It’s like your trying to worm your way into a permanent place in this band and we don’t like it.” “Groupie’s aren’t meant to be on the fucking stage with the band they whore around for.” That was Roger. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you got to your feet, unable to sit still any longer, “You’re acting like fucking children. You know full fucking well I didn’t organise this and if you really have that much of a problem you can take it up with any of the execs. It was all their idea. Easy way to get my name out there since I’m already acquainted with you.” You paused for a moment to take a breath, “Freddie was fucking right about you. You’re not upset with my performance. You know damn well I can sing and obviously everyone else thinks I’m good enough to be here. No, the real reason you’re all pissed off is that I don't fuck you anymore.” the longer you spoke the louder you got, feeding off the stunned looks the boys were giving each other, “You’re threatened by me because I used to be your groupie and now I’m standing in your spotlight. You’re mad that I’m getting the same sort of attention you used to get from me. Bet you get a little jealous every time you see me with some other guy. Maybe I should take it as a bit of a compliment though, since apparently no one else can suck or fuck as well as me.” Minutes passed in almost silence, the only sound you huffing as the rage at weeks of mistreatment was released. You caught your breath, and still no one talked. The silence felt like it was closing in on you, pressing against your ears as you waited for one of them to say something in return. When none of them did you brought your hands to your hips and stared them all down, “Nothing to say? Guess that means I’m right. So I’ll make you a deal.” “A deal?” Brian was trying to act unimpressed but there was curiosity in his tone. “Tonight. I’ll give you tonight like I used to before you all turned into giant fucking arseholes. And in return you stop bitching about me being here. I’m not going anywhere so either you can accept my offer and be nice to me for the rest of this tour, or you can spend the next couple of months being petty dickheads. No skin off my nose what you choose. Either way I walk away from this one step closer to releasing my own music.” “What do you mean tonight?” Roger asked, leaning forward in his seat. “I mean that for the rest of the night I’m yours. You can share me around, do whatever you want with me, treat me like your own personal slut. And then tomorrow you’ll be nice to me. You’ll complement my singing instead of picking apart my performance. You’ll keep your rude comments and name calling to yourselves. And you’ll accept that I’m playing with you until we get told otherwise. Deal? The three of them looked at each other. Clearly that was the last thing they’d expected you to say. “Well? Are you in? Because if not I’m happy to try breaking down the door instead.” “Knees. Now.” “Jeez, alright Rog,” you rolled your eyes at his sudden shift, “d’you want me to call you Sir as well, or will my silent obedience suffice?” “God she’s got a mouth on her,” John said, stalking towards where you stood in the middle of them all, “think it needs to be filled.” “You always did like my mouth, didn’t y-” you were cut off by the way he grabbed your face in one hand, fingers and thumb pressing into your cheeks. “Bitch has got an attitude problem,” he announced to the other two before lowering his voice and speaking directly to you again, “Now kneel like you were told to, so we can fuck it out of you.” You nodded as much as you could, cheeks aching under his firm grip. He held you for a moment longer, staring at you as if he were daring you to talk back again, before he let you go. You fell to your knees instantly, looking up at him as he undressed methodically. You would have helped him tug his pants off except that Roger moved to kneel behind you, holding your wrists firmly behind your back while he leaned into your ear. “You can call me Sir if you like. Daddy works too, know you get wet just saying it. Whatever you choose I hope you’ll remember to keep being good for us, love. We’re gonna use you every single way we can think of tonight. Show you how frustrated we’ve been with this whole situation.” The hand he wasn’t using to pin your wrists moved over your body, making you breakout in goosebumps as he teased your nipples through the fabric of your dress. “Remind us what your safeword is,” John said, stepping closer as he lazily stroked his dick. “Saxophone,” “Saxophone. Good. Now open wide,” he tapped the tip of his cock against your lips and you took him in. Roger’s grip on your wrists tightened as your hand twitched, your instinct to wrap your fingers around John’s cock trying to take over. Instead you had to content yourself with bobbing down his length, pressing your tongue to the underside as you adjusted to him. “Good girl,” he cooed softly, “gonna deepthroat me like a proper whore.” You hum caught him off guard and he bucked his hips into you. The gag you made in response ruined any chance you’d had of taking your time to adjust, sending John into a frenzy and encouraging him to make you gag again and again. Before you knew it, he was holding your head steady as he fucked your throat, unrelentingly. Between John’s grunts and Roger’s hand, still toying with your breasts, you were completely oblivious to Brian. So, Roger releasing your hands and Brian yanking one of them up over your head, was a complete surprise. You placed the other against John’s thigh as Brian nudged your open palm with his semi-hard cock, rubbing himself against you until you closed your hand around him. Your position made it difficult to jerk him off properly, but you could feel him getting harder as he rutted into your hand. Roger took advantage of his now free hands, trailing both down your body and onto your thighs before dragging them slowly up and under the skirt of your dress. You could feel the sequins around your hem scratching lightly over your skin as the material was pushed to bunch up around your waist. You jerked your head back, releasing John with a pop as Roger rubbed your clit over your underwear. He stopped too soon, making you whine, and instead placed a hand on the back of your head. “Thought you said we could do whatever we want with you. Don’t recall anyone saying you could stop,” he pushed your head forward again until you were once again gagging around John, “now this was your idea so you’re gonna be a good whore and take what we give you.” He gripped your hair and pulled you back before shoving you down again, all the while talking in your ear, “John wants you to swallow so you’re gonna swallow. If we want you to beg, you’ll beg. Whatever we give you, you will take and you will thank us for it. We’re going to use every inch of you. We don’t care how prettily you sing for everyone or how much money you make for the execs. We only care about how well you take our cocks, understand?” You had no hope of responding as John resumed thrusting into your mouth but Roger didn’t seem to mind, more concerned with feeling you up.

John’s hands replaced Roger’s on your head, his grip tightening as his orgasm drew closer. Each jerk of his hips had you gagging, mascara ringing your eyes where tears had clung to your eyelashes and been blinked off. He came with a string of grunted curses, filling your mouth, and ordered you to swallow before he let go of you, streaks of bright lipstick left in your wake. Brian gave you the few seconds it took for him to move in front of you and kick off his pants before he was grabbing your hair and pulling your mouth to his cock. With both hands free you clung to his legs, creating small, crescent shaped indents on the back of his thighs. You only noticed Roger’s absence when John, sunk to his knees beside you, his fingers taking up where Roger’s had been, prying your underwear away from you for long enough to shove his hand inside and run his fingers along your slit, pausing at your clit to rub it softly. “God you’re fucking soaked,” he laughed, “Don’t know why I’m surprised. You came up with this little plan way too quickly for it to be spur of the moment. I think you’ve missed being our fuck toy. Probably been looking for an excuse to present yourself to us like this. I think you like being used by us and I think you missed having your holes full of us. Missed how we taste, how we make you feel,” his fingers pressed harder against your clit briefly before shifting back to the softer touch, “I think the spotlight of the stage can’t compare to the rush you feel knowing you’ve been a perfect whore for us.” You whined around Brian earning a panted laugh from him, “That’s right, slut,” he said from above you, “keep making those sounds. Know you want me to cum in your mouth. And all it does is prove us right.” John pushed a finger into you, and another of your whines was muffled by Brian, burying his cock in your throat, holding you with your nose pressed into his pubic hair. A shiver ran through your body as your dress was unzipped, falling open to expose your bare back. Your chest tightened, screaming for air, and you frantically tapped on Brian’s thigh. He let you go, reeling backwards with a final gag as he slipped from your mouth and you were free to gasp for air. “F-fuck,” you managed to choke out as your dress was unceremoniously pushed off your shoulders and down your arms. Brian was still in front of you, hand sliding up and down his shaft as he readjusted his other hand in your hair, pulling your head up a little higher. “Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he growled, holding you still. The last thing you saw before you shut your eyes was his hand speed up, working himself to release his load over your face. Some of it landed on your tongue but more splattered over your cheek and chin. Brian chuckled as he ran two of his impossibly long fingers over your chin, pushing the cum up to your lips. You dutifully sucked on his fingers but a loud bark of laughter distracted both you and Brian.

“What the fuck are you doing carrying lube around in your jacket, Rog?” John was collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. “What? Thought that girl with the big arse might show up again tonight, wanted to be prepared.” “You’ve been wearing the jacket all day, how long has it been in there?” “Not that long, Crystal got it for me after the show. But y’know,” he pushed on your back between the shoulder blades until you fell forward onto your hands, “you wanna make fun of me, you won’t get to fuck her arse.” He brought his hand down onto your backside, making you jump. You felt your dress being pushed up to your waist, and your underwear being slipped down your legs until they were tangled around your knees. There was a brief pause as you heard him unzip is his pants. The next thing you expected to hear was him popping open the lube, but instead he eased into your cunt. He went slow but it made your breath catch in your throat all the same. Once he was buried in you as deep as he could go he began to pull out again, almost all the way before he snapped his hips forward, driving back into you hard. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, letting yourself collapse on your arms, resting your head against them. You could feel the last of Brian’s cum smearing across your cheek and onto your arm as Roger continued his slow pace. You’d almost forgotten about the lube until you head him flick open the tube. It was cold against you when he squirted a generous amount over your arse, carefully using his fingers to begin stretching you out. You moaned, the combination of his fingers and his cock pushing you steadily closer to orgasm. But not fast enough. You moved your arm, slipping it under your body with the idea of rubbing your clit until you came. “Would one of you stop her?” John grabbed your arm and pulled it back before you could get your fingers where you wanted them. “No, please, I need more,” you whined, shifting your other arm out from under your head. Brian grabbed that one, both of them pinning your wrists out in front of you. “Please let me touch,” you said into the carpet, trying to wriggle free of their grip. Roger brought the hand that wasn’t occupied down on you again, drawing a yelp from you. “Told you we were gonna show you how frustrated we’ve been. So you don’t get to cum that easily. If you’re good you’ll be rewarded.” He picked up his pace, rolling his hips into you faster, making you cry out though he wasn’t angled quite right to hit your g-spot. Without warning he pulled his fingers from your arse and you found yourself being yanked up, Roger’s hand wrapping around your throat to hold you against his chest. You could hear Brian laughing as your eyes fluttered shut and you moaned, only for Roger to squeeze your throat and cut it off. For a moment you floated there, willing Roger to just make you cum, but the sound of a chair being dropped in front of you brought you back to the room. John sat down and leaned forward to grab your tits, tugging on your nipples until you winced. “Y’know, going bra-less was completely unnecessary in that dress. Just more proof you wanted to whore around for us.” He said as he used his hold on your nipples to pull you away from Roger’s chest. Roger’s hand remained tight on your throat as John slid his cock between your breasts, using his grip and the motion of Roger’s thrusts into you, to push them up and down his shaft. “She likes it when you call her a whore. Fuckin’ squeezes her cunt.” “Is that right, huh? You want to be our pretty cumslut that badly? Good. We’re gonna cover you in it. Gonna fill you so full of spunk you won’t be able to move without it dripping down your legs. And you’re going to beg for it, aren’t you? Go on, beg roger to cum in your pussy.” “Pl-ease, Roger, please cu-m in my pussy.” “More,” Roger growled as he rammed into you again and again, rapidly heading towards his climax. “Pl-please cum in me Rog. I nee-ed it. Want, want to fee-l you fi-ll my pussy.” Roger slammed into you twice more, hard, holding himself balls deep in you as he hit his release, grunting, voice strained as he told you what a good whore you were.

You whined as his softening cock slipped out of you and he moved aside. But you didn’t have time to miss the feeling of being filled too much before Brian was placing his arms under your shoulders and lifting you to your feet. John stood and pushed your dress and panties from you completely, leaving you naked. You let them pull you around, barely able to concentrate on anything other than the ache between your legs and the tight coil in your stomach that felt like it could spring loose at any moment. John pushed himself onto one of the tables, legs dangling over the edge as Brian lifted you up too. You were unceremoniously dumped on John’s lap, his hands pulling you until you were lined up with his cock. He swatted at your thigh. You squeaked and sunk down onto him, rocking against him. “Where’d that lube go?” There was some shuffling noises from somewhere behind you followed by a triumphant, “aha!” and then John was grabbing your hips to stop you as Brian came closer. When he spoke he was right behind you, his breath on your ear sending a shiver down your spine. “Since Rog was so good as to stretch you out for me, shouldn’t have any problems taking my cock,” he turned and spoke over his shoulder, “Thanks Rog.” “Yeah yeah, whatever,” Roger said, voice distorted by the cigarette between his lips. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around John’s neck as Brian spread your cheeks and began easing himself into you. John teased you the entire time, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he told you how hot you sounded whimpering like you were. By the time Brian was fully sheathed inside you, you were panting against John’s shoulder, desperate for one of them to move properly. You squirmed between them, trying to encourage them to fuck you but neither was having it. Brian slapped your thigh, “Hold still. You’ll get to cum once you’ve proved you can be a good slut for us.” “I will. I am. I promise I’ll be the best slut you’ve ever had, please just fuck me.” You whined, lifting your head up so they could all hear you properly. A chorus of laughter followed, even as you continued to beg. You were cut off mid word as Brian pulled back and plunged into you again, starting slow but rapidly picking up speed. John leaned back on one hand, his other resting on your hip, letting you rock forward on his cock with every one of Brian’s thrusts. It was by no means the first time you’d ridden John or the first time you’d let Brian in your back entrance, but you’d never had them both at the same time before. You were left completely breathless, feeling fuller than you ever had in your life. Brian was in your ear, breath coming hard as he semi-coherently grunted his thoughts about how fucking tight you felt and how much he’d missed fucking you like this. His hands were all over you, trying to find the best way to hold you as John did the same, occasionally knocking each other out of the way. The closer to the edge he drew, the tighter John held you, pushing himself to sit up a little more so he could grip you with both hands. It was intoxicating, feeling both of them practically fighting over where they could touch you, hold you, the almost innocent skin to skin contact making you burn up. Your own moans were rising in pitch as Brian slammed into you repeatedly, each thrust making your clit drag against John’s pubic bone. You shook as you finally came, feeling Brian still behind you, shooting ropes of cum into you as he groaned in your ear. John dropped his head to your shoulder as you clenched around him, swearing as he came. “Shit,” he gasped as his orgasm subsided, “Was planning to cum on your tits. Pussy just felt too good though.”

You could feel the mix of his and yours and Roger’s cum dripping down the inside of your thigh as John gingerly helped you off the table. “Does that mean she’s ready for me again?” Roger asked, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back. You whimpered as he spun you round, pushing you to bend over the table. He wasted no time, plunging into your arse as you balled up the crisp white tablecloth in your fists. “Like you best like this, a fucked out whore, all placid and obedient. No more snarky fucking comments. Just holes begging to be filled.” You cried out as his fingers found your clit, relentlessly determined to push you over the edge again. Cum dripped out of you with every shift of your hips, little drops hitting the floor between your feet. All you could do was whine and moan as Roger ruthlessly used you, gasping and groaning himself. “Attagirl,” Roger gently cooed when you came, shaking. He slapped your arse again as he drew closer to the edge, leaning his whole body weight on you as he fell over it. He removed himself from you and helped you to stand, catching you when your legs began to give out. You were gently lowered to the floor where you lay down, arms spread wide, breathing deeply. “You look good like this,” Brian said, kneeling beside your head, “Makeup all smudged, sweaty and dripping. You look used.” “You laughed softly as he lifted your head and shoulders, propping you up so you could lean against his knees. Roger reached out to brush a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” you cleared your throat to make your voice stronger, “Especially since you’re all being nice to me again.” “Sorry we were such pricks, promise you won’t hear another bad word from us. Unless it’s well deserved.” Before you could respond John was dropping beside you, a jug of water in one hand and a handful of paper napkins in the other. “Sorry, door’s still locked so we can’t actually get to the bathroom or anything. But I found these on one of the tables, if you wanted to clean up.” You thanked him, dipping the corner of one napkin in the water and taking it straight to your face, scrubbing to remove the remnants of Brian’s cum from your cheek. “Hang on, love, missed a spot,” Roger said, taking the napkin from you and swiping at your chin. You could tell he was trying to be as gentle as possible, smiling at you when you thanked him. Brian’s fingers found their way to your arms, trailing soft, calming lines up and down your skin as you relax into him. John did a similar thing over the calf he’d knelt beside, although it felt less deliberate than Brian’s movements. “Do you want some help cleaning up the rest of it?” John asks, pointing vaguely between your legs, cheeks still slightly flushed from the exertions of the previous few hours. “Jeeze Deaky, give her a chance to recover before you try and get started on round...what are we up to?” “Bugger off, that’s not what I meant,” John says, shoving Roger slightly. He turned to you, “I swear it wasn’t. You just look tired.” “I know, John,” you reassure him, “but I think I’d rather do it myself. Sensitive and all that.” Brian dipped his head down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “None of us have said it yet but you were wonderful. Firstly, for suggesting it and also for taking it all so well.” “Y’know it’s a bit of a shame you didn’t add to the mess, Brian. Could have had all three of you leaking out of me.” “There’s still time,” Roger said, grinning mischievously at you, “technically you did promise us the rest of the night, and if I’ve gotta hold my tongue around you for months then I’d like to get as much use out of you as I can.” “He’s right, you did say all night. And I’m certain we could find plenty of other ways to keep you busy.” “Are you guys serious?” you said as you tilted your head back to look up at Brian, “You really wanna go again? Now?” “Don’t worry, we’ll need a bit of time to recover first.” “Perhaps,” John said, leaning in slightly, “Once we get out of this room, we can take you back to the hotel and figure out what else to do with you. Personally I’d like to see your tits painted with cum, but I’m sure the other two have ideas of their own.” “Might have to stuff your panties into your cunt to stop any more from dripping out of you.” Roger said, voice low and rough, making you clench your thighs together. “I guess I did say all night,” you said, trying not to sound too excited, “but this means I get to write a song on the next album.” “Don’t push it, love. Just because we’re being nice doesn’t mean we’re over it.”

By the time Freddie remembered to come and get you the four of you had redressed and cleaned up the mess you’d made. He’d opened the door to find you sitting around talking and laughing. “Well this is different,” his voice drew your attention, “Thought I’d come back and find at least some evidence of a fight. But instead, no yelling, no broken chairs, no black eyes.” “We came to an agreement,” you said shrugging, “They’re going to play nice from now on.” “Y/N you common hussy, you fucked them all didn’t you? You know that’s not the sort of bollocking I meant.”

#queen smut #queen imagine #queen fanfic #roger taylor smut #brian may smut #john deacon smut #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #john deacon x reader #my writing #im sorry its so late!!!!#but i hope its worth the wait

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stargazing-enby · 5 years ago

Text

🎃A Drarry Halloween story...🎃

[ID: a night sky background with a row of pumpkins at the bottom and the words “Pumpkin Boy by OTPshipper98” written in the middle. End ID]

“Come oooon! I promise I’ll be back by eight. They won’t even notice I left! They’re too busy entertaining their boring guests, they’ll just assume I went to bed!”

The elf cringed at his tone. “Dobby is still not thinking this is a good idea, Master Draco.”

“I don’t care what you think!” he snapped. “This is my last chance to do this before I have to spend every Halloween at Hogwarts, and you are not going to ruin this for me. That’s an order.”

Pride filled his chest as Dobby bowed at his feet and stretched out his arm. He’d done it! He’d convinced Dobby! Oh, Merlin, he was really doing this. He was going to Muggle London. All of his friends had said they’d do it this year, and he was determined to have the best story to tell when he saw them all again.

“Where to?” the elf muttered, shaking. “The city centre?”

“No. That’s where all my friends will be, and I want my story to be a surprise. Take me to…” He looked around, trying to come up with any Muggle place he knew the name of. He shrugged. “To the last Muggle place my father ordered you to Apparate to.”

A loud crack, a pull at the pit of his stomach, and they were gone.

He looked around and immediately wrinkled his nose. “Where are we? This place looks ghastly.” And scary, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“In P-Privet Drive, Master Draco.” Dobby let go of his hand. “This is where—”

“I don’t care. Where are the houses and the Muggle kids?”

“They are being this way, Master Draco.”

***

“Jade, wait for me!”

“Uuuhh, I’m gonna kill you!”

“Aaahhh! Noooo!!!”

Harry snickered. That had to be the silliest ghost costume he had seen all evening, and yet those two idiots were running like their life depended on it. They were so gullible—ghosts didn’t even exist!

He brought another one of the chocolates he’d nicked from Dudley’s bag to his mouth. Five more to go. He’d have to finish them before the Dursleys got back home, or he knew he’d get in trouble.

Another group of kids approached 4 Privet Drive, and he spied on them from between the flowers of Aunt Petunia’s fuchsia bush. Ah, he knew those girls—they were the popular group from year 4. He wondered if they’d be as popular the next day of school if their classmates were to realise the resemblance between their group costume and the stinky, over-boiled shrimps Mrs Figg cooked on special occasions.

Pity he was the only kid in town who’d had to suffer Mrs Figg’s poor cooking skills.

Another kid walked past. Harry almost missed him, because he was wearing what looked like a really expensive costume of Death—his cloak was a deep shade of black and covered his whole body, and he was carrying some sort of… bag, over his shoulder. It was so big, it looked as though he was about to carry a corpse with it. He would have made quite a realistic impression, had it not been for the pointy hat that rose from his head, which kind of made him look like a gigantic walking cone of ice cream.

But none of that really mattered, because this kid was new. Harry had never seen him before, and he didn't seem to know where he was going—he kept staring at 5 Privet Drive, as though wondering if the house would bite him if he approached it.

This was his chance of making a friend—one that Dudley couldn't possibly have threatened into hating him yet.

Quickly, he crawled towards the window and climbed into the living room. He almost turned on the lights, but thought better of it and resorted to squinting as he searched of something that could resemble a costume. The old wardrobe in which aunt Petunia kept her old scarves caught his eye, but he didn't dare use one of those. It did remind him, though, of the ragged scarf he’d nicked from the back of Dudley’s wardrobe to wipe the blood of a scratch on his knee the previous spring. He’d hidden it under his bed, and he was pretty sure it was still there.

Two minutes later, Harry looked himself in the mirror and saw a half-decent impersonation of a pirate. His glasses were a bit crooked, but at least they held the scarf in place so that it covered his eye. His clothes were baggy and a bit stinky, but for once he didn’t care—weren’t pirates stinky after all?

He was about to run out again when he remembered—he had to cover his scar! He couldn't risk the wind moving his fringe—he was sure that kid would think him a freak if he saw it. That was what the Dursleys always called him.

Did pirates wear hats? Well, Harry shrugged, grabbing one of Dudley's old ones, now they do.

He stepped outside, frantically searching for that pointy hat. The kid was nowhere to be seen, he realised, his heart jumping.

He advanced a few more steps, but hesitated. Walking all the way to the road was not a good idea; if the Dursleys somehow found out he’d escaped Mrs Figg’s creepy old guest room, he’d be doomed.

Harry still couldn’t see that kid. Feeling disappointed, he grabbed a stick from the front yard and hit the grass. Ugh, he shouldn’t have left his stupid bush.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Harry jumped around. It was the pointy boy! The adjective really did suit him, Harry realised—his chin was extremely sharp, and his eyebrow was raised in an almost perfect triangle as he stared at Harry with a skeptical sneer.

“Er… I’m a pirate. See? This is my sword.” He raised the stick in the air.

“Really?” The boy had a very posh accent, too. “Because you look like you just escaped Azkaban prison, honestly.”

“Azka-what?”

“Of course, you wouldn’t know what that is.” His sneer deepened. “I don’t know why I thought talking to a Muggle would be a good idea.”

“What did you just call me?” Gosh, the kid was weird. And a bit mean. But Harry kind of liked him already—it wasn’t hard to see that he was trying to hide the fact that he was lost, and that made his anger feel endearing rather than annoying.

“Nothing.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. A moment passed and the kid shuffled a bit.

“What are you dressed up as?” Harry asked.

The kid huffed. “You should check your glasses if you have to ask! I’m a wizard, of course!”

“That’s not how wizards look,” he pointed out.

“Excuse me?!”

The boy’s offended expression was so harmless and exaggerated that it actually made Harry snicker. “It’s not my fault you look like Death!”

“I most certainly do not look like Death!”

Man, the kid was proud. Harry sighed. He really should change subjects if he wanted to have any chance at becoming friends with him.

He pulled a chocolate from his pocket and handed it to him. “Here. What’s your name?”

The kid eyed him suspiciously. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Yours?”

“That’s such an uncommon name.” Draco still hadn’t accepted the chocolate, but Harry kept his arm stretched out. “I’m Harry.”

Draco pulled a face, but finally took the chocolate. “I don’t like that name.”

“Why not?” Harry frowned. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I just don’t like it.” Draco inspected the chocolate thoroughly, as though he’d never seen a pumpkin wrapping before. “I think I’ll just call you something else.”

“What?!”

He brought the chocolate to his mouth and hummed. “From now on, I’ll call you Pumpkin Boy.”

“You’re so weird,” Harry said. When Draco raised his chin defiantly, Harry smirked. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Pointy Boy. I like weird.”

“You’re such an entitled git!”

“Well you’re a pointy brat,” he shot back.

Draco clenched his fists. “Are you going to come trick or treating with me or what?”

Harry’s heart jumped at that. Him? Trick or treating? Oh, god, he’d get in so much trouble if the Dursleys found out. But he really wanted to befriend Draco. Who wanted to go trick or treating with him!

“Sure,” he said casually. “Let’s go.”

Read the rest on AO3

#Drarry #drarry squad #otpshipper98 #drarry halloween fic #drarry fic #halloween #harry potter #pre-hogwarts #abuse tw #child abuse tw

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iamtheholyghost · 4 years ago

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Since it's Mara week and I'm a huge Mara fan. I thought I should do something, so here is a collection of my favourite quotes.

Honestly anything Mara hit me up. I'm all over it.

"I won't abandon you, Duke. You say you don't need anyone? This Trouble is proof that you're lying. You want people to think you're a selfish bastard so that when they walk away, they won't know how badly they've hurt you. But I know it hurts, Duke. No matter how much armor you put on, it still hurts."

I know she was just using Duke here but I really like this quote and it stuck with me.

Duke: "I really wish you were somebody else right now."

Mara: "Why? Oh. Well, I'm not, but I'm here, so you're just going to have to make do."

"Come on Duke. I'm the candy, she's the wrapper."

Nathan: "I wish you could hear me, you bitch."

Mara: "Now is that any way to speak with the only person who can see you?"

The smile on her face when she said this just wow. Step on me please Mara.

"Nathan's dead? Well who's gonna bore the hell out of me now."

"Oh God. Would you evolve already? Sex is cardio."

"I'd rather stab you in the crotch."

"Still so cranky, you realise I left you napping. When I could have left you dead."

"No G.I Giant stopped me."

"Well are you going to say anything? Or are you just here for the show? 'cause it's 20 to watch, 50 to touch."

"All right, Audrey Husk, don't twist your knickers."

"Can you guys speak up? You're making it difficult to eavesdrop."

"Come on, Eeyore, what's your plan?."

"Let's just say, that sometimes brilliance is celebrated and sometimes it's smothered."

This one hits so hard!

"You're wrong, I snuffed her out like a candle."

"Sleeping with you was like getting violated by a baboon."

" And your poke with Sarah at the beach...that was real"

"You're less than insects to me."

"You know what I will take though? One of those tacos, they taste like the bottom of that dock, but I actually prefer that kind of flavour."

"I am really sorry, Duke, but you are kind of awesome now."

"You have an angry energy, I like that in bed."

"If you and that animated husk ever want to see your doe-eyed boyfriend again, I suggest you start diving into your mommy issues."

Mara knows OT3 should have existed.

"So many questions, You better stop. You might hurt yourself, Detective."

"When's my phone call? I wanna speak to my new twin sis."

"You're more pathetic than I thought."

"Good 'cause you made her fat and boring. Oh that's right.. and she's dead."

"I'm gonna slit your throats."

"Hello, boys, is this a rescue.?"

"Now GI Joe is going to handcuff me. I like where this is going."

"Have you ever considered an inflatable doll?"

"I'm going to give you a trouble that makes your heart explode in your chest."

"So just had these lying around huh? That's kinky."

"Freeze, slowly take off your shirt."

"Stop staring at me with those wet eyes"

"Bravo GI Joe, thank you, well said"

"Believe what you want about my mission Dwight, but The Troubles…. They're incredibly entertaining!"

"I want to feel your hand on my throat. Cut me open with a knife! Think of everything that I've done."

This quote man I really shouldn't get so turned on by it...But woah Mara.

"Tell Mommy dearest to open a damn thinny so I can blow this clambake."

"An original recipe as I ever made, means if you're failing at it, then you've lost your mojo."

"Really? then who is? Duke? I don't think you can afford such ontological certainty, being that you're a banana peel, a nut shell, a husk."

#havenmonth #Havensyfy #mara haven #Mara cross #duke crocker #nathan wuornos #dwight hendrickson #This took a while to put together #Quotes #Mara #Week 4 #week4

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golddaggers · 5 years ago

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untouched || chapter one

not mine but god he pulls it off

pairings: alpha!thor x omega!reader, natasha x reader (friendship folks tho i was really tempted to add something more ugh hahaha)

warnings: hmmm, cursing, i suppose (?), lots of knuckles kissing by thor and a lot of background on her, which is not that pretty. well.

a/n: took me long enough to finally finish this hahaha, i always wanted to keep adding stuff and adding and adding. well. i hope it turned out well? lemme know!

word count: 8,7k+

song to this chapter: i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

The night went by incredibly sweaty and hot, she flipped under the thick sheets, trying to find a better way to sleep. Nonetheless, her mind could only spin around thoughts inspired by that Alpha. Around Thor. She was curious about him, about that thunderstorm smell that made her feel like he's home. Like he’s that childhood place she'd go to hide from the rain.

As soon as the sun sneaks through a rift in the curtains, she stands up, deciding it was useless to dwell much into it. This feeling… It was hormonal, the normal reaction of an Omega towards an Alpha, nature making sure the species would continue. That was it, she pleads with herself.

Shrugging off the navy blue t-shirt she had slept in and the pair of underwear, the girl walked to the small bathroom of the quite big room Natasha had settled her in. It had a full sized bed in middle, its purple sheets, which were reeking off of lavender, messily sprawled all around it, two nightstands by each side, one even had an antique candlestick on, scented candles slowly melting. There was also a small couch by the large windows, framed by carmine curtains. Overall, it sort of reminded her of what a royal bedroom should look like.

The bathroom, however, was simpler. A white, porcelain tub on one corner, the toilet facing it while the sink stood on its left. Under, a nice cabinet, which was the first place she looked for soap and shampoo. A good shower to finally clean herself from the dust that stained her cheeks still. Possibly other bits of her body as well. Regardless of still being early in the evening, as soon as she was established, the girl quickly dozed off, sleeping so soundly and for so many hours that when she woke up, between yaws, she found a tray filled with food on her nightstand to dine.

She sighed, wondering who had been on her room in the middle of the night, despite being perfectly able to feel the faint thunderstorm scent still pungent in the air. There's no way he would have bothered to bring her food personally. Perhaps her nose was lying, still high on that intoxicating odour.

At last, she grabbed everything she needed, a little bit excited to find a razor blade as well. It had been a while she was granted all those luxuries, her poor heritage almost screaming for her not to abuse their hospitality. Honestly, she couldn’t believe her own luck that they hadn’t thrown her out in the spot.

While the water warmed up, she rubbed the soap on her calves, running the blade up to remove the body hair, banging the razor against the tub's surface to properly clean it. With shaved legs, she tasted the water using her feet, groaning when feeling it so warm and delicious, slipping under easily. Her body floats for a minute, in torpor. It was so relaxing she even forgot there was life outside.

After she thanked the heavens again for all that kindness, the woman went on with her shaving, peeling off the hair under her armpits. In the meanwhile, her mind swirled into unsettling thoughts, questioning the reasons why they haven't told her to go away yet. Yes, werewolves are really into all that "you are one of us" thing, but she didn't belong to that pack. She didn't belong anywhere if she was entirely honest.

With the razor lying on the flat surface next to her, the girl went under the water, drenching all of her hair at once. A shower head would be way more effective, but since there was none, not that she was complaining, she'd have to work things out the way they were. Applying a little bit of shampoo on her scalp, she began rubbing, trying to untangle while doing so.

A minute or two in, she dove back inside the tub, trying to take all the white foam. It would take a while to completely rinse it off, though. Groaning in frustration, she allowed her body to float for a while again, going up with a head heavy from the soaked hair. There was a moment of silence, her bottom lip resting between her teeth as she stared at the razor and the spot between her legs, realising she was down one region.

Finally, ignoring altogether the splashing water when she moved, the girl sat on one of the bathtub edges, spreading her legs and gripping the razor blade. Something roared inside her, her brain shooting images of a certain Alpha bent forward, those pink lips swollen from kissing- If it ever came to that, she wanted him to be pleased with what he’d find underneath her clothes.

“Don’t be stupid”, she scolded herself. Not that she was ugly or anything, she was actually kind of nice looking, but that man? She was convinced that if those myth gods from the tales her mother told her as an infant, he would be one of them, with that blond hair and blue eyes, a body so muscular and thick. From all of his features, what intrigued her the most, however, was his scent, the way it undid all worries and broke down all of her guards, it was all new. She’d never felt anything like it.

Of course, in the past, she had come close to many Alphas, one, in the matter, came really close to claiming her. She couldn’t be any older than fifteen when her father tried to ship her off into a marriage with a mid-thirties man. He had mean eyes, his smell annoyed her to the bone. Purely out of luck, her mother was able to intervene, otherwise, she’d be forever stuck to a man she didn’t love. Oh, how she missed her mother.

A small pile of hair puddled where she gently tapped with the razor to remove the excess. It was almost done. Once she finished showering, she would go look for Natasha to ask if there was anything she could do in that house, cleaning, cooking, taking care of animals or the kids. Anything. It was the payment for all the niceness they had given her. It was the least she could do.

As she was about to strip the last part, a noise came from the room, someone fumbling with the knob. The girl slipped into the tub, the razor opening a fairly big cut on her inner thigh, blood gushing while water flooded the tiled floor. Ugh. For a werewolf, she lacked the steadiness and grace of one.

“Little wolf, are you okay?” Thor’s voice filled the room, concern dripping from it. “I smell blood.”

“I-I, uh-” The bathroom door was flung open, electric blue irises scanning her thoroughly. “-I was taking a shower and, well, I am okay. Don’t worry. I mean, not that you are worried.”

“Where are you bleeding from?” He asked, wearily looking away, once he realised how very much naked she was.

“My thigh.” It was so low, she thought he’d miss it. Apparently, he didn’t, his features relaxing as he knelt in the same cabinet she took the things to shower, an aid kit between his hands.

“Get out of there so I can help you.” The demanding tone of his voice almost made her comply without question, though the bashfulness got the best of her. “What is the matter, little wolf?”

“You… You don’t have to do this. I mean, it’s really just a small cut and I’m, well, naked. I’m sure you have seen plenty of naked women, but you haven’t seen me naked, so-” Her rambling urged a chuckle out of him, Thor leaning against the wall as he inspected the mess she’d made. “What is it?”

“You’re adorable.” It made her insides twist, a low gasp slipping. “Come out, little wolf. We need to talk."

"Yeah, I know. Gimme' a minute? I'm almost over. Promise."

"I'll be waiting outside."

After a short nod, she was left alone, slightly dizzy from the heady, intoxicating scent he had left all around the bathroom. It had even her oblivious shame that he had seen her without any clothes on fade away.

Head thrown back, she did her best to speed things along, finally finishing the bath, feeling very refreshed. It was good to have warm water for once. Wrapped around a towel, she marched back into the room, finding Thor on the grey upholstered storage bench. It had totally passed through her senses she'd forgotten to make her bed. By now he was probably thinking that she couldn’t clean up after herself.

"I take you're well settled?"

"Very much, thank you." Struggling to get air into her lungs, she spots the clothes folded and placed on her bed, going over to snatch them. "I, um, I have absolutely no way to pay you back for all of this. I can work for you if you please. There must be something for me to do-"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't accept that." Thor exhales deeply. "Natasha said I shouldn't come over here because you might feel uncomfortable."

If it was anybody else, she probably would. Her efforts to push the memories from yesterday to the depths of her mind were consuming much of her energy so she wouldn't be able to deal with other people so early in the morning. Except him. His presence made her feel at ease, it helped her rather than get in the way.

Her suddenly relaxation doesn’t go unnoticed, a minimum smirk pulling the right corner of his lip up. She gives her back to him, slipping on the set of knickers, loose cotton grey shorts and a mush-green tank top. The lack of a bra made her feel somewhat exposed, but she wouldn't wear the clothes from the day before again. Not ever.

"But I don't make you uncomfortable, do I?" There was a slight urgency underneath his voice. "I can ask her to have this conversation with you if you think it's better."

"No. You are fine." She sat beside him, shoulders grazing lightly. "I'm sorry for the mess."

"Not a problem, little wolf. Sorry for what happened yesterday."

She shrugs.

"It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't be out, so that's on me."

"No, it's not your fault," Thor states eyes widen. There's sympathy swimming on that blue sea. "They have been dealt with, so you don't have to worry."

"Are they…?" The words die out on her mouth.

"Dead? No. But they won't be bothering you or any other Omegas."

"That's good, I guess."

She looks away, focusing on one yellow spot on the white wall, trying her best to refrain the compulsion to plop down on his lap and bury her nose into the crook of his neck, taking all of that petrichor, all of that wet green leaves, all of that thunderstorm. Ever since she could remember, she adored them, the rippling of thunders and bolts of lightning in the sky, so it seemed a little ironic that his scent became her favourite. It was the best she caught, the one that affected her the most.

Throughout the years, she found herself smitten by men, by Alphas. She was still relatively young, so there weren’t many as one might think, but not one of them got to her like Thor. And she didn’t even harbour feelings for him. The girl cursed her own biology for that, concluding that her Heat might be closer than she calculated it to be. That was the only obvious explanation for this sudden spark.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed his taste to swirl carefree across her taste buds, her mind spinning. It was strong. Strong enough to make her dizzy. Her inhibitors pitching low and making her throw her head back, wondering if he was purposely making you feel like that or if it was out of his control. Wondering if he felt the same. If he felt hot. Bothered.

“Thor.” She whimpers, lowly. “I-I…”

“Sorry, little wolf. Just trying to make you feel calm.”

“I’m thankful, but I-I… I won’t…”

Her chest rises and falls in a frantic pace, the girl struggling to breathe normally. It felt like she had run a marathon, sweat hoarding at her hairline. She had no idea when or how things escalated so quickly, still, the will to straddle him, feel the stiffness within his jeans trousers, was way past a will, but become a bruising need.

“I should go.” Thor mumbles, pupils were blown out, a predator gleam beneath the thin blue lines around the black. “We can talk later.”

“N-no… I just need a minute.”

He pulls back for an instant, giving her the space needed and lifting the spell his scent placed on her. The girl pressed her thighs together, clawing the skin of her forearms to focus on reality rather than the bubble suddenly created between them. She couldn’t let it control her, no matter how good he was to her, she needed to pull through the craving.

She gazes up at him, finding the tall figure resting his back against the wall, near the room’s door. The blue of his t-shirt enveloping what she knew were strong muscles caught her eye, it was a point of focus to bring her senses back.

It was scary as hell to feel like this. So out of control.

“I’m really sorry, little wolf.”

“It’s fine, I’m just not used to it. Not this strong.” The smile on his lips is apologetic, blue irises bleeding through the black of the pupils. "What did you want to talk?"

"Your stay." She agrees with a head movement. "Do you have somewhere to go? You're not bitten, but do you have a family?"

"I, well, I live alone. In a tiny room in the city, which I pay off by working at a nursing home. It's a horrible job, but at least I earn enough to survive and the ladies are fairly nice. You don't want to know this stuff, I know. Okay, I'll just stay quiet now."

A bright smile reveals his white, straight teeth underneath. Her breath falters for a split second, forcing her to look away.

"It's okay, you can talk as much as you like."

"No, my father says men don't want to listen to women wailing." It's a shameful whisper, her brain reprimanding herself for being so chatty. From the corner of her eye, she catches Thor shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You are not wailing and I am willing to hear you talk." Kneeling, he puts a strand of hair behind her ear, using his index and thumb to grip her chin and make her look up at him. He's lost on those sweet, innocent eyes. "Do you want to stay, little wolf? I will take care of you if want me to."

"You're not…?" She doesn't need to specify for him to understand what she's asking.

"No. I'm not bonded to anyone, but it wouldn't matter. I want to care for you."

The impulse to touch him strikes again, only this time she doesn't fight back, her hand cupping his cheek, the nicely trimmed beard scraping the skin as she rubbed. Thor leans into her caress, rumbling as he does so. She had soft, delicate hands that make filthy thoughts come up to his head, which he had to brush it off before things got out of hand again.

It was true. He wanted to take care of her, his insides were pushing him into taking the responsibility, even though he had met her not much more than twenty-four hours. She just had those puppy eyes that nearly forced him to engulf her in his arms to protect that little wolf from all harm.

"What's your decision, little wolf?" He brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly and respectfully. "You can go back to your family and to your beloved ones. This is not a prison."

"I know." A low purring sound slips from her as she leans in to press her cheek against his neck. "I want to stay. I don't have anyone else either way. But I’m okay doing work, seriously, I don’t want to feel as if I am taking advantage of your hospitality."

"Hmm, you're not, but you can do whatever you please." It comes out in a harsh gasp, his raspy voice even deeper. "You'll be busy either way. Natasha will come by later to get you ready for your lessons."

"Lessons?"

"You need to learn how to take care of yourself." His tone shifts to something more austere, blue eyes burning her alive. "This pack… I am supposed to watch out for the others, each wolf that swings around."

"Does that mean you are a supreme Alpha?" The realisation that she was in front of the highest class of the werewolf hierarchy sends a fearful chill down her spine. "My mother told me about them when I was a little girl."

Thor snickers at the image of a tiny child with ponytails listening to bedtime stories about wolves. The sense of protection tightens inside him, a strong force washing him entirely. This girl lacked so much in her life it made him guilty he hadn't found her sooner.

"Yes, I am. Been since my father's demise." His voice gets lower when mentioning his father, only to shrug it off and gaze down, sinking into her neck, arms unexpectedly around her waistline. "You smell pretty good."

A soft whimper pushes through as she tangles her fingers in his blond hair, finding out it was even better and smoother than she thought. Carefully, she puts her own arms around the broad shoulders, diving into the hug. It felt good. She, in one of the rarest moments of her life, felt safe.

There was this humming sound coming from his chest as his nose trailed up her neck, taking in her scent, feeling himself get drunk in it. His mind fought to get control back but it couldn't, not when the instincts were this strong. The bud just at the crook of her neck called him out again, how he wanted to bite it.

"Um-" She whispers unsure. "-Thor,"

"Yes?"

"I think someone's coming." With her nose in the air, she recognised the azaleas odour quickly. "Natasha."

"Good nose, little wolf." There's a lingering when he kisses her cheek. "You'll stay then?"

"I will."

Not a little after he reluctantly releases the wrap on her, a gorgeous red haired woman walked inside, carrying a tray with much more food than she had had in a week, which was saying a lot, considering she barely had enough to pay for rent.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow, glaring up from the newest pack addition to her Alpha, wondering to herself how she'd clean up his mess this time. Not that he was much of a womaniser, but he also wasn't the settle down sort of man, which was why she was always comforting the Omegas that fell for him.

Dammit.

"Didn't know you were here, Boss."

"Just checking in with her, Natasha." Thor towers her, one large hand on her shoulder. "She's staying with us after all."

"That's good, Feisty." She winks at the girl still sat on the upholstered storage bench, who smiles shyly, gazing down. "I could've done that for you, you know."

"Yeah, but I wanted to talk to her myself." His shoulders drop. "Get her to meet everybody else and be sure to start training her."

"Train her? You don't seriously think she's got in her to be a fighter, do you?" Natasha's astonishing green eyes were wide. "She's sweet and innocent, Boss, she should be taking care of our children, not in the field, fighting."

"Do as I tell you to do." It comes out so harshly, Romanoff shrinks a little, all of her instincts telling her to bow to her superior when her mind screams to shove a punch on that stupid bloody jaw of his. "I need to go to the city, duty calls. I'll be back for dinner."

"Sure thing, Boss."

As soon as he leaves the room, Natasha huffs, placing the tray on the left nightstand. The other woman had stayed quiet, simply observing them discuss, the pair had such a silent intimacy when talking she could guess they were lovers at some point. Despite knowing it was crazy, everything about the last day was, she felt herself a little jealous.

Smacking her lips, she stood up, going over to pick up an apple, Natasha still watching her, analysing and thinking how she could turn that girl into a warrior. Thor was crazy. Really, completely insane.

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Sure, Ms Natasha."

"Call me Nat, Feisty." With an eye roll, she chuckles. "Don't get involved with Thor."

"Are you two…?"

"No!" There's a burst of laughter all of a sudden. "I'd never… I have my eyes on somebody else."

"Oh."

"What I'm saying is he's a complicated man and I don't want you to get hurt."

Of course. The thrilling that was still pumping across her veins started to die out, his presence no longer speeding up the adrenaline production, her mind snapping back into place, clawing its way back from the pit it had been thrown inside when that thunderstorm walked inside her room.

"Sure. I see."

"Now finish eating and come with me, we have got a lot to do today."

The mansion was far prettier than she remembered it to be from what she saw the day before. It had many rooms, most of them already occupied by the house wolves of all kinds, Alphas, Betas, Omegas… Natasha explained to her that it was Thor’s responsibility to watch out for them, the less favoured, the pack-less ones, to nurture them as long as they needed it. Some left after a couple of months, others after a few years, but there were always some who stayed. Like herself.

It was a lovely morning outside, the sun bathing every living thing. From the tall trees, wildflowers and chirping birds to the moist soil. A summer day indeed, her senses vibrating to the good energy. She enjoyed those the most, especially as a kid, when she could watch the white clouds take different shapes in the blue, clear sky whilst her skin tingled to the radiating heat coming from above.

Circling the house, there was a quite nice backyard, where a couple of people were exercising. Some were doing laps across the green field, some were wrestling in a corner and the rest was just enjoying the good day, sitting in picnic towels to chat. They lived so peacefully in there she couldn’t fathom how could some leave that place.

“Hey, Nat.” One tall, blond man jogged towards the two. “Who’s this one?”

“This is Steve, Feisty,” Natasha says, smiling. “She came here yesterday, the Johnny and Louis situation.” The name of her assaulters makes the girl sway in her steps, suddenly nervous, which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, sweetie, don’t worry, really. Those guys, they didn’t really belong to our pack, they were just doing business for Thor, low-class soldiers.”

“It’s fine.” The woman whispers, still adjusting to the place where she can actually vocalise what she feels. “It’s not your fault, anyway.”

“She looks sweeter than feisty, Nat.” Steve smiles comforting, sustaining the distance to make sure she would calm down and changing the subject. “But I suppose you see it in her.”

“He wants to make her a fighter.” She trails off, not bothering to specify whom she was talking about, Steve already knew, apparently. “Wants the whole training.”

His blue eyes shift between the two, taking a moment to scan the new girl. Much like Natasha, Steve seemed to think she also couldn’t be a warrior, which was starting to make her uncertain. Perhaps they were right. Maybe she didn’t have it in her to be a fighter... But she wanted to learn. She wanted to be able to defend herself so those filthy men couldn’t lay a hand on her ever again.

Of course, she didn’t dare to say something, keeping her eyes down meticulously.

“But has he asked her if she wants to?”

“I do.” It was soft, low sound. “I want to learn.”

“Okay, maybe she is feisty after all.” There’s a bright, beautiful smile on his kind face. “Do you want me to teach her, Nat?”

“On Thursdays, I suppose.” Nat sighs. “You know it’s the day he ships me off to hunt. The others, I’ll be with her. I think it’s best if she sticks with me for now.”

“Alright.” Her ears warm up when he looks at her again, she can catch the Alpha scent reeking from him. Not like Thor’s at all. He was more like old parchments and ink, a fresh new book and, oddly, Tulips. It wasn’t usual for Alphas to have a flowery odour. “It was nice to meet you, Feisty.”

She nods, sheepishly snickering at him before following Natasha through the people, whom the red hair made sure to introduce to her. The slender, gracious girl in the picnic towel was Wanda, she was a lovely Beta who looked out for the much younger children, the newborns Morgan and Harvey were her new concern, although they were the sweetest babies. Their heads smelt like powder and apples.

With a little bit of effort, Natasha got her moving, if it was up to her, she’d stay there the whole afternoon rubbing her nose on those little, soft heads. Despite being an Omega, meaning she knew she was born to be a mother, the desire was never really strong on her. Perhaps it was the fact she never found an Alpha that brought such desires within her.

The path was not over yet, so they kept walking, finding three of the most different men amidst themselves. Bucky was tall, handsome and smelt rough. Like he could single-handed curl a whole human body into a ball and toss it around like a basketball. Tony was shorter, a greyish beard covering his slim cheeks. A little weird, she thought, but he looked nice, his hands were warm when they shook hers. He also radiates confidence. Bruce was the last to be introduced. Opposed to Tony, he had a nervousness going on. It was so strong her nose crinkled to the smell.

Natasha spoke briefly with them, giving them tasks, for what she could discern. That woman should be the supreme Alpha’s right hand in ruling that place. Thor should really trust her, the girl presumes, to entitle her with so many responsibilities. She could see why, nonetheless - Natasha was strong, her presence alone imposes respect to anyone who looks at her, the way her chin is always up and shoulders always squared, no one would dare to cross her.

A couple minutes later, they stopped in front of a closed metal door, to which the red hair promptly opened with a small key that was tucked under her belt. The room behind was astonishingly nice, a large mirror covering the front wall, a fading grey ground with two sets of orange mats precisely apart and a few heavy sandbags in one corner.

While the girl was still in awe, absorbing the new surroundings, Natasha kicked off her shoes and the sweatshirt she had on, getting comfortable to practice. She’d start with focus, some light yoga classes to bring out the awareness and sense, also to warm up the muscles. Perhaps then she’d show her how to throw a powerful punch. Kicks would be nice as well.

The red hair went over stealthily towards the girl, both hands on her shoulders, correcting her stance, which got Feisty startled, her body jerking forward in fear. There was a soft laugh as she spun around to meet the green-eyed gaze from behind.

“Lesson number one? Never let your guard down.”

“Duly noted.”

“The key to being a good fighter is to be aware, Feisty.” It’s a fast movement and before she can tell, Nat pushes her to the ground, resting above her while pinning her hands up above her head. “Each flinch counts to save your life on the field.”

Squirming, she tries to break free, something that proves to be useless because the woman knows how to use her weight to keep her grounded, restrained. It is only when a low, frustrated grunt slips past Feisty’s lips that Romanoff lets her go, coming off of her to a sitting position, gently asking her to do the same, obtaining a religious result from the girl’s instinct to obey.

“Close your eyes.” Joining their hands, Nat watches her lids fall shut, chin still up, a flawless position. “Good. Now tell me. What do you hear?”

There’s a minor hesitation as the girl focuses on what her ears are telling.

“Fighting. There are two men panting, one is more injured because his breath is faltering.” Perhaps teaching her wouldn’t be as hard as she thought, Natasha’s mind wanders. “There are three kids running, one is heavier than the others because the footsteps sound harsher on the mud. Tony is complaining about the sweat and scolding Bruce for not bringing water.”

“Okay. Nice, Feisty. Good ear.” The girl opens her eyes to find her trainer’s features filled with satisfaction. “I’ll need you to focus on your breathing, forget the other sounds, pin yourself to this place, to the lift and fall of your belly. You can close your eyes if you want.”

It was a nice, comforting thing to do. Despite doing heavy work, Nat’s hands were smooth, so she chose to focus on that and the sound of the inflating of her own chest and how the air seeped through her nostrils so loudly. An awareness of her space began growing as the breath deepened, muscles stretching on her back, legs strong to keep her in place.

All the noise went mute, the ones in the room conquering her mind entirely. It also gave room for her to deliberate on how much her life changed in the past twenty-four hours, one day she was sleeping on a thin bed, barely enough to sustain her weight, and the other she was in a mansion, being nourished and welcomed by those wolves who didn’t even know her.

Before she could even settle to what was happening, Natasha lurched at her, dropping her to the ground once more, palm strongly against her sternum. It was a swift, gracious movement, one that many soldiers lacked, possibly giving the upper hand to her in a confrontation. Feisty groans, cursing herself for being distracted.

“I’m sorry.” An apologetic whimper comes through, whinier than it was intended to be. “It’s just so much to take in.”

“I know.” She’s gentle when she answers. “Being good at this doesn’t come naturally.”

“I sure hope it doesn’t.” The joke is greeted with a laugh, Natasha rolling to the right and coming to a sitting position beside her, legs curled so she could hug them tight, cheek pressed on her knee. Her green eyes were nearly liquid. “Who taught you?”

“No one important."

“Do you think I can do it?”

“You can do whatever you want, Feisty.”

“No,” Shaking her head, she toughens her glare, wishing to know her thoughts. “Do you think I can be good at this?”

A wave of guilt washes over the red hair, she never meant to bring such insecurity into that girl. When she questioned her boss as to why he wanted her to be a warrior, it was more in a protective way rather than a diminishing one.

“With training, yes. Of course.” She swallows hard, suddenly serious. “But really, do you want this? Do you want to fight?"

“I want to.” It’s a shy sigh. “I want to be able to stand up for myself, to not let people bully me or treat me like I'm nothing."

"It's not going to be easy, Feisty. You need to seriously commit."

"Ms Natasha-" There's a scowl on that gorgeous face. "-Nat," They giggle together. "I don’t have anywhere else to be. Don’t have any family, never really belonged to a pack. Committing to this place won’t really be hard.”

“How did you end up here? In this town, I mean.”

There is a silent juncture as she thought of the reasons that actually brought her to that city in particular. Honestly, it had been a random place, anywhere would be good as long as her father was far away from her. With her mum’s demise, she knew for sure that he would finally ship her off into the hands of a horrible old Alpha. So she ran, in the middle of a stormy night, clothes soaking wet when she walked inside the bus, not enough money in her pocket to last an entire week.

A tear streamed down, followed by many others. The bitter memories flooding and bringing out the emotions she fought hard every day to keep buried.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Feisty.” Nat nudges her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “I was just curious.”

“It’s fine, Nat, really, I just don’t feel comfortable yet to talk about it.” There’s understanding infused in the green of her eyes. “Can we go back to training?”

“Absolutely. Let’s work on your posture.”

She frowns, unsure of what she means. Up until now, she thought there was nothing wrong with it. Romanoff smiles, stretching her hand to guide her so they could stand in the middle of one of the mats, then swivelling around so she could be behind her, one hand over her tummy and the other between her shoulder blades.

“It’s really important to know where you stand and have some balance,” Nat explains. “That has a lot to do with your posture.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You need to realise the weight of your body and shift it into your favour, so when you’re punching or kicking someone, you don’t end up with broken bones or distended muscles.” Her breath fans over the nape of Feisty’s neck. “Inhale. Exhale. Deeply.”

More breathing cycles and she starts to realise the energy flowing inside her, the weight each of her limbs represent. No doubt as to why Thor trusts her. Natasha really knows what she’s doing, what she’s teaching. Sure, there is still a long path ahead for her to become somewhat good at it, though she had a feeling that being mentored by Nat would certainly speed things up.

“Curl your hands into fists. That’s it.” Velvet hands instruct her arms to take the correct place, one slightly higher than the other, both beneath her chin. "Bend your knees." A delicate pressure from her own makes the girl bend. "Good. Hold for a moment."

Twitching on the muscles of her thighs makes her sway, Natasha going back behind her to ground her into place. It takes a while before she can do that alone, but as soon as she can, her trainer commands her to throw her first punch, the air whooshing as she does so. "Again". Another. And another. She kept punching the air until the Nat looked pleased with the precision.

Then, after a short break for a sip of water, it was time to finally get it going with the heavy sandbags. The warning that she’d be sore the next day wasn’t necessary. Natasha wrapped the girl’s hands with some white bandage to somehow protect the fingers and knuckles from the damage punching the bags could cause.

“Remember to put your weight into the punch, it’s more your arm than your fist.”

“Okay, I think I got it.”

“It’ll hurt.” The warning comes one second too late, her fist had already met the bag and a sharp pain was spreading quickly. “You did good, don’t worry.”

“But it hurts!” She stutters, a gush of blood pooling on her neck and making it warm. A sign of embarrassment.

“Normal.” A slow massage eases the pain, soothing fingers touching the bruised skin. “What you have to do is pull through the pain, let it flow to the back of your arm, then you won’t feel so much.”

“Okay.”

The practice went on until it was almost two pm and the two women were definitely starving, stomachs growling rebelliously to get some food.

As they made their way back to the huge mansion, Feisty thought about Thor again. How he changed her life so much in so little time. If he hadn’t insisted for her to be trained, she wouldn’t be feeling that satisfied about her accomplishments, she wouldn’t be feeling this powerful, even though all she had learnt, and barely, was to punch a sandbag. It still felt big for her, so she made a mental note to search for him as soon as he gets home and thank him for all of that.

The wet green leaves, petrichor and thunderstorm scent came to her brain quickly, bringing along a huge smile. She was in trouble with that Alpha. Big trouble.

Night fell slowly, a mixture of pink, purple and orange still colouring the sky when she walked inside her bedroom, kicking off her shoes while putting her hair up in a bun, wiping the annoying sweat off of her forehead. It was crazy how hot it still was despite being close to ten pm.

A cold shower would be nice before sleep, she thinks, starting to undress herself, noticing a minor discomfort due to the new activities she had been doing throughout the day. She hadn’t had a minute of rest, because as soon as lunch was over, Natasha took her back to the training room, easing her into the defence techniques. Feisty had been thrown on the ground more times than she could count that afternoon.

When dinner time came, her heart filled with hope and a longing to finally see those comforting blue eyes again, the sweet, but tough face. And to smell him. She came to know most of the scents in the house and not even one matched the effects Thor's had on her, even the Alphas. It felt to her that heady odour had been made for her, to calm and entice her at the same time. However, much to her disappointment, he never came. Never returned home.

Nat’s words thrummed within her head. She knew him for over six years now, that was how long she had been part of his pack, had been his friend. Of course, she was right about him, no matter how strongly Feisty’s gut pushed her into opening up her emotions into caring for Thor. Into opening her emotions up to welcome the Alpha gladly.

Ugh.

Tossing the worn out outfit into a messy pile over the couch by the window, she quickly made her way towards the wardrobe, amazing herself upon finding stacks of new clothes inside it. They had been recently bought because they still had the labels from the shop, she was quick to pick one cute pyjama, loose grey shorts and a carebear white t-shirt. It’d be perfect to sleep on that hot night.

Determined to inspect more of the piece of furniture, she got down on her knees and opened the bottom drawers only to find a variance of knickers and bras, of all colours, shapes and taste. Whoever bought all of those aimed to please her.

There was a moment of analysing before she finally chose one that'd be comfortable for sleeping, nestling it between the soft flannels PJ's. Only then she went to the bathroom, feeling icky from the sweat coating her back, arms and face.

The towel from the morning had been hung on a metal hanger by the door, possibly already dry from the warm temperatures. She snorted, not minding if it was or not, her room felt like an oven, so maybe she should skip the whole wiping the water off of her body.

Once under the cool water, hair bundled at the top of her head, Feisty moaned in pleasure, the water washing away the dirt. Her hands trailed down, rubbing gently the skin, the soap she had squished minutes before bubbling up. Two baths in one day? Heaven, her mind hummed, in full appreciation.

Between toes, under the arms. Bit by bit she cleaned herself up, feeling refreshed each second further into the shower. Once there was nothing else to wipe off, she stepped out, firmly decided to indeed not go for the towel, walking out very much naked.

What she wasn't expecting was to find a majestic man slouched on the couch, long legs wide while he was thrown back, lids heavy. Thor was handsomely asleep. She refrained the urge to trace the creases along his face with the tip of her fingers, abruptly realising how bare she was, the second time of that day he'd barged inside her room while showering.

A chuckle slipped as she got dressed quickly, being extra careful on her steps to not wake him up. He looked so peaceful, gentle. If anything, she wanted to pull him to her chest and undo the knots on his long, blond hair at leisure. Hear a soft moan of appreciation from him.

She sat beside him a few minutes later, just watching him. The soft wrinkles under his eyes, a grown out beard framing the most beautiful set of lips she'd seen, so pink and full. A gentle whimper fell off her lips, a tug at her lower abdomen forcing her legs to clasp together.

The sound startled him awake, electric blue scanning her whole to make sure she was okay. Thor had never experimented that before. Never had such a need to watch out after an Omega, an overwhelming pressure of his instincts.

His hands found their way into cradling her face, pulling her closer to him, thumbs trailing up the cheekbones.

"Are you okay, little wolf?"

"Yeah." She says, lost in the sea of his eyes. "Are you?"

It was naive of her to ask, she realised soon. Of course, he was, despite looking tired, okay. He was mighty, it would take an immense power to even scratch him.

Thor's booming laugh filled the room.

"Yes. I am okay." Soon enough he buried his head in the crook of her neck, taking in her inebriating scent. Not an ounce of shame in his features, like it was something he did on a daily basis. Like they weren't strangers. "You're so sweet, little wolf. Were you worried about me?"

"Y-yes." The vibration of his voice made her stutter. "I wanted to thank you, but you didn’t come for dinner."

The arms wounded around her waistline tightened, protectively inching her closer, in a way that forced her cheek into his strong shoulder, a surprised squeal falling from her lips.

“I don’t want you worrying about me.” His voice pitched low, lips now pressed on the top of her head. “I care for you, not the other way around.”

“Thor…” It’s nothing but a mellow whisper, but something inside him stirs, a grumbling coming from his chest. “I-I… Why do I feel like this?”

“Like what?” The question is more rhetorical than an actual doubt. He knows what she’s on about. If she feels an inch of what he feels when he’s around her then they’re both in trouble.

She sighs, wiggling out of his sheltering hug only to stand on her knees, arms wrapping around his wide shoulders in a motherly way, huddling him against her chest, his face nuzzled on her breasts. Thor didn’t complain, humming instead in a pleasing way.

“Like what, little wolf?” He urges voice muffled on the t-shirt.

"I don't know. I can't explain it. It's just, we met a day ago and your scent is so overwhelming… I've never felt like this before. Never so soon and never so strong."

Thor lets out the air in his lungs in sharp exhale, pushing her away delicately so he could look into the so very much innocent eyes. Her hair fell from her bun framing her face like a painting, or so it was how he saw it.

In a swift action, she was sprawled in his lap, his head once more on her neck. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about how fast and how easy it had been for him to grow addicted to that sweet girl. To the smell that lit a fire within him.

She felt to him as a gift the universe was giving him after so much loss, even if it meant a liability for the powerful undefeatable Thor.

"Did you like it?"

"Uh?" Lids were heavy when Feisty replied, the tips of her fingers swirling around the prominent vein on his bicep.

"The clothes." Thor mumbles. "I bought them for you and had them delivered."

"Oh." A sudden warmness fills her up once she realises he had taken time to worry about that. To think about her. "Yes, I like them. You shouldn't have though."

"Nonsense." Something in his laugh gets her eyes open again. "Has Natasha treated you well?"

"Yes." A spark of excitement washes through her. "She taught me a lot today."

"Did she?"

Feisty nods, grinning genuinely at him, the fond memories of the afternoon flowing behind her eyes, shared laughs and a new intimacy that she never knew she could experience with someone else. More than helping her build fighting skills, Natasha was teaching her what it meant to be somebody’s friend.

They stay sit for a little while, neither willing to break from the torpor their scents lulled them into. Thor's fingers sneaking into her hair, toying with the strands in a soft manner that got her sleepy quicker than it should have, her eyes hefty.

"Nat really tired you out, didn't she, little wolf?"

"Hmmm, yes." She slurs, clinging to his clothes like a baby. "It was nice."

"I'm glad it was."

"She said-" By now, Feisty's half asleep. The heat coming from his body cuddling her like a warm blanket. "-Said I shouldn't get involved with you. You're trouble and you'll break my heart."

Those words sting him, the mere thought of causing pain to her being unbearable. He could hear the wolf inside howling for him to squeeze her further into his embrace, to protect her from any harm. She was his Omega to look after and that was what he was going to do. At all costs.

A soft tug on his collar forces him to gaze down, his insides spiralling from how defenceless that little wolf looked, index finger tracing careless patterns on the skin of his shoulder.

“Will you?” She asks then, one eye open.

“I would never hurt you, little wolf.” Thor’s large hand nestles her face, urging their glares to bore on one another. “Never.”

Nodding slowly, she stares at him a little longer, then hides her face on his neck again, breathing deeply, his exhilarating smell sending her into a gratifying haze. She didn’t know if it was a dream or not, but not a single cell in her body wanted to wake up if it was. Thor felt like home all over again, Natasha’s words were long forgotten now.

Tenderly clutching her into his chest, he got back on his feet, the woman’s legs quick to clasp around his waistline, snuggling her nose further into the crook of his neck, moaning to the strength it got to her. One day she hoped to understand how was it possible that it was so good, not today though. Today she just wanted the thrill it gave her.

When he tried putting her down to the bed, she groaned, tightening her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to lie with her. Sure, she wasn’t as strong as him, she would never be, considering he was a supreme, nonetheless, Feisty wanted to stay skin close to him still. He couldn’t leave her. Not when she felt so good.

“You need to sleep, little wolf,” Thor mumbles, kissing her forehead. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“No.”

“Little wolf…”

“Stay.” There’s demand beneath her voice. “Sleep here with me.”

His nostrils flare as the blue unexpectedly disappear, black pupils back, taking control. She’s not sleepy anymore, all her senses are very much aware to the greedy vibe he’s letting off, the alpha stench that gets her core to itch, empty and craving. For him.

“Can’t do that.” Feisty squirms, clasping her legs together as she reaches for his arm, hand ridiculously small when in comparison to the size of his bicep. “You need space, need to be alone.”

“That’s not what I need.” Her inhibitors were nearing a tenuous line, actions filled with lust and driven by instinct. “Stay.”

“You’re not-”

“I’m not asking you to mount me, Thor.” The sentence erupts a stir within his trousers, a picture taking shape in his brain. “I couldn’t sleep well yesterday, so stay with me. Your smell calms me.”

Low blow, he thinks.

“I can leave anytime you ask me.” It slips smoothly, eyes switching back to glorious blue. She smiles, standing up, and palms softly the stiff abdomen, slipping underneath to find the strong muscles tensing up under. “What are you doing?”

“I like touching you.”

Thor snickers, his own hands finding hers, bringing them both to his face, cheek pressing the mellow skin, scraping it with his beard. Lastly, he kissed her knuckles, exchanging a confident gaze. Anyone close enough could catch the intimacy in the air, regardless of them not ever having had one kiss.

Not necessary. At least not yet.

“You’re always honest like that?”

“No.” Her nose flies to his chest, opening her mouth to fully taste him. “With you, I feel I can though. I am not embarrassed by you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

It’s Feisty’s turn to snicker, looking up at him.

“It’s good, Thor. Means I trust you.”

"How can you?"

A sigh escapes whilst she is again conflicted by the rush of emotions she's feeling. It's a question she lacks an answer, so she shrugs, clutching to him like a puppy, such a warm, tender hug she felt like she would melt inside it.

Thor kisses the top of her head, pushing her to lie down again, she grunts when he pulls away to undress, kicking off his black leather boots and tossing away the shirt. He was hesitant, however, on taking off his pants, catching her glare locked on him, eyes hungry.

"You can't look at me like that, little wolf."

"How am I looking at you?" He can taste the innocence in her words.

"You're looking at me-" A sudden pause as Thor finally disposes of his jeans, joining her in the bed. She curls herself on him, legs mingling together while her head rests on his wide chest. "-Dammit. You're looking at me like you need me."

The air pushes out of her in a gasp, propping herself up in his chest, gazing at him curiously. His blond hair was loose, scattered across the pillow, eyes like a peaceful sea. He seemed like he was at home too, and that thought made her heart shake, pumping faster.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, little wolf," Thor says mindlessly, tugging her hair, caressing in a way that made the tips of her toes tingle. "Come, sleep."

There's a brief silent moment after he pulls her to lie down, cradling her.

"Thor?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks." She speaks sweetly, pressing her lips to the side of his body. "This much more than I could've ever wished for."

Feisty feels a shift under her as he chuckles, still in awe with that beautiful creature lying with him. It was by far the most precious who had ever taken that place. Who had ever touched him like that.

It scared him. And her. Both so frightened of what that could mean. Yet, none of them had the strength to prevent it, to push it off. It was inevitable.

tags!

marvel: @frenfics

thor: @lancsnerd @odinson-barnes

untouched: @slutlanna976 @rahma29417 (for some reason the tag won’t work) @truthdaze @innerpaperexpertcloud

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