#I finished it like... right when everything began happening. Almost on the dot. Crazy.

[firestia]

Lisia fanart 🩵🩵🩵

[gingerjunhan]

hi! i love your blog so much!! could i request a fic where reader does jun han’s makeup and it’s just a ton of tooth-rotting fluff? thank you so much!!

btw could i be 👽 anon

☆彡 omg yes yes yes!! Absolutely obsessed with this idea. Thank you sm for sending it in 👽anon- I’ll make sure to add you to my anon list :)

word count: 879 | pronouns used: none | genre: fluff, established relationship | cws: none!, lmk if I missed any!

It was that time again when you finally decided to sort through all of your makeup. You were sitting in the middle of your mattress with two piles of makeup products around you; makeup you use almost every day, and makeup that it was time to get rid of. Right as you finished sorting through everything, you heard a knock at your door.

“Hey, it’s me,” Hyeongjun was finally done with work for the day. “Are you dressed? Can I come in?”

“Yeah, you can come in.”

Hyeongjun opened the door and you quickly got up to greet him, picking up your pile of old makeup and bringing it with you.

“Hi, baby!” You greeted him happily, reaching up slightly to meet his lips with yours. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” he shrugged a bit, but his smile never faltered. The bashful look on his face caused by your nickname for him didn’t go unnoticed. “We’re just finishing up stuff for our comeback, so it’s nothing too crazy.” It was at that point that Hyeongjun took note of the makeup in your hands. “What are you up to?”

“I finally decided to go through my makeup,” you told him as you discarded the products you were holding. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while”

Hyeongjun turned his attention towards the pile of makeup on your mattress, his eyes scanning over all of your pallets and brushes.

“I never noticed how much makeup you have.”

You made your way back over to your bed, getting ready to put your remaining makeup away when an idea hit you. You gasped excitedly.

“Can I do your makeup?” Hyeongjun looked at you with wide eyes. You didn’t even give him a chance to protest before you started to beg. “Please Jun? I promise it will only be this one time.”

He shrugged at you. “Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have to wear makeup for work, so I don’t mind. As long as you make me look good.”

The smile that erupted on your face made Hyeongjun’s heart swell. You took a seat on the bed, patting the place in front of you. Hyeongjun climbed over to you, sitting cross legged in the space you just patted with your hand.

“Welcome to my salon,” you motioned over all of your makeup that was spread out between the two of you. You watched as the wideness of Hyeongjun’s smile now made his eyes crinkle. You smiled back, examining his face. “Let’s start with a primer. I’ll get you a headband to hold your hair back.”

You quickly got up to retrieve a headband, and once you returned back to your spot on the mattress, you picked up your primer. You took a small amount into your hands, and began to apply it to Hyeongjun’s face.

“I’m not sure how good of a shade match my concealer will be on you, but we can give it a try.” Hyeongjun nodded, not saying a word. He watched silently as you took your concealer and dotted it on his face, then beginning to blend it out. He loved watching you focus like this. Your brows slightly knit together, the way you slightly scrunched your nose- he found it adorable. Once you were done, you leaned back to look at him again.

“You know what you need?” You asked him.

“What?”

“Eyeliner.”

“Why?”

“Because who isn’t a sucker for a man with eyeliner?” Hyeongjun chuckled lightly as you searched through your makeup for your eyeliner pencil. “Okay,” you turned to him once you found it. “I’m going to have to hold your face a bit if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” he confirmed. With that, you gently placed a hand on one of his cheeks, stabilizing him.

“Try not to move, I don’t want to poke you.”

Hyeongjun hoped you couldn’t feel the warmth of his cheek under your hand. No matter how many times it’s happened, close proximity with you never fails to fluster Hyeongjun. The way your hand felt gently holding his cheek, the way your breath felt as it fanned over his skin. He had to try hard not to stare at your lips, and you honestly felt the same. You were trying your hardest to focus fully on doing Hyeongjun’s eyeliner, but he was just too pretty. His beautiful, tan skin, accompanied by the slight blush you chose not to point out for the sake of his embarrassment. The fluffiness of his hair and the scent of his shampoo. The way you definitely noticed his glancing at your lips every now and again- it was all too much. Thankfully, you managed to finish before your thoughts could get the best of you.

“There we go,” you pulled away, admiring your work. “Wow.”

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing it’s just…” you couldn’t help the butterflies you were feeling. “You look great.”

“Really?” He suddenly felt a small burst of confidence after seeing your flustered state.

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly. You suddenly became aware of how your knees were brushing against his. He leaned in closer, starting to feel slightly bold now. “Well in that case,” he brought a hand up, cupping your cheek and giving you a quick kiss. “You can thank my makeup artist.”

[sluttyminghao]

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food. 

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation. 

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: The reader has left the burrow trying to hide from Molly’s harsh comments. Bill’s mom doesn’t want his son near you cause she thinks you’ll hurt him judging you for your family reputation. Arthur thinks differenly so he’ll try to make amends between you two

Word count: 3.4 k. Too long I’M SORRY

Warnings: none

English not my mother language so pleeeeese tell me if something’s wrong

A/N: Hey! Another chapter for you’all. Thanks for keep reading this. The next part will be updated soon and yeah, hope you like it! If you want to be tagged just tell me and i’ll do so :D

Chapter 3: Expectations

It was bitterly cold outside the burrow, and you wondered if winter had come early. Your icy hands clenched your sides, refusing to go back inside even if your knuckles burned and your bare feet began to crack from the hardness of the grass on your soles.

You walked on the grass feeling the dew wetting your fingertips. On the other side of the garden the gnomes were burying one of Molly's ornaments with what, you guessed, the woman would be very angry when she found out, but no more than she already was. Molly's words were harsh. Even if her intention was not to make you feel bad, she had managed to put a huge weight on your stomach after the fight.

You didn't blame her, it was almost certain that Molly would react that way, however, you hoped that within her there was a bit of empathy for the situation you were experiencing with your family. It wasn’t easy for anyone to go through a war that could have been avoided in one way or another, however, for the Grants it was an even more difficult challenge knowing that the trigger for such a war was grandpa Tim Grant's half brother.

You walked around the house, crossing the barnyard, watching the chickens peck at a rubber boot on a very rusty cauldron. The cornfield grasses moved with the wind at the same rate. From right to left, right to left, right to left and then they changed the rhythm from left to right, left to right, left to right ...

The barn was just behind the thick grass rising into an old stone sty, which had several crooked stories attached to it. Four or five chimneys dotted the roof of the cellar, and most likely the entire building was held up by magic due to its crazy bolt-on construction. You took a look back at the main entrance of the house where you could hear the voices of Bill's brothers next to Molly's, deciding to get away from the Weasleys before starting a new fight.

You crossed the cornfield finding a pond full of frogs that you dodged with a little scream and a ballerina jump. Then you came across an old broom shed that was half stowed and a pervasive smell. You headed there, thinking of helping out with the cleaning and wasting some time in the process until William came home from the ministry in the early afternoon.

The brooms were on top of each other in a corner of the shed where the garden gnomes used them to play with each other. One of the gnomes had gotten a match with which he had managed to light a couple of strands of the broom of one of the twins -You knew it because each of the brooms had the initials of Molly's children painted on the base. That one had a huge G in the center - which soon expanded into the rest of the broom's dark fibers. You immediately turned it off earning yourself a tiny kick from the gnome.

The smoke from the fire mixed with dust, and the foul smell of expired wax made your eyes water . You wondered vaguely when was the last time that place had been cleaned up, however, the density of the raised dust and the rottenness of the broom wax on the floor told you about the nonexistence maintenance of the shed. The orchard was contained within a paddock, so you assumed there would be no problem cleaning it up later.

You collected each thing by hand placing them where you thought they should go. You finished cleaning the shed earlier than expected, securing the door when exiting to prevent the gnomes from entering and destroying everything again.

You continued your way in a straight line until you reached the barn where a thick layer of dust hid the doorknob. You opened the warehouse with your wand finding the worst scenario ever imagined. The walls were hidden in ghastly cobwebs, the shelves were clothed in huge mountains of dust, and Muggle stuff were strewn everywhere. Mr. Weasley's old Ford Anglia was on the left side of the barn,  storing certain flying objects that you couldn't recognize from the cloud of dust that rose and entered to your eyes.

Well, that seemed like an even bigger challenge than the shed on the other side of the garden. You started by washing the car using your wand to launch several aguamentis causing a waterfall of mud falling from the roof to the fender. Then the car doors flapped open like a pair of wings, letting out the flying objects. You raised your wand by closing the barn door blockig them the exit and initiating a chase that lasted a couple of hours to catch each object, throw it inside the Ford Anglia and finish polishing the hood before the flying, spoiled car got upset.

You forgot the last time you helped your household servants clean a simple fireplace ornament. Years before, when you were little and your brothers liked to spend time together, you helped the butler to clean some objects in the house because it was more fun when you formed competitions between you, Anthon and Margaret to know which of you cleaned the house ¿faster . You had fun and old Alfred got less tired. But that was a long time ago and in the present you didn’t remember what was the proper order of cleaning.

You were lugging box after box for several hours getting a terrible allergy in the process. The last box was made of recyclable paper where you put Mr. Weasley's old newspapers and Molly's worn recipes. You carried them to the fourth shelf from the right, previously cleaned, raising it with both hands. A speck of dust flew across the room, stopping on your nose causing you to sneeze so hard you fell backwards with the box on your face. The papers flew around the corners causing a disaster worse than the initial one.

“Shit”

You stayed lying on the floor taking the box off your face staring at the ceiling. Undoubtedly that would be a difficult life without anyone to help you doing the things more than yourself, however you were willing to try ‘cause you didn’t want to return home where things were simple but with a high cost. You weren't sure you wanted to trade your freedom for a few extra comforts. You let out a sigh ready to stand up when a singular sheet of a recent newspaper flew towards you, stopping on your chest. You caught a glimpse of a fairly familiar photograph in the ink, so you took the paper and read:

"Dark Mark sparks panic." Muggle family murdered.  Death Eaters numbers grow”  Your hands trembled over the paper, caressing each of the words, reading them over and over again. The weight on your stomach grew and grew, as if it were suddenly going to explode. A huge picture of uncle Tom stood in the middle, with that toothless grin and throbbing nostrils “Merlin’s beard”

Your fingers tingled, and you couldn't help but run your touch over your uncle's face trying to think how he got to that point. Grandpa Tim never talked so much about his half brother and you never had the courage to ask him even if the curiosity was eating your insides. There were few times where Tom Riddle's presence was in the family conversations and if that happened, then your father changed the topic from one second to another. It was annoying living in the shadows, but it was even more to be tied to a cause that no one sympathized with, not even his own brother. But Tim Grant was reserved, perhaps too reserved. Maybe that was the reason why he allowed the actions of his little brother to escalate to those levels and allowed too that his only son had choose the wrong side. However, you didn’t understand - or support - Voldemort's ambitions, neither did your grandpa and that cost you to be rejected by the rest of your family.

Your eyes watered and you didn't know if it was because of guilt or if the damn dirt had entered your eyelids. You looked at the ceiling in the haze. You searched your mind and realized that the situation affected you too much. You weren't welcome with the Weasleys, nor with the Grants. You felt desolate, as if the barn walls were closing in on you.

Molly's reaction was valid, you repeated yourself as many times as you could, because anyone who had lost a large part of it’s family to a member of another's would have done the same thing or something so much worse. You shook your head, once again feeling the rejection you were used to.

The barn door opened suddenly, letting in a gust of wind hitting your body directly on the ground. Your skin prickled from the cold causing the newcomer to laugh.

You looked up to find yourself face to face with the distorted figure of Arthur Weasley who was holding a couple of drinks along with a weird smile that made you laugh. The man sat on the floor next to you leaving the glass next to your face.

"I'm sorry I scared you. it’s freezing cold out there and in my defense, nobody comes to this place”

“It’s okay, I wasn't expecting visitors”

"Fine, then" Arthur took a sip of his drink licking his chapped lips, but still showing you that smile so much like Bill's. You folded the newspaper on your lap, nervous. "So ... what are you doing lying in my barn?"

"I ... I was trying to clean this place up”

"Is that so? ‘cuz It seemed like you were about to take a nap."

“Yeah, i had a little mishap here”

"I see, do you want to get up?"

"Yes, thank you." Arthur held out his hand, slowly pulling you up to leave you sitting in front of him. He offered you the drink and you clinked glasses before drinking. It was hot chocolate, you guessed, made by Molly. Your stomach churned.

Mr. Weasley glanced around the barn, surprised to see more than half perfectly arranged

“This place hasn't been so clean since Bill was born”

“Sorry?

"No, no, it's okay," he mentioned, waving to play it off, "Molly had been asking me for a long time to do it, so I think you just made my job easier."

"It's nothing, Mr. Weasley

"Did you see something you liked?"

"Uh, yeah," you answered wiping your lips. "Ignoring the fact that your car almost killed me, I noticed that you have a lot of muggle stuff."

“Ah, yes. They are fascinating, don't you think?”

"Certainly, but I also realized that most of them are useless, why do you still have them here?"

"I like to collect them," he replied, taking another sip of his drink. You mimicked his action “to be honest, I don't even have a clue how these things works, but I suppose I'll find out in time. Muggle devices are not as advanced as ours, much less functional, however, I find them entertaining and special somehow, did you know that they use a subway to transport themselves underground? And they must leave coins in a machine so that they give them a little ticket. A ticket! The first time I used one I was deadly excited!

You smiled, imagining how it would to see Mr. Weasley that happy

"I could help you understand how they work." You winced when Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. "My ... my grandfather lived with Muggles for a while and knows a lot about this artifacts. Several times he spoke of his usefulness to my brothers and me”

“Fantastic!” He replied cheerfully. You smiled “It's wonderful (Y/N), thank you”

“No problem”

Then a silence settled between you, being cut off only by the babble of the gnomes outside the barn kicking the timbers trying to get inside. Arthur cleared his throat as he ran his little blue eyes over each of the walls of his newly renovated barn. He smiled again placing one of his hands on your shoulder

"I found out what happened with Molly in the morning," he mentioned. You nodded “My children told me what you said to each other and ...”

"I'm sorry I spoke badly to your wife, Mr. Weasley" you interrupted, sipping your glass all at once, leaving it on the floor. "I know after this I'll have to talk to William and find another place to stay."

“She is not like that. She rarely has such behavior with the people and I can only think that my Molly has a lot of mixed feelings. The war has us all nervous and the fact that the memories of the past have arisen again ... they make her have reactions that are not very usual in Molly.”

"I'm not blaming her. I think she's right”

“Why?”

"What I did to my family ... running away, betray them..." You started playing with your fingers on your lap, embarrassed. "It's not something a trustworthy person would do."

“What are you talking about?”

“For the Grants, it’s very important to support the family in their endeavors without stopping to think if that could be harmful to the others. With uncle Tom becoming the most dangerous dark wizard of all times ... people would think that his relatives would follow his steps and they did “Mr. Weasley listened attentively, ignoring the screams of his wife announcing that the food was ready “At least most of them. Now all of us are tied to the He-who-must-not-be-named, whether we want it or not. It ruined our lives and I couldn't stay in that place forever

"Why aren't you on his side?"

"Because I can't see my brothers make a wrong decision" You crumpled the newspaper with your hands looking at how the pic of Lord Voldemort turned into a streaked stain "I have my own convictions, even if you don’t believe so”

"I don't believe anything of you, (Y/N)" Arthur's voice turned stoic as he stared at you harshly. "Neither the good nor the bad. I am a believer that you should judge someone by what demonstrates, not by what it’s said about them. Right now you aren’t showing me anything but that there is something in your family that you don’t like and that the dirt in my barn is intolerable to you”

You smiled

"We're all here waiting to see what are you capable of. Good or bad, you get to decide who (Y/N) Grant is from now on. Starting over. Forget that the Grants' actions make you worthy of the consequences”

Warmth attacked your chest. It was comforting to feel for the first time the acceptance of someone who wasn't doing it out of mere compassion or that it was Bill. That Arthur gave you the benefit of the doubt encouraged you to continue as before: trying, trying, trying.

"I think his wife doesn't think the same."

Arthur Weasley patted your shoulder.

"I'll talk to her, she'll understand. Meanwhile let's go home, it's time for lunch”

"Did Bill come back?"

"Yes, my son and I came back from the ministry a while ago.He wanted to find you, but I asked him to let me do it. You know, because sometimes it's good to have the daughters-in-law on your side”

Your cheeks heated up and then the rest of your face turned completely red. Arthur studied your reaction, smiling as he realized you were just a kid looking for approval. He patted your shoulder again, inviting you to leave the rest of the mess and accompany him to the burrow.

"These aren’t a good times to trust the Daily Prophet," Arthur mentioned, noticing the crumpled newspaper in your hands. You skipped the pond and skirted the cornfield until you reached the garden entrance where Bill's brothers and Bill himself had set up a long table near Molly's apple tree where they planned to spend the afternoon. One of the twins raised his wand putting the cuterly across the table, one set for each of the family members. You wondered if there would be a place for you at the table “Honestly, these are not good times to trust anything or anyone, so if you accept my advice, don't worry too much about reading the newspapers, they will leave you more questions than answers, Hey, you will break that!

Arthur scolded his twins when they fiddled with forks in a battle to find out which of them would wash the dishes after eating. Arthur ran towards them while Bill approached you greeting you with a kiss on the cheek. He frowned, watching you closely and then removed his coat, draping it over your shoulders.

"What the hell were you doing outside without a sweater?" It's freezing!”

"You worry way too much," you told him, pressing the faux fur against your shivering body. The truth was that, after the exchange of words with Bill's mother, you didn’t have the time to get a sweater before leaving and of course your wounded pride wouldn’t let you get dressed again before going to hide in the barn. Bill clicked his tongue rubbing your arms. "I'm fine, I just lost track of the time cleaning your father's barn and I didn't feel the cold until now”

"You're bad at lying, did you know that?"

"You should stop asking so many questions." You smiled at the grimace on the older Weasley's face. "Nothing happened."

"That's not what the twins told me," he suddenly mentioned. You felt the tension in Bill's body when Molly passed by him giving you a dangerous look, however you decided to ignore it for the good of both of you “ What my mom said ...”

"It’s okay, it doesn't matter I discussed it with your father and we worked it out”

“Are you sure?” You nodded “I hope so. Not because she’s my mother I will let her offend you in any way”

Your smile widened. You couldn't possibly love that man more than you already did. You approached his body, throwing your arms around Bill's neck, having to stand on your tiptoes to reach only to kiss his chin. He lowered his head, managing to bring his lips together.

“Help your brothers set the table, I'll go take a bath”

"Don't you prefer i help you instead?" You laughed

"I can do it by myself, thanks”

"Hmm ... you sure?”

"William ...”

"Okay, okay, okay," he urged you leaving a couple of kisses on the corner of your lips. "Don't be gone too long. i’ll miss you, love."

“I will not. Wait for me just here, yeah?”

You went upstairs to the room you shared with Bill and jumped into the shower enjoying the warmth of the water above your head. You leaned against the tiles thinking that your first day in the burrow had turned out very bad, but better than you had thought. Even if Molly didn't believe your words, you would do your best to fullfil the expectations of the others members of the Order. You would be loyal to them, to the Aurors, and you would fight whoever you had to to prove that your actions were worth more than the rumors surrounding the Grants did.

You were going to prove how wrong they were with you and, incidentally, you would forge a reputation of your own, one of which you would proud of

Tag:

@purple-vodka-99​

[justcourttee]

I love your sibling Jasonette, so may I please have some more? *Raises gruel bowl*

A little angsty, a little sweet. I hope you love this one too :)

The Birthday Gift

Jason was having a shitty day.

Marinette was supposed to call him when her plane touched down at Gotham Airport, but that was hours ago and she had yet to return a single message. On top of that, stupid Bruce blindsided with yet another intervention with Batman Incorporated and how yes there are terrible villains out there, but we are not the judge, jury, and executioner. A load of hypocrites if you asked him. Finally, Roy stood him up for a drink at their favorite bar due to a meeting with Oliver.

So he could honestly say he was not surprised when a handful of Joker’s thugs dropped in on him on his self-pitying walk home.

“Look, guys, today is not my day. I’ll let you off easy if you leave now.”

The men’s painted smiles sent shivers down his back, reminding him just a little too much of the original. They said nothing as they circled him, waiting for him to make the first move, a mistake he had made many times with them.

“C’mon dudes, can’t you give a guy a break. It’s my birthday today and even my own sister stood me up.”

One of the men began to snicker as if he found the idea of Jason’s loneliness funny. Maybe it was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to laugh with them. The sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention. He felt his whole body stiffen as the maniacal laughter reached his ears. No one else sounded so deranged, so crazy, but it couldn’t be. The world didn’t hate him this much right?

Wrong.

“Well, well, well, little Jason Todd. Oh my, it’s been so long, you’ve grown so much.”

Joker himself in all of his clown prince glory. His smile sickened Jason’s stomach to the core.

“What do you want, Joker?”

The clown’s face frowned in mock hurt as he placed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite agent of chaos? Now now little bird, I’m not here as a threat, I’m here to offer you some birthday fun! After all, you always were my favorite little Robin. It’s why I treated you so much more tenderly than the rest.”

Joker reached up to wipe a fake tear from his face before allowing the grin to stretch it’s way back slowly. Jason’s mind was racing with possibilities, the number one being an exit strategy. Four men, all deranged, plus the Joker himself. It wasn’t looking great, but there was no way this clown was going to kill him twice in this lifetime.

“What’s this gift you mentioned? So kind of you to think of me on this day.” It took everything he had to hold back the sarcasm from dripping off his tongue. His hand moved in the slightest, trying to reach the gun he had tucked in his waistband.

“I’m glad you asked-”

Before he could finish his sentence, a figure dropped from the rooftops, landing on the nearest goon. The three remaining men all reached for their weapons, but could never touch them. Something shot out, gripping their guns and pulling them into the abyss of darkness. For a brief second, Jason allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Maybe the old man finally remembered his birthday, maybe he was here to help him. But as the figure stood, taking a step into the light, he felt his heart drop. A small girl stood in front of him dressed in a skintight black suit, small red dots lining her sides. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, her mask solid red matching the side of her suit.

“I’ll give you one chance Joker, let go of the boy and I’ll let you go.”

There was a tense silence for a moment before Joker laughter tore through the air.

“A child! Are you Batman's new birdy my girl?”

The small figure stiffened as Joker’s men began recovering their wits, some drawing pocket knives, others closing in with their bare hands.

“Do I look like a bird to you?”

Jason had to hand it to her. The kid had guts to stand before the Joker and insult his jokes, but he knew the clown’s patience was running thin. Sooner or later, he was going to give the order and the thugs would tear into her. He was so close to his gun, but any sudden movement could put her in danger now.

“Now now, it sounds like you need an attitude adjustment. Why don’t you ask Jason here how it feels?”

His smirk was sinister and with the flick of his hand, the thugs all jumped. They were fast, but she was faster. One by one she knocked them out, flipping and twirling with grace as she dodged each attempt on her life. Jason’s fingers finally wrapped around his gun, a sense of relief flooding through his body.

This was what he needed to shift the fight, but something stopped him. Numbness spread through his limbs as he lost his grip on the gun, the weapon clattering against the concrete. He vaguely recognized the hand on his back giving him a shove forward, but he couldn’t put his arms out to save himself.

“No!” The girl tried to rush forward, but she was distracted as one of the thugs landed a punch, knocking her off her balance. They managed to subdue her, holding her still as Joker moved forward to examine the new curiosity.

“Quite interesting. How do you know my Jason?”

The girl’s eyes clouded over as she mustered as much strength as she could, trying to pull her arms free. Joker raised his hand, a sickening smack coming from the girl’s face as a red mark began to form. Jason tried to move, he needed to protect her like she tried to do for him, but it was impossible.

“Now, I asked you a question. Show some respect for your elders!”  His laughter only enraged the girl.

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Oh, you mean, like this?” Joker raised his leg, landing a kick right into Jason’s ribcage sending the clown into a fit of laughter. “Or this?”

“Stop it! No! Jason!”

He knew the voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn’t focus on it, not with the endless pain rolling in.

“All you have to do is answer the question! You have the power to stop this dear.”

Jason tried his best to raise his head to look at her properly, but the best he could do was land one eye on the girl. The face, mask or not, he knew that face. Joker raised his foot once more, stopping only a millimeter from Jason’s face.

“He’s my brother! I swear if you hurt him again I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you.”

Jason felt the realization flood through him as his heart dropped. She didn’t abandon him. She was right here. Marinette.

“I see, I didn’t know my dear Jason had a sister. Honestly, I wouldn’t expect him to be related to someone so weak.”

He reared back his foot again, delivering yet another blow. Jason heard Marinette yell in rage, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“What the-”

Jason couldn’t see anything, he could barely move from the paralysis and the bruised rib cage. He heard the sounds of commotion sending panic through his body. These weren’t like the villains Marinette faced in Paris, these were rougher around the edge, their only goal to kill. Parsian villains killed, but almost always on accident, collateral damage. These men did it for fun.

He tested his fingers, a sense of urgency flooding through him as they twitched under his strained effort. Jason just about had his full hand in motion again when five shots rang through the air sucking the breath from his lungs.

“Bug? Bug are you alright?”

Jason couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face and trickled into his voice. She was the only family that mattered to him, the only one that ever cared for him. Using his good hand, he attempted to flip himself, only succeeding in straining his wrist.

“Bug!”

Two hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into their lap, his head lolled backward before a soft touch helped him prop upwards. Two shining blue eyes stared down into his, a splatter of blood staining her mask.

“Bug what did you do? You don’t kill.”

She shook her head, dropping down to hug his numb body.

“I only wounded them. They crawled away carrying their stupid clown leader. Jason, I was so scared they were going to kill you.”

He felt a hot tear hit his face and then another. Soon her tears mixed with his own as the shock faded away. He almost let that asshole kill him again and in front of Marinette.

“Hey, hey, no tears on your birthday.”

Marinette wiped away his before she took care of her own, a shaky giggle escaping her lips.

“Mari, why didn’t you call back? I was so worried.”

The feeling had returned in both his arms as he tried his best to move his legs next.

“I was trying to finish your birthday gift, you know how I get when I’m sewing.”

It was Jason’s turn to laugh, still shaky as well as he tried to push what had happened out of his mind.

“What did you get me?”

“A new jacket. I know leather is your favorite and you always seem to ruin the ones I make you.”

They both shared a laugh as Marinette shook her head.

“Let me see if we’re lucky tonight.”

Marinette gently set him back on the ground as she called upon her lucky charm, only to throw it directly into the air with her signature phrase. Hundreds of small ladybugs circled his body, a warmth spreading throughout where they touched.

As they disappeared into the night sky, Jason tested his legs, a small smile tugging at his lips when they moved at his command.

“You know how much I love that thing right?”

Marinette shook her head as she called off her transformation catching a small, exhausted Tikki.

“You know how lucky you are that I transformed before they laid a hand on you right?”

Jason gently shoved her shoulder as she stuck her tongue out at him. As she finished caring for Tikki, she turned her full attention to him, slipping off the oversized jacket she was wearing.

“Here, this was your gift. It was the only way I could think to protect it without leaving it up on the rooftop.”

He slipped off his older jacket, a gift from his last day in Paris, and slipped on his new one, relishing in the perfect fit.

“You know, you’re a miracle worker Marinette. And since you’re in town, I think we can now use that phone of yours to contact Damian.”

“Don’t even think about it, after all, you don’t want to end up like those thugs.” Her tone was playful as she handed him back his fallen gun.

“I think I could take my chances.” He threw his arm over her shoulders as he guided her out of the alleyway. “Now, how about you  buy me a birthday drink?”

“How about not? This is the States, my friend, I’m technically not legal here.”

Jason cursed under his breath earning a laugh from the smaller girl as they headed down the avenue. Jason felt his phone buzzing from his back pocket, most likely Bruce calling him about his Joker encounter (which he had no doubt he already found out about), but he didn’t have the energy for yet another lecture on his birthday. Not from him.

“Are you going to get that? It could be your family?”

Jason looked down to meet her concerned eyes, a sight that melted his heart. He shook his head, planting a small kiss on the top of her head.

“I’ve got the only family that matters right here and that’s the best birthday gift anyone could ask for.”

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @rebecarojas07 @ash-amg

[songbirdstyles]

golden hour

summary: it’s the last night of your honeymoon with harry - therefore, your last opportunity for golden hour beach sex.

warnings: smut! 18+ please. and some fluff.

harrThe world, for the past two weeks, has felt like it’s been just a tad more beautiful than usual. The sky, lit up in hues of bright blues, reds, and oranges, clouds seldom dotting the sky above the crystal clear ocean, invites you in when you stare at it, watching the sun begin to slowly sink down towards the horizon. With its descent, it pulls down the light colors and you can see the beginnings of darkness starting to peek through the sky. 

The afternoon is quiet and peaceful, lying out on the Build-A-Bear beach towel you’d gotten at your niece’s third birthday party, digging your feet in the sand and occasionally looking down towards the water, where Harry soaks in the last night of your honeymoon. You’d been bugging him about sunscreen as the pair of you had decided this last day should be spent purely on the beach but, now, you figure it doesn’t matter if he isn’t coated in SPF; it’s not like the sun will do him much damage now.

Yes, everything has been much more gorgeous recently. Perhaps it was the glow of the ring on your finger that made life seem better - knowing that you and Harry were bound together, that you’d found the love of your life and made him yours. Every time you looked at him, you couldn’t believe he was yours. And it made everything better to see him so happy. 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, squinting towards the sun as to make out Harry’s figure in the water. The tide is calm and the water is near silent, and you know that he’ll be making his way back up to you soon. You’d gone in with him earlier, when the waves were rougher and you had to dive under them to not be thrown ashore. The crystal clear water lapping at your skin was a much needed escape from the sun, burning your skin, though it was certainly better than the dreary downpour you’d surely be facing in London. After lunch, you’d napped for a while and gone back in - when the waves began to calm down Harry wrapped his arms around you, pulling your legs around his waist, and you knew he was trying to be sweet and romantic but it was difficult when a particularly hard ripple would overtake the both of you and you’d fall backwards into the ocean. Eventually you’d pulled away, giggling when he smacked your ass as you ran back up to your towel, and here, you’ve resided since then. Reading your book, drawing the scenery and your love in the water, and just watching him.

Mainly watching him.

Slowly you sit up, adjusting your bikini top - Harry had helped you put it on earlier, taking extra time to kiss your shoulder blades as he helped you with the complex ties - and you raise your hand above your eyes, blocking out the glare of the lowering sun. Harry’s figure slowly gets bigger and bigger as he walks towards you, water dripping off of his body, ends of his hair wet.

“Hey, m’love.” When he’s close enough, he bends down to give you a salty, sea licked kiss, and you smile against his mouth. “Been doing much reading up here?”

You shrug, casting a sideways glance to your book on the sand beside you. “Not really. Mostly been watching you.”

A smile spreads over his face, then, as he reaches down into the bag you two had packed earlier and pulls out his towel, wrapping it around his shoulders before dropping to his knees on your towel. You adjust your legs so he can sit, criss crossed, in front of you, and you lean in to give him another kiss when you’ve both settled.

He brings one hand up to your cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When you pull away you drop your head to his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s your last day here, soaking up the beautiful beaches and the sun, where the only thing you can think about is him, and you don’t want to waste a single moment.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you tell him, voice soft, and his fingers curl into the hair at the back of your head. “I mean, it’s been so perfect. We wake up, we have sex, we have breakfast, we have sex, we go to the beach -”

“A near perfect schedule to me.”

Your hand drops down to his back, dragging your nails along his skin and feeling him shiver at the sensation. His hands move from the innocence of your cheeks down to your waist, squeezing your hips before dropping down to your ass, which you should’ve expected - his fingers dip beneath your bottoms, squeezing the bare skin of your bum as you squeal.

“This is a public beach, Harry,” you tell him, but your arms tighten around him as he pulls up the damp material of your bikini bottoms and lets them snap back against your ass. 

“No one’s been here all day,” he says, as way of reassuring you, but you cast your eyes left to right anyway, watching the empty expanse of beach on either side of you. “How can you pass up beachy, golden hour sex with your husband?”

Your heart swells at that, shifting your hips so his hands slide down, cupping both globes of your ass in his palms. “I guess I can’t.”

Harry grins, leaning in to tug at your bottom lip - his favorite precursor to kissing you - and then he dives in, using his hands on your ass to force you into his lap, and through his swimsuit you can feel his hardening cock, warm against you even through the material. You tug at his wet ends, feeling the water coating his body trickle down onto you as you press closer to him - a droplet drips between your breasts, making you shiver as it trickles down your stomach. He’s wet and your hands are covered in sand, making the small grains stick to his skin whenever you touch him, but that’s an issue that’ll be solved in the shower later. All you can do is moan when his lips attach themselves to the base of your neck, sucking at your throat until there’s a small, dark purple mark.

“Look at that,” he mutters, voice low and raspy. He brings his hand up to your throat, brushing his thumb along the hickey. “You make me crazy, y’know that?”

Yes, you did know that. But you don’t have time to respond before he wraps his hand around your throat, pushing you down onto the towel and hovering above you. His other hand, slightly shaky - it always happens when he’s this worked up - moves to the bottom of your bikini top, pulling the cups up over your breasts and leaning down, attaching his lips to your nipple and sucking lightly. His tongue flicks over the hardened bud, his other hand pressing down on your throat harder until your breaths are shorter and raspy and you’re a moaning mess beneath him.

You want everything from him - you want to sit on his face and lean down, taking his cock in your mouth and sucking until’s he crying out against your clit, sending vibrations through your body - you want to wrap your fist around his dick, pumping until he cries out that he’s almost there fuck - you want him to press kisses and suck hickeys into your inner thighs, making it so you can’t wear bikinis again until they fade. But you don’t have time for any of that, so you reach down and untie his swim trunks, tugging them down, and immediately you wrap your hand around his length - he’s aching hard, by now, and his teeth graze against your nipple with a high pitched moan at the feeling of your touch.

You cry out, hips bucking up into his as Harry pulls his hand from your throat - it trails down your abdomen, tracing a soft line on your stomach before reaching the hem of your bottoms. He tugs them halfway down your thighs before moving his hand back up, plunging two fingers inside your cunt without warning - you throw your head back, sand surely getting caught up in your hair by now, but you find that you don’t really care.

“Oh my - fuck - “ your grip around his cock tightens, thumb grazing over his tip and he jerks, bracing one arm against your towel to hold himself above you as he pulls his fingers out of you, resting both of them atop your clit. You raise both hands to the back of his head, tugging at his curls. “Wish I had time to do everything I want to you. But we have to go fast. Can you handle that, baby? Want me to fuck you so fast you can barely think straight?”

His voice is sweet, as if he’s talking to a child and not his half naked wife beneath him, and it only serves to make another gush of arousal spring between your thighs.

“Please, please, Harry, fuck me -” and you barely have time to finish your plea before he pushes inside of you, and before you have time to shriek at the burning stretch, his hand flies over your mouth. The sun beats down on your body as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, darkening the world around you, but it all looks so beautiful. “I love you so much.”

He pauses, hips pressed flush against yours, and then he leans down fervently - lips crash against yours and your teeth bang against his, a desperate, messy kiss if you’ve ever seen one. Then he’s pulling back, muttering, “I love you so fucking much,” and pulls out before pushing back in.

It starts out, surprisingly, slow and gentle, despite what he’d said before. He rolls his hips and bottoms out, pressing two fingers against your clit, one hand gripping your hip to keep you from moving too much. But you don’t want it to be soft - not now. Tonight, when you’re clean and showered and in between the sheets of your rented home, you can go slow.

But not now. 

“Harry - please, faster, I need it -” which is all he needed to hear.

Almost immediately, it’s fast and desperate, the time between each thrust of his hips so short you don’t have time to breathe. You reach for his wrist and place his hand back around your throat, feeling him squeeze your neck. Just enough to make your breath catch, and you trust him not to go too hard. His fingers rub circles into your clit and already you can feel pressure building inside your belly. Slowly at first, rising with every thrust, and you push your head up to meet his lips with yours.

Your voice catches in your throat whenever you try to speak, but finally you whine, “Please, harder, baby.”

He groans loudly, chest rising and falling drastically with each breath, and he moves his hand from your throat down to your chest - grasping one of your breasts before moving his mouth down again, biting at the sensitive mound of flesh and sucking dark hickeys into your skin. Hips piston furiously in and out of your heat, the noise loud enough to be heard but soft enough to be overtaken by the noises you’re both making. You moan and cry out and he grunts desperately, voice muffled against your chest. If there was anyone on the beach at this moment, you’d surely both be found out. You’ve never been one for being quiet during sex.

Your fingers fly to your towel, pushing yourself up so you can meet his thrusts, which are beginning to slow - rocking in and out of you at a pace that’s practically killing you - and your fingers bury themselves in the sand, feeling the softness beneath your fingers. The grains leak out from between your fingers and some stick to your palms, the sweat on your clammy palms acting as glue to the sand. Skin smacks against skin and you look up at him, eyes beginning to water with knowing you’re being completely wrecked by him right now and his face is red, veins popping and sweat dripping down his skin.

“Come for me,” he tells you, voice a hiss between clenched teeth. “Wanna feel you come around my cock.”

You don’t need to be told twice - you clench around him, cunt fluttering as you finally let go, the sensation that had been building inside of you finally overflowing. A loud sob breaks out of your throat, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck and tug his body close to yours. You need him to be with you, chests pressed to each other, fingers pressing down on your clit. With every now-lazy thrust of his hips into yours, your release prolongs itself just a bit, and you slam your mouth to his to muffle your violently loud noises.

Your muscles clench around him, involuntarily at first, but you know how it makes him fall apart - and fall apart, he does. His hips stutter to a pause and he bottoms out completely, grunting into your mouth and grasping both sides of your neck. You feel him spilling inside of you, his seed warm, hips resuming a lazy, rolling pace into yours before he finally stops and collapses on top of you, body fucked out by now.

For a moment you two sit in silence. There isn’t much to say, besides acknowledging that it’s now past sunset and getting darker every second. Which means you should leave soon - the prospect of someone coming, tomorrow, and seeing the pair of you half naked is less than desirable - but you’d do anything to stay in this moment forever.

There’ll be many more like this, you know. An infinite number of opportunities to wrap yourself in him, feel him inside of you, loving you through and through. To feel his heartbeat, fast and desperate, thumping at a pace quicker than she’s ever felt it.

“I think we should go back, now,” Harry mutters, pressing his cheek to your shoulder. Back to your rental home, you can shower and fall back into bed. It sounds more than ideal. “I think I’m already ready for round 2, frankly.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off of you gently. “I’m sure you are.” Slowly you look down at yourself - bikini bottoms halfway down your thighs, top pushed up to expose your breasts, cum dripping down your thighs. There’s sand in every crevice of your body and wrapped in your hair, hickeys over your neck and jaw and tear tracks on your cheeks. “Jesus. I look like a mess.”

Harry - digging through your back to find his shirt from early in the day - looks over at you and tilts his head to the side, eyes trailing up your body. “I think you look beautiful,” he tells you, as if it’s a statement of fact, and then reaches into your bag, pulling out his shirt and tossing it to you. “But we can’t have anyone else seeing you like that, can we? Just for me.”

“Just for you,” you confirm, fighting the small smile creeping on your face as you pull his Fleetwood Mac shirt over your frame. You’re only his - forever, you reckon.

[aalissy]

Dreams Part 2

Anddd here’s the reason for the shorter chapter today and the special surprise I mentioned hehe. @bamberry asked for a part two to dreams so here it is!! I really hope you like it <3. Lemme know what you guys think!

AO3

When Adrien opened his eyes to his blaring alarm the next morning, he brushed away the lingering feelings of heartbreak and sadness. He may not have been able to change the ending to his dream but maybe he could change it in real life. If Marinette did accept his invitation to go to the movies, he’d have to be the perfect gentleman, showing her that they should stay together so she won’t even think about breaking up with him. With that last, determined thought, he pushed himself up out of bed and towards his bathroom. 

He got changed and brushed his teeth rather quickly, his excitement brimming as he realized that he’d be able to see Marinette soon. Plagg simply floated above the boy, watching him bemusedly as Adrien hummed lightly to himself. It was going to be a great day.

After Adrien finished getting ready, though, he frowned at himself in the mirror. Something felt missing. But that thought didn’t make any sense. He was dressed in what he usually wore and he didn’t typically feel like he was forgetting something. The furrow between his eyebrows grew deeper as he dug back through his closet. 

Still not certain what he was looking for, he paused slightly once he saw a familiar beret. Slowly, Adrien reached for it as a memory from his recent dream popped up in his thoughts. He had worn this beret every day whilst dating Marinette. His fingers trailed lightly over the fabric as he tried to remember why he had done that. After all, it was a gift Ladybug had given him from his Brazilian fan club. 

As his fingers ran along the inside of the beret, he stopped once they ran into a different type of threading. With a small frown, Adrien peered inside the beret and felt his mouth fall open when he saw the name inside. In tiny, gold lettering he saw the words Marinette. 

“Plagg,” he wheezed out. A million thoughts ran through his mind as he tried to connect the dots. How had his dreams known something that he hadn’t? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be a reason. 

“What’s wrong, kid?” Plagg hovered nearby, looking disinterested even as Adrien felt like he had just got hit by a truck. 

Instead of answering, he practically shoved the beret in his kwami’s face. With a small whimper, he pulled it back to stare down at the name once again. Marinette had made this for him and somehow his dream-self had known. 

“Listen, Adrien...” Plagg started rather cautiously, even as Adrien’s expression went from one of shock to adoration, “I don’t know what you think but—”

“My Brazilian fan club commissioned Marinette to make this for me,” he cut in, shimmying with excitement. “And my dream-self knew. That’s what those dreams were about, Plagg! I was trying to tell myself that Marinette made this for me.”

His kwami coughed lightly before shaking his head. “Right, right... that’s exactly what happened.”

“She’s so amazing.” Adrien sighed, staring down at the beret lovingly. Placing it on his head, he raced downstairs so that he could get to school faster. 

He almost missed Nathalie, who tsked at him in disapproval before handing him his schedule for the day. She raised an eyebrow after he thanked her and ran to the front door. Her voice cut in, dripping with distaste before Adrien could open the door and slide into the limo, though. “Why are you in such a hurry today?”

Adrien turned back to give his father’s assistant a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Nathalie. I guess I’m just really excited to go to school today.”

With that, he gave her one last wave, ducking into the limo. Once inside, he carefully readjusted his beret, feeling his heart tug gently in his chest. As the vehicle slowly pulled out of the Agreste mansion, Adrien tapped his fingers against his leg impatiently. He couldn’t wait to see Marinette’s face when he told her that he knew she made him the beret. Would she give him a shy smile before ducking her head cutely or would her whole face turn red as she stuttered and stammered?

Adrien gave a quiet, lovestruck sigh as he turned to stare out the window. As the buildings passed by him and he got closer and closer to the school, his excitement and anticipation grew. 

Finally, when the limo pulled into the entrance, Adrien barely waited for it to stop before bursting out of the doors. His face lit up immediately as he scanned the surroundings only for it to darken once again when he saw no sign of Marinette. Kicking at the sidewalk with disappointment, Adrien sat down at a step. He scoffed when he pulled out the phone and checked the time. He was still very early and knowing Marinette she would be late. 

With a quick shrug, he began to scroll through some of the apps on his phone, occasionally looking up to see if he could spot Marinette. It took way too long before he finally did see her. She was walking and giggling with Alya, her pigtails bouncing and swaying with every step that she took.

Beaming brightly, Adrien bounded over to them, missing the rather suspicious look Alya gave him as his gaze was entirely focused on Marinette. Her own blue eyes seemed to be staring directly at the beret on his head. His grin turned slightly amused as he adjusted the hat before saying, “Hi, Marinette.”

At that, her eyes blinked to his as her face turned a bright red. She lifted her hand in a small wave before murmuring, “H-hello.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Adrien gave Alya a rather pointed glance before returning his attention to Marinette.

Alya smirked smugly at that, giving her best friend a pat on the shoulder before saying, “Well, I’m going to head to class then. I’ll see you in a bit, ok girl?”

Marinette nodded her head quickly before gnawing on the bottom of her lip. Alya gave a quiet laugh before going inside the school. Adrien then quickly looked around before taking Marinette’s hand and guided her behind the steps with him. Once he was certain they were alone, he looked down at her with a soft smile. “So, I wanted to thank you, Marinette.”

“F-for what?” she squeaked, her face turning an even darker shade of red.

Adrien chuckled lightly before pulling off his beret to point out the name she had sewed inside. He traced over the tiny, gold lettering before murmuring, “For the beret.”

Lifting his head back up, his mouth fell open in shock as he saw Marinette’s expression. She looked horror-struck. Her face was pale and she looked about ready to bolt. Blinking in surprise, he slowly reached a hand out to hold hers gently.

“Marinette?” Adrien spoke her name softly.

She shook her head, clenching her eyes shut tight. “I-I don’t... I-I didn’t.”

“Is everything alright?” he squeezed her hand in his. He watched her spiral even further and he wondered how he could fix it. How did I even start it in the first place? I still don’t know what I did, Adrien cursed in his mind. 

At that point, Marinette’s eyes popped open and she looked at him seriously. She jerked her hand away from his grip. Her blue eyes blazed with resolve as she stepped closer to point at him. “You can’t tell anyone, especially Chat Noir, ok? Very, very bad things will happen if you do. In fact, I’m surprised Bunnyx isn’t here yet.” She looked around nervously, as though expecting the end of the world to suddenly happen.

His mouth fell open in bewilderment. What wasn’t he allowed to tell himself? And how did she know Bunnyx? Adrien certainly hadn’t expected this reaction when he imagined talking to her today. Shaking his head, he tilted his with confusion. “I’m sorry, Marinette, what am I not allowed to tell anyone?”

Her gaze narrowed as she practically glared at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve already told someone?”

“I-I haven’t. I promise,” he said as he held his arms up in surrender. Was he already messing everything up? Couldn’t they just go on one date before having to break up? With a quiet gulp, Adrien gave her an anxious smile. “At least, I don’t think... what was I not supposed to tell?”

Marinette stared at him in surprise before slowly gesturing to her earrings. “You know... about this. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

He frowned in confusion, opening his mouth to tell her that he still didn’t understand before realization slammed into him like a truck. Marinette was gesturing to earrings she never took off. Besides one day, that is... the one day where he also took off his ring and ended up switching kwamis with Ladybug. Ladybug who dropped off Marinette’s present. The same Ladybug who couldn’t accept Chat Noir’s feelings because she was in love with another boy. 

Adrien breathed out one word as he gazed down at her in shock, “Me.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed as she looked up at him. “You told yourself?”

“No!” he shook his head, “I mean yes! Well, kind of... but, I was mainly saying that I was the one you were in love with.” 

Her face turned the shade of a tomato before she laughed awkwardly, waving a hand in the air. “W-what? W-what do you mean? L-love you? Uh, w-where did you hear that? I mean, that’s just crazy.”

Adrien simply chuckled loudly, slapping a palm to his forehead as so many things suddenly made sense. He hadn’t predicted the future with his dreams and he certainly wasn’t clairvoyant. He must have subconsciously figured out Marinette’s identity and had been trying to tell himself that he had been in love with the same girl from the very start.

With a small, smug grin, he leaned down to look into Marinette’s wide, blue eyes, “That’s not going to work on me, anymore, princess.”

She simply squeaked, her entire body tensing up as Adrien leaned even closer to her. He swiped at her nose playfully and smiled softly once he saw how flustered she got. Leaning back, Adrien spoke simply and gently, “I wanted to talk to you so that I could tell you that I love you too.”

“Y-you do,” Marinette whispered, her body relaxing as she gazed up at him in wonder.

“I always have, m’lady.” He bowed delicately, taking her hand in his to brush a sweet kiss on the back of it.

“No,” she breathed out, her eyes widening further, “You're not... you can’t be.”

Adrien simply winked at her, giving Marinette a particularly Chat Noir esque grin. Her eyes firmly shut as she shook her head furiously. As she ran a hand through her hair, he heard her mutter, “That makes so much more sense now. You didn’t need to tell anyone because you already knew.”

“Knew what?” He tilted his head at her in confusion, watching as her head jolted up to stare at him with longing and sadness.

Slowly, Marinette took in a deep breath, her eyes brimming with tears. “W-we can’t be together.”

“What?” Adrien practically spluttered, feeling his heart plummet deep in his chest. “Why not? I-is it because I’m Chat Noir?”

“No! Of course not, kitty! I love both parts of you, just like you do for me.” Marinette shouted in a rush to reassure him. “B-but, one day, Bunnyx showed me the future. You had gotten akumatized, Adrien. It was awful, a-and you knew my identity. Y-you said it was our love that ended the world. So, don’t you see? We can’t be together until after defeating Hawkmoth.” 

Adrien’s face dropped as he stared down at Marinette. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, that can’t be. I can’t have gotten akumatized. Not if I was in love and with you. You are one of the only people I ever feel truly happy with.”

She sniffled quietly, a soft, wobbly smile forming on her lips. “It’s the truth, Adrien. We’re not supposed to know our identities for a reason. This is probably why. Now, we should really get to class, we’re probably late enough already.”

Marinette started to walk away and before he could overthink, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, staring at her desperately. “What if we dated in secret?”

“I-in secret?” she looked at him doubtfully.

“Yes!” Adrien snapped his fingers as his face lit up. “That way Hawkmoth would never even know. It doesn’t even have to be as Marinette and Adrien or Ladybug and Chat Noir, we could make it work as Ladybug and Adrien or Chat Noir and Marinette. I can’t just let you go, Marinette. Not now when I know we’re both in love. Please, let’s just give this a chance.”

She nibbled on her lip as she peered up at him from beneath her lashes. She then spoke hesitantly. “No one would know?”

“Not a soul, I purromise.” Adrien lifted his hand up as he solemnly swore to her.

Marinette looked up at him for a few moments longer before slowly nodding her head. “Ok, we can try it. But if anything starts to go wrong, and I mean anything, Adrien. You let me know right away and we’ll figure it out together, alright? I’m not going to lose you again.”

“You won’t.” He grinned, pulling her closer to him as he brushed his nose against hers lightly. Quietly, he murmured, “Now, am I allowed to give you a kiss that we can both remember.” 

Marinette giggled, her cheeks turning a light pink. She still swatted his chest, though, hissing at him, “We can’t do this here. What if someone sees?”

“No one’s going too. Everyone’s in class already. Please, Marinette, just one,” Adrien whined, giving her a small pout.

She rolled her eyes with a fond smile. Instead of responding, however, she simply wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a sweet kiss. Shivers raced up and down his spine as he lifted her up, smiling into their kiss. Nothing was going to take this away from him. Not even Hawkmoth. He’d make sure of it.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter Seven: Carrying On

A challenging work environment proves to be too stressful for some.

Read on Ao3

Jon missed the tape recorders. He wanted something to talk into, a way to externalize his thoughts. Before the institute he'd write things down – not notes, really, just lists and scribbles he'd use to map his thinking, then discard. Couldn't do that anymore, though. Not without Elias seeing him plan.

He had a notebook and pen in front of him at the moment, and he was using them to draw the same simple pictogram, over and over. A horizontal oval, a smaller circle inside it, and a black dot in the center – which was immediately scratched out until it was no longer recognizable.

The idea had come from Gertrude. Her crates of eyeless dolls, magazines with the eyes cut from every face, they had felt like wards. He wasn't sure how effective they were against Elias, but doing something with his hands helped him think. He'd been at it for a few hours and had managed to fill most of a notebook with crossed-out eyes.

Melanie was being difficult. It was his own fault, really. He'd made the mistake of trying to discourage her from following the incident with Sara Baldwin, and only led her to feel dismissed and disbelieved.

She'd stormed out and he'd run after her, catching up outside the Institute and all but pleading with her. He confessed his fears and repeated what he'd told the others about the paranormal being dangerous. She wasn't pleased, still indignant that he'd take it on himself to decide what was best for her. But she did soften a bit. Made it clear she had every intention of continuing her investigations, but agreed to keep working with him. That was something.

It wouldn't save her, though. Not if she was determined to keep throwing herself at sites of blood and violence.

There was a knock at the door, and Jon flipped the notebook shut.

"Come in."

His door – unpainted wood, bright brass handle – opened a crack and Martin's head poked through the gap. He was still hesitating, taking stock of how busy he was before entering. Jon smiled and he took it as the invitation it was, shouldering his way in and closing the door behind him.

"Brought you some tea," he said, setting down the red and green mug Tim had bought ages ago. "Thought you might be needing a break."

"Not sure if I've earned one. But thank you."

". . . Been quiet today, huh?" Martin's tone was aimless, talking largely as an excuse to linger. "No weird surprises?"

"Not today, no. Would you like to count the doors?"

"Um. Wouldn't take long, would it? Just the one."

Jon smiled, closed his eyes and took a sip of tea. He used to take it black. He'd just defaulted to it naturally, always, until one afternoon when Martin brought him a cup made the way he took his – with too much sugar and just a little milk. Jon had taken a sip of it and realized that he liked he tea sweet. That he'd denied himself that little pleasure for years, for no real reason but habit.

That was before, of course. The Martin who brought him that tea was the one in his memories, not the one standing in front of him. This Martin thought that Jon had always taken his tea with sugar.

"No sign of Michael, then?"

"Still nothing. Maybe it's gotten bored, found someone else to harass."

"Doesn't it bother you? Knowing he's out there, trapping people in those hallways?"

"I don't know." Jon set the mug down, looking at his hands. "Obviously, yes, it bothers me. But I suppose I'm not sure what I could do about it."

"D'you think – maybe this is too easy, but – d'you think you could just smash it with an axe? The door, if it appeared? I know it's supernatural and all, but it's still wood, right?"

"I think we can be quite sure it isn't wood, actually."

"Still thought. Might be worth keeping a fire axe around? Could at least chop through a wall if you got trapped like before."

"Chopping a hole through evil architecture – strangely practical, blunt, and a little bit violent." Jon observed. He couldn't help thinking that Adelard Dekkar would be proud. "If anyone could do it, it would be you."

"Oh –"

"But no one can," he finished. "It's impossible and it would be foolish to try."

"All right, all right. I get it." Martin rolled his eyes. "Suppose I'll let you get back to it, then . . . ."

Jon stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor loud enough to make Martin turn. He hesitated, standing awkwardly by his desk.

"Ah. Hey. H-How are you holding up?" he asked.

Martin blinked. "What?"

"It's been a difficult few months," he continued, hesitant. "There's everything with Prentiss, and even if you didn't encounter Michael yourself, everything I said . . . it's a lot to take in?"

"Oh . . . well, um. Not much to say about Prentiss, I guess. You know I've been settled back home for a while. Still go a little spray-crazy whenever I see an ant, but, um. I know she's dead, so," he shrugged. "Thanks, by the way. For the, um, jar."

"I know it was a bit weird. I just thought it might, um . . . closure and all?" He tapped the edge of his desk, looking down. "Someone did something similar for me once, and, ah, it helped."

"Yeah. I mean. It is sort of weird, but it's nice." Martin rubbed at the back of his neck. "Also uh – y'know. Appreciate all the phone calls. I'm sure you're sick to death of them."

It had taken a little encouragement, but Martin had been phoning him at night for a few months. First hesitantly and infrequently, then with something approaching regularity. He'd call when he wasn't able to sleep, or wakened by vivid nightmares, and in need of another voice to settle him. No singing, thankfully. It seemed that danger was in the past.

Mostly when he mentioned nightmares, they were about the worms. But Jon suspected there were other things behind some of those calls. He remembered one occasion when Martin didn't say why he'd phoned, barely said anything at all. Just rang Jon up and asked him to please, talk to him about something, anything. He sounded like he'd been crying, and it had taken all of Jon's willpower to not ask why. He'd fumbled around until he found a book on naval history that had been left beside his bed, opened it and began reading out loud. It was all that he could think to do.

It wasn't usually so fraught as that, though. Usually Martin just needed to get his mind off things, long enough to calm down and rest. They'd reached a point where it was a pattern, a quiet little ritual of their own. A moment at the beginning talking through it, then a shift to something easy – books they'd read, movies they liked, silly things that had happened at work.

Sometimes when Martin didn't feel safe in his flat, Jon offered to come over and look over it with him. He always declined, and Jon promised himself that he wouldn't push the issue. Not unless he believed Martin was in real danger, which fortunately never seemed to be the case.

"I've actually come to enjoy our little late night chats," he said. "I'm learning a lot about independent film."

"I know I'm waking you up a lot."

"Sometimes. I still keep odd hours, though. Really there's nothing you could do to my sleep schedule that hasn't already been done." He paused, glancing back at Martin. "Ah . . . what about the other thing? What I said about Elias? We haven't . . . well, we never really talked about it?"

"It's . . . augh, I don't know." Martin shifted from one foot to the other. "Okay, would you explain something to me?"

"Of course."

"So you said that Elias is spying on us, with some supernatural clairvoyance. And he was probably doing it when you told us that, meaning he knows the secret's out, right?"

"Almost definitely. I can't be sure when he's watching and when he isn't, but I would be very surprised if he doesn't know."

"Then why hasn't he done anything?"

"Why would he?" Jon shrugged. "What could he gain from addressing it? Look at it this way – if you all think I've lost it, then he has every reason to keep you thinking that. Even if you believe me, if there's room for doubt at all he's still better off acting normal. He has no reason to discard the facade until it stops being useful."

"I suppose . . ."

"Look, its – it's all right if you don't believe me. I know it's a hell of a claim to make, and I don't have any proof. But don't trust him. Even if you can't trust me, don't trust Elias either. He doesn't have our best interests at heart."

"I didn't say I didn't trust you . . . ."

Jon blinked, startled. "Then you do trust me?"

"Wh – That's not what –" Martin shook his head. "I mean . . . yes? I guess? I don't think you're lying about this. It's just a lot, I guess."

"Have you tried quitting yet? That's probably the closest thing to proof I can offer."

"Nah." Martin shrugged. "Don't see the point, really. Either I try and I can't, so no reason to bother, or I can and I'd be leaving you all to deal with the monsters, so . . . ."

He shrugged again. So. So he wouldn't leave even if he could. Jon shook his head and sighed, smiling.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here. That is – obviously I'm not glad you're trapped here, I don't, ah, I don't want that. But just . . . in general."

A surprised huff came out of Martin. He looked down and smiled, leaning towards the praise like a plant to sunlight. "Ah, y'know. Even without supernatural compulsion, I'd probably be stuck here anyway. Don't think my job prospects are that impressive."

"That's not true," Jon frowned. "You've been here, what, over ten years? That shows reliability. Then there's experience, familiarity with the catalog systems . . . you'd have an impressive resume even without any—"

Shit. He cut himself off as he realized what he'd nearly referred to. Unfortunately Martin noticed the abrupt stop, furrowing his brow.

"Without any what?"

"Hmm? Nothing." Jon looked hard at the wall, trying not to betray the tension he'd created in himself. "Was thinking of something else for a moment."

Stupid, stupid. He wasn't supposed to know about the fake degree. Martin hadn't told him about it, or he had but not this Martin, not this time, couldn't he keep the two straight in his mind? He tried to think of a direction to turn the subject towards. Martin was giving him a searching look and he knew damn well he needed to stop looking so caught, he'd said almost nothing, and if he could just act casual there would be no reason at all to assume –

"Oh . . . oh." Slow realization built on Martin's face. "Shit."

"It doesn't matter," Jon blurted out. "Forget I said anything, please."

". . . Did Tim tell you?"

"No. It's a long story and – and it doesn't matter anyway, does it?" He shrugged, a sad smile on his face. "None of our resumes mean anything here. You can't lose this job however much you might want to, and Elias already knows, so . . . ."

"Wait, what? Elias too?"

"He's known from the beginning. I suspect he's enjoyed having something to hold over you."

A conflicted look passed over Martin, and Jon saw him rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

"God, that . . . that actually makes a lot of sense." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I used to think maybe, with some of the things he'd say . . . but I thought I was just being paranoid."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said."

"No, no," Martin exhaled, tension still fixing his features. "I'd rather know. Thanks for telling me, I guess. Even if it was, you know, an accident."

The thumb and forefinger again, moving back and forth at his side. Jon had noticed him doing that in the time they'd spent in Daisy's cabin. It was a habit that would come up sometimes when they talked about Peter, or Elias. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was . . . tension, rumination? More that anything else, Jon had come to liken it to the repetitive movement of a tiger pacing a cage.

". . . Are you all right?"

"Yes! No!" Martin dragged a hand over his face. "God, I don't know! It's such a stupid thing to get worked up over. I mean, if anything it's good news, right? One less thing to worry about . . . ."

"The revelation that a man you've known for the majority of your adult life has been deliberately letting you sweat over a harmless lie for a decade?" Jon shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that qualifies as good news."

"Right!? It's messed up, isn't it?" He threw his arms out to the sides. "I just . . . now I'm thinking about these comments he'd make? Never anything where I could say for sure, but he'd mention someone else not being qualified for their job and look right at me. Or ask weird, pointed questions about the university I didn't go to so I'd have to make up something on the spot and –" his hands shook as he gestured, "– and he was laughing at me the whole time. Wasn't he?"

"It's what he does. It's what he is," Jon said darkly. "He watches other people squirm."

And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? He could almost hear the smug bastard's voice in the back of his mind, but he shook it off. That wasn't the point. He looked over at Martin, who had gone quiet, and wondered if it would be inappropriate to put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Jon continued, staying where he was. "You have every reason to feel . . . I don't know. Angry? Betrayed? Used?"

". . . The whole ‘no quitting' thing. I saw people come and go in the library a lot. It doesn't apply there, does it?"

"No. Just the archive."

"He knew about that too. Didn't he?"

"He did. That's something we have in common," Jon said softly. "I brought Tim and Sasha into this – that's my unfortunate role in it all. But you and I were placed here by someone who knew exactly what he was doing to us."

". . . Fuck."

"Agreed."

"Well, I sure as hell don't trust him now." Martin let out a long breath, straightening up, releasing a little of the tension he seemed to be holding. "I guess this means everyone knows? Except Sasha . . . ."

"I'm sure Sasha knows too. Do you really think we have any secrets from her?" Jon shook his head. "The other day I made an offhand comment about the trouble with statements coming from criminals, and she started needling me about the time I spent in juvenile court."

That seemed to startle Martin enough to shake his mood. "Wait, what? Back up. You've got a criminal past?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Jon huffed, waving his hand "it was all incredibly minor offenses, childish things, you know."

"Sorry, I – I'm just having trouble imagining you as a juvenile delinquent."

"Whatever you are imagining, it wasn't that." He leaned stiffly on the desk behind him. "I was a fairly troublesome child. I was bored easily, and I liked to explore. Sometimes I found myself on one side of a fence that I . . . simply needed to see the other side of. A number of authority figures took issue with this."

"Huh," an amused smile crossed Martin's face. "That's . . . honestly kind of adorable."

"My grandmother did not share your opinion. The point is, Sasha didn't learn that through me. She's probably dug into all of our backgrounds."

"Ugh. Probably." Martin shook his head. "We really ought to have a talk with her about that . . . it's getting less and less like a quirk and more like a serious privacy concern? I swear she sees even the monster stuff as a mystery for her to solve."

"At least she's taking it well."

"Yeah . . . not like Tim."

Not like Tim, no. He wasn't the bitter, broken man in Jon's memories. He still smiled and joked around, and he wasn't isolating himself. But the revelation about this place had reached something deep and wounded in him. He got into somber moods, and his humor had taken on a noticeably harsh edge. Even his more playful moments seemed worrying -- he was impulsive in a way he hadn't been before, like he was desperately trying to cover it all with cheer. They were still talking at least, Jon hadn't ruined that line of connection yet. But seeing Tim's pain poke its head above the surface made him fearful. He knew that it ran deep. It was hard not to be skittish around him now.

"No," Jon said. "He puts on a brave front but I know it's hit him hard."

"Have you talked to him about it at all?"

"Not really. The other day I tried to ask how he was handling things and he just . . . slowly shook his head at me. So, ah, I –" hid in my office like a coward until everyone had left "– thought it best to drop the subject. You?"

"Mostly the same. I mean, I know it's bothering him, and I've tried bringing it up. But he always brushes it off with a joke, or just tells me to leave it. I think he talks to Sasha more."

"Yes . . . I'm glad he has her here," Jon sighed. "She seems to keep him grounded."

"And Sasha seems to manage on her own. So they're okay, more or less." Martin glanced pointedly at him. "What about you, though? Who's keeping you grounded?"

He asked as if the answer wasn't obvious, but Jon supposed it wasn't. Not to him.

"I could ask you the same," he smiled. "You're always checking in on us. Reminding Sasha to eat, nudging Tim, seeing that I don't waste away in here. Who's checking in on you?"

"Oh. You know," he shrugged, "I-- I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

"Maybe," Jon said softly. "But you could still let somebody take care of you."

Surprised, Martin blinked and looked away with a nervous little laugh. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke – easy to miss, even easier to ignore, a quiet and ordinary pain.

"Well, unless you know someone who's likely to volunteer, I don't think –"

Jon's feet moved without his permission, one step forward, two, until he was close enough to put a hand on Martin's arm. Enough to stop his waving hand, to quiet the gesture of brushing away concern. He stilled immediately.

"You deserve to be cared for, Martin."

He knew right away it was too much, it was far too much. He'd crossed a line that he should be leaving alone, the words were too honest and too intimate and too close. You deserve to be cared for. If he'd said it from across the room in a different tone of voice, it would be possible to hear as advice – something about self-care or accepting help or something more removed. But not there, not standing so close. Nothing about this was removed.

"Oh," Martin's eyes were wide and staring. "Um. Oh."

He didn't pull back, but he was stiff under Jon's hand so he let go. If – if Martin was just startled, frozen like a deer in headlights, he didn't want to box him in. Unmoored, his hand hovered as if it had forgotten where it belonged.

". . . I would like to take care of you," he let it out in a breath. It felt like he'd been holding it forever. "If you would let me."

Martin breathed in sharply, but didn't speak. Jon spoke, words spilling out faster than he could hold onto them.

"I've felt this way for a while," he said. "I . . . I want to be there when you're afraid, or when you're lonely. I just. Want to be with you."

Something shattered when he said that, and Martin took a step backwards. He placed a hand over his mouth, stifling what might have been a laugh and might have been a sob, shoulders shaking, gaze cast down and away. There were tears in his eyes and Jon knew he'd made a mistake. It was too much, too close, too soon, and he'd hurt him and he couldn't take it back and he'd ruined it all –

"Oh, Jon . . ." Martin looked at him, eyes still shining with tears. "I've been in love with you since we ran from Prentiss together."

Carefully, Jon reached forward. Martin didn't freeze and he didn't step back, he moved towards him like a miracle. Jon's hand remembered where it belonged, it ran itself along Martin's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, smoothing the hair at his temple. Martin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, and it was a gift, a prayer answered. He moved closer and then there were Martin's arms encircling him, Martin's head resting on his shoulder, Martin's breath against his ear. It was like coming home, like remembering himself. Nothing was certain and nothing was safe and none of that mattered at all, because finally, finally, he was back where he belonged. They were back in each other's arms.

"I love you," Jon said. "I'm so, so scared, but you give me a reason to be brave. You make me want to be human."

"I'm scared too," Martin whispered. "All the time."

"I know . . . God, I know," he whispered back. "I want us to have each other. I want to just – just take you places. To cook for you and show you things that I like. To do all the simple, normal things we could never do before."

"I want that too. I want to walk in the rain with you, and hold your hand, and read you my poetry."

"I want to fuss about my appearance, because I know I'm going to see you later," Jon laughed, "I want to worry about harmless, little things like that."

A contented sigh came from Martin, and he pulled back, taking Jon's hands in both of his.

"You know what I really want to do, though?" he asked, "more than anything in the world?"

"Gouge our eyes out, murder Elias, and flee the country together?"

Martin grinned. "You read my mind."

"I didn't have to!" Jon said, grinning back.

* * *

"Jon? Jon. Are you all right?"

"Hmm?" Jon blinked, pulling himself back to reality. The edge of his desk still pressed against his back. "Sorry, what?"

"We were talking about Tim?" Martin frowned. "Then you just sort of stared into the distance for a minute."

"Right. Yes. Sorry," he cleared his throat, glancing away. "Low blood sugar."

"Oh. When did you last eat? I could grab something from the break room, if you–"

"S'fine. Really." Jon pulled himself back behind his desk. "I'm sure the tea will help. I should get back to work."

"Oh. Okay." Martin hesitated, glancing back. "Don't work to hard, all right? We worry about you, you know."

The door closed behind him and Jon slumped in his seat, sighing. When his own lovesick daydreams veered into self-mockery, it was probably a bad sign. He picked up the mug, letting it warm his hands, sipping slowly.

Martin had been attentive since he came back from the Distortion's door – checking in, bringing him tea, prodding him to come out for lunch. It was . . . well, it was familiar. And nice. God, it was nice. But did it mean anything? Martin was drawn to taking care of people. Fussing like this, it meant that he was worried about him, and that thought alone made something in his chest ache sweetly. But he wasn't sure if it meant anything else.

He knew Martin had feelings for him long before he himself had noticed, but where those feelings had begun, he didn't know. He absolutely didn't know how his actions might have changed things, might continue to change them. That left him guessing, and he had never been good at guessing such things. He'd admired Georgie for a while before gathering the courage to ask her out. When he had she'd been surprised – apparently she'd been flirting with him without him noticing or responding to it. By contrast, he'd been awkward around Tim for almost a week after misinterpreting a few comments he'd made and not knowing how to feel about them. (Tim had rather kindly, if embarrassingly, put an end to it by pointedly saying Jon was ‘nice, but not his type' within earshot.)

Still. He didn't need to know how Martin felt about him. He could take a risk. Risks were something he was always taking.

Things still weren't that simple.

His feelings for Martin weren't small. They had a weight that he didn't always know how to carry. He looked at him and saw someone who'd kept vigil at his hospital bed until the pain of waiting had worn him down. Someone he'd pleaded with in the cold, deep heart of the Lonely, who'd clung to him as they walked through the fog. Someone he'd been with during the last peaceful weeks the world had ever had. Someone who gave him hope when all was hopeless.

How was he supposed to make that seem like anything that had developed in the time they'd known each other? At best he'd seem over-invested in a relationship that hadn't begun. More likely he'd come off as an obsessive stalker. And if he shared his feelings with Martin, he wasn't sure he could keep a lid on everything else. It wasn't just the end of the world. There were so many things.

How's the poetry going, Martin? What's that? How did I know you wrote poetry? Well, I assure you I found out through entirely non-invasive means that require no follow-up questions.

Say Martin, how is your relationship with your mother? Any pressing emotional difficulties you'd really like to have closure on there? Why yes, these are extremely strange and inappropriate questions for me to ask considering you've never talked to me about her! Unrelated, but if I knew the date of her impending death do you think it would be crueler to tell you, or to let it be a devastating surprise?

While we're on the subject of things I know, M artin, have you ever wondered what it's like to be digested alive? Or to be an unwilling spectator trapped in you own body as it stalks and kills everyone you love? Because I can describe both of those experiences in intimate, firsthand detail if you're curious! Ah, you appear to be backing away slowly. What a reasonable reaction.

Time was passing intolerably slowly, yet it still felt preciously short. And while he waited, hesitated and worried, he was running out of time for himself.

The Unknowing would fail, but the circus was still coming for him. And perhaps he should just let them have him? He'd survived it once, after all, and there was reason to assume things would play out as before. If he tried to struggle, tried to change things, it might go badly. They might decide he was too much trouble to hold for a month and flay him as soon as he was caught. Or someone else might be grabbed alongside him, even killed outright. To say the circus was unpredictable was an understatement that bordered on comical. The safest, most practical option was to play through his period of captivity again.

But . . . God, he didn't want to. He hated to admit it - wished there was another reason, some danger, some unacceptable risk. But the simple truth was that he didn't want to live through that month again.

He was being childish. It wasn't as if they would actually take his skin in the end. He wouldn't die or lose anything permanent, he just had to spend a month in their hands. It was only a month. He'd seen worse. He'd caused worse. Every time he thought about it his hands shook, he felt sick and couldn't eat.

Circus aside, he'd at least learned something useful after his failure to save Helen. He'd done some snooping behind Rosie's desk and found that Elias had ordered a cab for her, just as he had done originally. Meaning he was still trying to mark him. But surely, he was marked already – psychological scars had been enough the first time, and he had the full compliment there. If Elias didn't know that, that was some reassurance.

Jon was fully marked, but he was not yet suffused with the Eye's power. So the world was safe from him, for now. All he had to do was stay human. That was it. He could surely manage that, couldn't he?

Except . . . there were still other things.

The table had shaken him. He'd kept out of the archive on the day it was to arrive, not wanting to encounter Breekon and Hope. But when he returned, nothing had come. He waited, he checked and triple checked artifact storage, asked around to see if anyone had signed for it. There was nothing. After a month he accepted that it simply wasn't coming. But why? Nothing he'd done could have caused this. It was new. A change that came from something other than him.

The spiders were becoming more noticeable as well. Everywhere he went, he saw cobwebs clinging to the corners, or spotted something skittering in the outskirts of his vision. It was worst in his flat – he'd destroy any webs he found on sight, only to find they'd respun themselves hours later. They appeared in odd places – in cabinets, drawers, strung across his pillow. Sometimes he'd wake to feel something crawling on his neck, that vanished when he tried to grab at it.

They gave him peace now and then, leave him just long enough for desperate hope to leak in. Then he'd catch himself in the mirror and swear, swear he noticed a dark little leg vanish into the crevice of his ear.

All that was nothing against what happened a week ago, however.

A woman had come to give a statement, someone he didn't recognize. She wouldn't take the form. She insisted he hear her speak, said he had to know her story, that it had to be him. He protested and tried to pull away. But then she started talking. And he started listening.

He didn't want to. He tried to interrupt, stop her, walk out of the room, but he just . . . couldn't. It felt different. He remembered what being dependent on statements was like – after reading out loud became automatic, after listening was a physical need. This was something else. He wasn't in control of his body, couldn't put his hands over his ears, couldn't force his thoughts away from the rapt attention he was giving her.

It was a spider one. Of course it was.

She'd succumbed to a mysterious malaise that was making her grow slowly weaker. Not an illness, no – the doctors were no help at all, sending her back with a shrug about chronic fatigue. But it wasn't just the tiredness. Her thoughts were foggy, her emotions were both heightened and muddled. It felt like being drugged, but she was on no medications and took nothing that was recreational, so it couldn't be some previously unseen side effect. It wasn't likely anything in her environment, either. Her partner had no symptoms, and they lived together and shared most of their meals.

Of course, her partner was the one who prepared all their meals. She loved her partner, trusted them, and yet . . . it would be too easy, wouldn't it? To slip a little something into her plate every time. Just a few drops of liquid, a few granules of powder, carefully dissolved into a heavily seasoned sauce, undetectable under everything else? Her partner always did spice things so heavily, enough to disguise anything. Paranoia became hostility, and the relationship fell apart. But even after they moved out, that hazy, lulled feeling got worse. She had dizzy spells, lost time, she never felt quite herself. Her suspicions broadened. Was her food being contaminated at the store? It wouldn't be difficult to slide a needle through the loose, plastic packaging. Could it be one of her neighbors? She slept so heavily at night, any of them could slip in with an eyedropper to hold over her sleeping lips.

That last notion is what prompted her to place a camera over her bed.

When she played back the footage it recorded, she got an answer of sorts. She watched herself get into bed, toss and turn for a while before falling still. Then she watched as the blanket covering her sleeping form shuddered, as something dark began to spread from under it, out over her body. A swarm of tiny black spiders crawled over her, covering every inch of skin, biting her just hard enough to inject a tiny drop of venom. They withdrew a moment later, vanishing under the blanket and leaving no marks behind. She slept through it all.

None of the frantic investigations she made of her bedclothes revealed any sign of infestation. She burned the blankets and replaced the mattress, but the process repeated itself the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Even leaving her apartment didn't make a difference. Wherever she slept, they came. The watchful eye of the camera captured the same image – a thousand thousand bodies swarming over her, poisoning her, without waking her.

Each day, she grew weaker. But thanks to the camera, she knew now that there was no escape.

He'd stood frozen afterwards, whether overwhelmed by the horrors he'd been force-fed or stilled by some other hand, he didn't know, but by the time he came back to himself she was long gone. He tried asking after her – Rosie hadn't spoken to the woman much, but she did sign her in as a visitor and pointed the name out to him: Hazel Rutter. It was all he could do not to scream.

The Web had led him to the end of the world as surely as Elias had, keeping its hand in everything. And he was still dancing on its strings. Had sending his memories back been what it intended all along? Was he keeping himself free of the Beholding only so the Web could come pouring in? Would he be made into a destroyer again, remaking the world in the image of a power that had held him in its threads since childhood?

He was afraid of being taken again by the circus, but there was another fear behind that. That this time he would escape would come not through a deceitful door, but because of a lock clogged with cobwebs, a captor bloated with venom, a path to safety marked by pale, silk threads. If his salvation came at a puppeteer's hands, what would he do then?

He didn't have an answer. He spent most of his time hiding in his office, turning over these things in his mind, and he knew that he wasn't doing well.

The more he agonized, the more confining the walls began to seem. He stood to move to the door, but stumbled and hit the floor instead. He felt lightheaded. Rather than trying to stand again, he pressed his back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. Motes of dust swam in his vision as he tried, desperately, to get his breathing under control.

There was a noise somewhere near him, and the room was flooded with light.

* * *

Someday, Tim was going to get it through his head that knocking on a door while opening it was basically the same as not knocking. Today wasn't that day, though.

At first he thought he'd caught Jon out of his office and had been about to leave the papers he'd brought on his desk. But then he heard something shift against the wall and his fight or flight switched right on. He should probably have wondered why, like a teen in a horror movie, his instinct was to go towards the mysterious noise in the creepy, dimly-lit room. But this time it didn't matter because it wasn't an army of worms, or a soul-stealing clown. Just Jon. Sitting on the floor, breathing erratically, with a thousand yard stare on his face.

Tim hesitated, glancing quickly around to confirm that whatever Jon was spooked by wasn't still in there with them. Then he took another step forward, carefully.

". . . You okay, boss?" he asked.

Jon turned towards him and stared, his mouth moving in an unsuccessful attempt to reply. After a moment, he managed a shaky inhale and a nod.

"Yes," his voice was tight, barely above a whisper. "Yes, I'm fine."

Tim nodded. He wouldn't dignify that one with an eye roll or a sarcastic reply. He stood there for a little while, thinking.

There were options. He could drop the papers on the desk and leave, do a casual ‘well, see you later' as if there was nothing noteworthy about coming across your coworker having a panic attack on the floor. It was embarrassing, being found like this, and Jon would probably rather have privacy. Tim could walk right out and pretend this never happened. Or he could tap his shoulder later, after he'd pulled himself together, ask what it had been about then. If he did that, of course, Jon would no doubt say it was just a bit of stress and thank you for your concern but there's no need, and so on.

And maybe that was all right. Maybe that was all either of them needed.

Tim still remembered the early days, back before he'd gotten comfortable at the Institute. Back when Danny was too fresh and raw a wound, before the pain had dulled enough for his dazzlingly charming personality to come back. When he was quieter and much more short tempered, and the only person who tolerated him for long was a prickly nerd that most people found just as irritating as him.

There had been a lot of late nights in the library back then. Jon catching up or getting ahead on whatever bullshit they were supposed to be working on, Tim obsessing over his own work, looking for anything he could find about circuses and hidden theaters and place that take the people you love. They didn't talk that much, certainly not about the important things. There was some small talk, complaints about other people in research, arrangements to go in on takeout together. Mostly there was silence.

Sometimes Tim would take a bathroom break that lasted far too long and come back with his eyes red and puffy. But Jon never, ever commented on Tim's absence or on the state of his face. He'd sit quietly at the table across from him, occasionally remarking on something unimportant, certainly not asking what he'd been crying about. And maybe – hell, probably – Jon just genuinely didn't notice, because that was how Jon was. It didn't really matter either way.

Later, he would get comfortable. Later his laughter would come back, people would warm up to him and he'd warm up to them. And later, everyone would wonder how two people as different as himself and Jon could end up being friends. But during those late nights, Jon had been what Tim had needed. More than anything.

Maybe that was what Jon needed now. Someone to not notice his pain.

". . .You sure about that?" Tim asked.

Jon nodded again, whispering. "Come back later."

It was what he was asking for. No surprise there. He'd been secretive and edgy and weird for ages, and Tim hated it. But still he couldn't leave. It was that face – tear—trails drying on his cheeks, but not crying. Eyes glazed, expression distant, as if he was nowhere near his body at all. It rung against Tim's core, like a familiar tune. Like tucking someone into bed on his couch and finding them gone the next morning.

He closed the door behind him and sat on the floor, putting an arm around Jon's shoulders.

"Nah," he said. "Not gonna do that."

Jon stiffened for a moment, shaking his head. "I – really, I don't need –"

Tim squeezed just the tiniest bit, and he would never hear what Jon thought he didn't need. Words dissolved, shoulders dropped.

He knew Jon's secret. He didn't come off as the touchy sort – not like Tim, who was all side-hugs and handshakes and high-fives with everyone. Jon kept a careful bubble around him, but the second that bubble was popped-- the second someone else initiated contact, that was it. He tightened his hold, and Jon let himself be pulled closer, bringing a hand up to grip Tim's arm. He took it as silent confirmation that a tighter hug was right, brought his other arm around the front and squeezed.

They sat that way a while - Tim holding Jon in place, not looking at him, focusing instead on the opposite wall. On the stacked boxes and itchy-looking olive green coat that hung on the hook. What material was that thing made of? It didn't look comfortable, and was probably a nightmare when it got wet. Tim didn't know what a head archivist got paid, but it had to be enough to afford better outerwear than that. He contemplated this as Jon shuddered against him, muffled noises coming from him in the quiet. If at any point Tim felt tears through the fabric of his shirt, he would never, ever, ever admit it.

Gradually, the shaking died down. As Jon slowly relaxed, Tim felt a small, quiet tension melt out of him as well. When it felt right he loosened his grip enough for Jon to pull away. He did, taking his weight off and sitting a little straighter. He kept close, though, and didn't try to shake the arm off his shoulders. The bubble was popped.

"I-- forgive me," Jon's voice was hoarse from crying, but it sounded better than the strained crack he'd been speaking through before. "I don't know what came over me. Stress, I suppose. Getting to me a little."

"Yeah," Tim sighed, making a point to keep his tone casual. As if this was small talk, as if nothing worth commenting on had just happened. "It's been a heck of a year, huh?"

Jon let out a weak laugh, wiping his face with the end of his sleeve. "It certainly has. Hah. Exceptionally so."

"Not the cushy academic careers we were promised, huh?"

"Not in the least." Jon's face was grim. "I'm – I'm sorry. For dragging you into it."

"You didn't know about the not quitting thing. S'not your fault."

"You don't . . . ah – You don't think so?"

"Don't mistake it. I fucking hate that I'm here," he smiled without really feeling it. "If I could go back in time and make you absolutely hate me, so you never wanted to see me again, so you'd ask for anyone else, I'd do it. But it's not your fault. Just . . . rotten luck."

Slowly, Jon nodded. He looked surprised. This had probably been on his mind a while, then.

"Can't do that, though. So this is it," Tim sighed. "Just got to make the most of what we still have. Until something out there gets close enough to take it from us."

". . . I won't let that happen." Jon's response was immediate, reflexive, even. Sharp, quick, and absolutely meaningless.

"So what?" Tim asked. "You think you need to let it happen for it to happen? That monsters are only going to get in here with your permission?"

"No . . . no, you're right," he drew a breath. "It's not as simple as that."

"I'm not saying not to fight, though. If anything comes for me, I for one plan to go down swinging."

That quieted Jon. He looked down at his folded hands, frowning, for a while.

"Just don't be too eager for it," he said eventually. His tone was strange, careful, uneasy. "Things might not always be this way. It might – might be worth staying alive a while longer."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "You know something you're not telling me?"

". . . More than you can imagine," he sighed, leaning back against the wall and letting Tim's arm slide off him. "But I can't explain. It's . . . complicated."

He could practically hear Sasha's voice in his mind, begging him to press for more. But Sasha wasn't here, and he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to know whatever secrets Jon was holding back.

"All right, Captain Cryptic," he nudged him with an elbow. "I won't push it. Just promise me there aren't any more worm queens hiding in the walls."

"I certainly hope not. I've had enough of worms for –" Jon laughed once, to himself, looking down at his hands "—more than one lifetime."

"I'd drink to that. Now if only I had a flask to pull out here. Then you could say--" he shifted his tone, imitating Jon's voice "'Tim, I hardly think that's an appropriate thing to have in the workplace.' And I'd remind you we work in a building of pure nightmares, and tell you to stuff it."

"Honestly, if you pulled out a flask right now I'd be inclined to join you."

"Scandalous. And here I thought you were supposed to set a good example for us."

"It's become abundantly clear to me that no one should be following my example."

Tim paused for a moment, then smiled. "You know what? Fuck it. I don't have a flask, but there's a bar a few blocks down." He elbowed him again, putting more weight into it and actually knocking him back a little. "Let's get shitfaced at eleven on a Tuesday morning. Not like they can fire us for it."

"Oh. Uh." Jon bit his lip, tension slipping back into him. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for me to go outside right now . . ."

"Mmm." Nope. Tim wasn't going to let him get away that easily, and he was pretty sure he knew more than one of his secrets. "Not even if I rope Martin into coming?"

"I-- ah," Jon's gaze was suddenly on the coat that had captured Tim's attention earlier. Small world. "I don't really see how that would be relevant--"

"Would you swallow your damn pride and ask him out already? It's getting hard to watch."

A slightly choked noise came out of Jon, and his back went ramrod straight. And it was satisfying, so satisfying to see that even with the danger and the fear and the cloud hanging over them all, Tim could still get him worked up over something like this.

"I don't know what-- I think you've misinterpreted. . . ."

"Have I, then? Sorry for making assumptions."

"Yes, well," he was going to bore a hole through that thing if he stared any harder at it. "You ought to be."

"In that case, guess I've got the all clear." Tim pulled a leg up, leaning casually back. "If you don't want to play hooky with me, maybe I'll see if Martin wants to get drinks. Just the two of us."

"—Don't."

"Ha!" Tim grinned as Jon looked away again, diving wholeheartedly into friendly sadism. "Goodness. Who would have thought our beloved leader was the jealous type?"

"I'm no- - that isn't- -" He frowned, shoulders hunched, quietly radiating pique. "Martin is - - he's free to do as he likes. I don't - -" he glanced back anxiously. "But you were just saying that to provoke me, weren't you?"

"Seriously? Ask him out. Worst thing is he says no. And if you haven't got the guts to ask yourself, you've really no business getting riled up at the idea of someone else doing it."

"I know, I know. . . it's just - -" Jon sighed and looked back at his hands, having apparently given up on denials. "It isn't that simple."

"Right. ‘Cause you're his boss."

"Ah . . . ." Jon blinked. "Yes, that is an issue, isn't it?"

"But really, what're you going to do? Fire him if he says no? Don't think the chain of command really means much at this point. No offense."

"Mmn."

"So. I'm going to get Sasha, and we're going to use peer pressure on him, which we all know he's helpless against. Then the three of us are going to hit the bar, because fuck this place. You joining us?"

He hesitated, conflicted. "I . . . I shouldn't."

Tim shrugged. It was disappointing, but if Jon was determined to crawl back under his desk and hide, that was his choice. He stood and headed for the door.

"Suit yourself," he said. "But don't lean to hard into the whole ‘fearless leader' thing, huh?"

"Wait –"

He paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. Jon stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

"I, ah . . . come to think of it, I--" he glanced at the clock. "Twenty minutes? I'll meet you there."

Tim smiled. "Sounds good, boss."

[kelseaaa]

Can I request a little something for Levi x mc? 🥺Idk if you take requests, if not, that's ok you don't have to!! I just miss him 😭

Thank you for your patience @simp-for-villains​!! I miss Levi, too! Hope you don’t mind that a little nsfw action ;) It’s almost 2k, kind of got away from me lol.

Book: Mother of the Year

Pairing: Levi Schuler x MC (Tara Day)

Warnings: very nsfw

~~~~~

Rare Moments

“I can’t believe we live 10 feet from each other and I can’t even see you,” Levi grumbled through the phone.

“Well, you’re the one who decided to go grocery shopping in the middle of a pandemic,” she countered. Levi couldn’t see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.

When news hit about a deadly virus and a global pandemic, Tara had been on the ball with everything. Quickly stocking up on essentials without going overboard. Ensuring that Zoey got all her homeschool materials from Eiko so she could stay on top of things. Even figuring out a way to work from home through everything.

Levi had not been so lucky.

He knew to take things seriously but he had not been as serious as Tara. Causing him to still go out every few weeks to buy food and supplies - if there was anything left to buy.

“I know, I know. I should have listened to you,” he conceded before plopping down on his couch. “But I still don’t get why I can’t come over.”

He listened as she let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I can’t risk anything happening to Zoey.”

She was right, like always. Levi wouldn’t do anything to put either Tara or Zoey at risk. He still didn’t like it, though.

He decided to drop that conversation for the night. “So, how was Rocket, today?” he asked with genuine sincerity. Levi could hear the creak of Tara’s bed on the other side of the phone.

“She’s loving this,” Tara replied cooly. “She misses her friends but she’s already finished all the schoolwork the Academy gave out. She’s been doing all kinds of projects and research. And she loves to fill me in on every detail.”

Levi could hear the strain in her voice. It made his lips quirk into a knowing smirk. “And how are you handling all this?” he asked with amusement.

“Let’s just say today was a ‘two glasses of wine’ kind of day,” she huffed out.

Levi laughed. “You’re doing great, Tara.” He grew serious for a second before speaking again. “I wish I could help you. Help with all this. I wish I could be there.”

There was silence for a moment on the other line. “I know, Levi. Me too. That really means a lot.”

This was one of the rare moments in their crazy lives. One where they took the time for each other. It was serious and meaningful. It made Levi reflect on what he wanted. Who he wanted. The life he wanted with these two extraordinary girls that lived next door. The future they could have.

“Hey,” Tara said, breaking Levi from his wandering thoughts which was probably for the best at the moment. “What are you doing right now?”

He could hear the playfulness in her voice which made his brow raise slightly in delight. “Just chillin’ here all by my lonesome. Why you ask, Miss Day?”

She didn’t respond, instead he heard the familiar alert of a video call coming through his phone. He pulled it away from his ear and hit the accept button. He was quickly met by a smiling face and stunning green eyes.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted and took pleasure in the slight blush that blossomed across her cheeks. She was laying down on her bed, auburn hair fanned out across her pillows.

“Hello, handsome,” she responded back. He probably should have been more embarrassed by the dopey grin that was on his face, but seeing her - even if it was through video - made everything feel right in the world.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, taking in the oversized, black band tee he realized several days ago that he was missing.

She looked down at the shirt then back to the camera. “Maybe,” she responded with a mischievous smile.

“Well it looks better on you, that’s for sure,” he commented with a laugh. “Is Rocket asleep?”

Tara nodded her head and Levi couldn’t help but notice the way she slowly ran the tips of her fingers across her bottom lip. His body shuddered and he silently cursed to himself for not being more careful during this pandemic. He would give anything to be in bed with her instead of alone on his couch.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Tara asked, her voice dropping an octave lower.

Levi liked where this was heading.

“You,” he responded earnestly. The smile that she gave him made his chest constrict and his stomach flip.

Then she had the nerve to bite the tip of her finger. “What about me?”

“I’m thinking about all the things I would do to you if you were here with me right now,” he began. “Or if I was in that bed with you.”

“Tell me,” she urged and Levi swallowed hard as the hand that was on her face slowly slid down and out of frame.

Levi’s own hand trailed down his bare chest and stomach, landing on the outside of his sweatpants to palm himself. “I would make you feel so good, Tara.”

“Yes,” she responded breathlessly as she closed her eyes. “Tell me more. Tell me what you want.”

Levi felt hot all over. The sounds coming from his phone - near-silent pants and almost inaudible moans - were making his head spin.

“Pull up your shirt,” he directed. She did, pulling the fabric up until it bunched up under her chin, leaving the silky skin of her chest exposed to him. He all but groaned when her hand traced circles around her pert skin. “That’s it, Tara. How does that feel?”

Her only response was a moan causing him to twitch against his leg. Levi’s hand found it’s way beneath his pants and boxers where he started to stroke languidly.

This wasn’t their first time. Over the past few weeks with nowhere to go and nothing to do, they had found themselves on similar calls. A way to relieve the built-up frustration of not being able to see, kiss, and touch each other.

Levi had usually been the one to follow directions, letting Tara lead. He did everything to make her happy and satisfied, letting her take charge during their late-night calls. But tonight was different. Tonight he was in control.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. His voice was firm but full of affection and need.

He could tell by the way her eyes widened that she was pleasantly surprised at the directions. He watched her hand that had previously been rubbing over her chest move back down out of frame. A moment later there was a slight gasp from her parted lips and Levi’s quickened his own pace.

“Show me, Tara.” He watched as the screen shifted and soon he was staring at the bow of her hips and the delicious skin of her bare thighs. His tongue ran along his lower lip as he watched her fingers moving delicately under the black, cotton fabric covering her sex. “Take them off.”

He heard her huff before she set the phone down, the screen going black. He heard the sound of fabric rustling and then a moment later she picked the phone back up and positioned it back towards her lower half. She was fully exposed now, her fingers working deftly against her sensitive skin.

Using one hand, Levi shifted to pull down his sweatpants and boxers slightly, freeing himself to the open air. He continued to stroke himself, picturing her instead of his hand. “Talk to me, Tara. Tell me what you want.”

There was an audible gasp of his name followed by a low moan escaping her throat. The sounds only made him harder.

“I wish you were here,” Tara replied, her voice barely above of whisper.

Levi groaned. “Me too, baby.”

“I wish this was you,” she began, her fingers slowly dipping into her folds. “Your fingers, your mouth, your cock.”

Levi muttered a curse at her words. He loved it when her pretty mouth spouted off such vulgar things. This was a side a Tara reserved for only him. And now he was already dangerously close to finishing.

“Faster, Tara,” he instructed and reveled in the way her fingers moved deeper inside her at a delicious pace. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute now. “Just like that. God, I want to fuck you so bad. Are you close?”

“Yes, Levi, I’m so close,” she whimpered.

“I want to watch you as you come, baby.”

A moment later the camera had switched back to her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly as breathless moans and wanton sounds left her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed heavily and the slight crinkle across her brow let him know that she was almost there.

His eyes trailed over the curve of her lips, the definition of her collarbone, and the softness of her breasts. She panted his name and he whispered words of encouragement and praise.

“Levi… I’m… I…”

“That’s it, Tara. Let go,” he soothed and soon she was chorusing his name through her heavy breath. Her shoulders trembled and she arched slightly from the bed. She was a vision and soon Levi followed. Closing his eyes, he jerked his hips upwards and spilled out across his hand and stomach. Both lines grew quiet, save for the sounds of shallow breaths escaping both their lips.

When Levi finally opened his eyes, he saw Tara staring back at him, a huge, wicked smile gracing her lips. Levi returned the grin - all teeth. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he asked rhetorically. The way she blushed made his heart stutter in his chest.

“Yeah, I do,” she sighed dreamily, making Levi snort and roll his eyes. He shot her a pointed look through the screen before they both broke out into laughter. After a few more minutes of laughter and easy conversation, the pair said their goodbyes and got off the call.

After a quick shower, Levi laid in bed - alone - scrolling through his phone. He was just about to set it down on his nightstand when a familiar ding sounded through the room. He smiled as he opened the text from his neighbor who should have most definitely been asleep by now.

T: Miss you

L: Miss you too

There was a pause as Levi stared at the three little dots appearing then disappearing on the screen until finally-

T: If you promise to stay home and self-quarantine for the next two weeks, I’ll let you come over. Think you can do that?

Levi smiled to himself. He pretended to weigh the idea in his idea before responding back right away. Even though he knew exactly what his answer would be.

L: Sounds good to me :)

T: Great! See you in two weeks ;) Goodnight

L: Night Tara. Love you

T: I love you too

Levi plugged in his phone and laid it on the nightstand. It wasn’t hard to fall asleep. The promise of being able to see - actually see - the love of his life in two weeks made things much easier and soon he was out.

~~~~~

[vanchlo]

Under The Bed / Chapter One, “Josie”

ABOUT: Josie Stephens was having a hard enough time at her mere age of five, having to start Kindergarten and move to a new house. Little did she know that it all would get a lot worse that first night when a monster popped out from under her bed, changing her life forever. Inspired by the 1989 movie, Little Monsters, one of my childhood favorites, I began this story in 2016 and recently fell back in love with it.

->   SERIES MASTERLIST

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WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 4k words

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SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE -> 

“He remains quiet, and when his neon green irises dart away from me, I know that something is up. 

He may be a monster, but I can read him better than any human I know. His long pale fingers dotted with those blue freckles picks at a hole in my comforter, head bowed and two little mustard colored horns poking out from his mess of hair with one on the left, and one on the right.“

NOW

/

Leaves ranging every shade of red and orange blow around me and settle on the cracked sidewalk. They crunch under my scuffed and dirty high tops as I walk fast around the corner, waiting for my cream house to come into view. Cars and school buses whiz past me, and I hear a barking dog a few blocks away.

I take two steps at a time up the walkway and then on the stairs to the porch, the porch swing in front of the window swaying slightly in the wind. It suddenly stops as I approach, but I don't give it another thought as I pick up the heavy orange potted plant next to the door to find the plate it sits on. The plain silver key sits there catching the sun's light, where I left it yesterday, because my copy has been missing for months. I only wonder who could have done that. Grabbing it, I stick it into the door and give a twist before placing the key back under the pot, like any other day.

The house is silent and dark when I step inside. I flick on the light and the living room is awash in light as I toe off my shoes, warm sunlight pouring in from the open door until it slams shut suddenly. My head flies up and I look around quickly, taking a deep breath and after a minute, I decide it was just the wind. Dropping my heavy backpack at the end of the stairway around the corner, I walk through the living room and into the kitchen against the back of the house.

/

I push open my ajar bedroom door with my foot, leaving my backpack at the door. The sun peeks into my room from the left, coming in through the hastily pulled drapes above my desk. I choose my steps carefully amidst the mess of clothes flung haphazardly across the floor, and others falling out of the open duffle bag sitting by my desk. Falling onto my bed, I click on the TV and bring my crustless PB&J to my lips. Crumbs litter my lap and covers as I watch the rest of an episode of Bones, a rerun but a good one nonetheless.

After awhile with crumbs clinging to my shirt sleeves and sticky peanut butter fingers, I drag my feet over to my desk and get started on my homework. Music trickles from the bluetooth speaker sat at the corner of my desk. I scribble answers in the blanks on the worksheet, turning it over and groaning at all of the questions waiting for me on the back. Peeling my eyes away from the history worksheet, my eyes lift to the gently open blinds. There’s the sliver of outside visible through them, and what really catches my eye - the sun setting on the horizon. My heart does a jump at the sight of it, and I look over my shoulder before I can stop myself. I automatically look to my bed, and the emptiness and scuffed wooden floor underneath it.

With an impatient sigh, I back to my homework with a sullen face. Skipping the next song, I flip the page of my textbook and move on to the next question. I just want to get this shit done already. Who knew it could take so long to find the answers to questions about The Constitution. Yet, more than anything, I try to stay busy. After awhile and two Vampire Weekend albums later, I stuff every single textbook and mechanical pencil away in my backpack.

"Josie, did you hear me? Dinner's ready, come on!" Dad calls up the stairs to me, and I zip one last zipper before yelling 'coming!' and getting to my feet. Opening the door, I step a foot into the hallway and search for my bedroom light with a wandering hand. Something out of the corner of my eye moves, and I look around until I notice the comforter hanging over my bed flutters upwards again. I flick off the light and the room is sent into darkness, before I head downstairs.

/

Wiping the dot of fudge from my lip, I take my time walking up the stairs. The murmur of my parents voices melts together into a background noise as a soft darkness covers the staircase. When I look up to the top of the landing, something stands out from the dark, and my heart does a somersault. A bar of light peeks out from the bottom of my closed bedroom door, and I hear sounds trickling from my bedroom. When I set my foot down on the next stair, a long creeeeeak peels out and the noises cease. The light flickers off and it's silent once again. I lift my foot off the creaky step and walk up another stair, wanting to take them two at a time, but I don't. I try to slow down, no matter how fast I want to go right now, forgetting the fact that I want to run in there right now.

I push open the door slowly, hearing it's long creak before its little clunk when it hits the wall. My hand runs over the wall until I find the light switch and flip it upwards, bathing the room in light. My backpack still sits open by my desk. My laptop is open, but the screen is dark next to my dormant desk lamp. My bed is a mess of wrinkly covers, albeit a dip in my pillows where I sat earlier. Oddly enough, there's another dip at the head of my bed that pulls my eyebrows down into a question. It also yanks my lips up to pinch my cheeks with a smile.

A scuffle pricks my ears, and I look around, confused. First, to underneath my bed where it sounds like it had come from, but the sound is gone as quick as it had happened. My lips set into a frown as I turn and take another look, and when I'm facing my door a loud 'boo!' almost scares me off my feet. I jump back and feel myself start to fall, and luckily, my bed catches me.

"Ugh! You don't have to do that just because you're a monster!" I huff, sitting up and laying my eyes upon the giggling guy in front of me.

"Wha', why not? 's me favorite, it gets ya every time!" he squeals in excitement, and I have to hold myself back from rolling my eyes. That becomes the least of my worries when everything blurs and I'm pushed onto my back. "Hiiiiiiiya, goose! I thought it was you I heard on da stairs, but had t' make sure. Smelled ya when ya walked in, y’know. I knew it was you cuz ya smell like berries and cream," he says as he lies dead weight on top of me. I laugh and hear his silly one in return.

"You'd think you'd be lighter for being- you know, nonhuman, but you definitely aren't."

"Tha's no way t' greet me afta not seein’ eachuther for days. That was rude, goose. Think ya need t' be shown a lesson, you do,” he scoffs and I watch his lips fall into an exaggerrated pout.

"No no no, please don’t!"

"Oh, yes!" he laughs evilly, and I feel it start. It doesn't look like it, but he's strong. Dammit, is he. "Waitin' up here fer tha last half hour for you, thought I was two sweet seconds from gettin' caught fer tha first time in . . ever, and ya call me fat. Tsk tsk, think ya needa lesson taught t' ya," he says, clucking his tongue in the middle of my shrieks and laughs.

"NOOOOOO, WAIT! YOU’RE GONNA!" I shriek in between laughs and desperate pleas for him to stop. His long and quick fingers continue to poke and prod at my ribs, dancing along my stomach and wandering to my armpits, every now and then. Sweat builds on my brow as I flail and squirm, trying to kick him and hit him, but he's expecting that. He knows.

"Josie! What's going on up there?" the loud voice of my dad booms up the stairs, and his movements come to an abrupt stop. His crazy green irises framed by yellow tinged scleras grow wide and alert before darting around.

"Fuck, no. Not yer parents," he whispers fast, and in a blink, his weight from on top of me is gone. My lungs are spewing tiny thank you's, but when I look around, he's gone. There's that same scuffle again and my bed lifts to fall back down a second later.

The old bead necklaces around my door handle slide back and forth when the door opens. My dad's towering figure stands in the doorway and quickly, his hands fall onto his hips in a question while he looks around my room. "I heard yelling up here, what's going on? Are you okay?" the words fall from his thin lips fast, his brown eyes staring back at me while his frown is hard to see through his thick beard. I swing my legs over the bed and face him with a nervous gulp.

"I'm fine, Dad. I was just uh, watching something on TV and the volume was really loud.I'm sorry."

"Hmmm, I could've sworn . . . ," he begins but he waves his hand, his old gold watch falling down his hand along with his wedding ring catching the light. "You just um, try to keep it down up here, sound good?" he finishes with a little smile.

"Yeah, Dad, of course," I reply, and his gelled back ashy blonde hair moves as he nods. I feel a tug on the bottom of my jeans, and I reply with a kick of my foot.

"Okay, well . . ," my dad trails off with a shrug of his shoulders. He then forces an awkward smile before turning around to leave. There's a sharp pinch on my ankle and I wince before giving another kick, and hearing an 'ouch!' I cough quickly to cover it up, sighing when my dad doesn't turn around and walks down the stairs.

"You idiot!" I exclaim under my breath, jumping off my bed and hurrying across my room to close the door.

"How come 'm tha idiot here? I don' remember bein' tha one screamin' her bloody lungs out, now was I?" I scoff as the door meets the hinges and I turn to watch him sliding out from beneath my bed. His sickly pale hand the lightest shade of blue hangs onto the edge of my bed that’s propped up in the air.

He gets to his feet and it falls back to the floor slowly and without a sound, just like every other time. Only a scuffle. He just smirks, his yellow but perfect teeth showing behind his sly smile. My hair moves with my shaking head as I sit back down on the bed, his tall figure moving towards me out of the corner of my eye.

"I dunno why ya don' enjoy me tickles, they're fun. 'm good at it. Y’know 'm quite givin’, could be loads worse, Jose," he comments matter of factly. His  shoulder knocks against mine, and he pushes me over to make room to sit down next tome. I bump shoulders back, but he hardly moves. Figures. "Jus' be lucky ya don' have tha tickle monster under yer bed 'stead, love."

"Sureee," I say, falling back to lie on my bed. There's a little poof and the mattress bounces when he lands next to me.

"Rememba when ya first put up those stupid plastic stars. Thought ya were a bloody genius, you were," he smirks beside me, our elbows knocking against each others. I feel his right shoe nudge against my foot and I kick it off the bed. "Hell, babe! Wha's yer problemo t’night? Wha', ya not miss me, Jose?" My eyes remain on the ceiling, and on the chipped, peeling glow in the dark stars stuck there in an array of sizes and arrangement. Their opaque white color has turned a slight yellow during their age, but his hand pops right in front of my face to block my view of them. It goes back and forth, and finally, I catch it and push it away.

"C'mon, goose, talk t' me. Hate it when yer quiet, makes this no fun."

"That's just it, Harry!" I retort, sitting up and looking to my right to find him lying there on his side looking up at me, confused. His mussy brown curls are crazy once again and swept over his forehead. A few of his sky blue, oblong freckles that cover his body poke out from his fringe of dark hair.

"Wha's just it? 'm not one o’ them monsters who can read minds, Jose, not some jinn or those bloody bogus fortune tellers you lot put so much worth in," he mutters curtly, tsking quietly, thinking I can't hear it, but he's one of the loudest monsters I know. Possibly the only one, but still.

" . . You didn't come last night."

He remains quiet, and when his neon green irises dart away from me, I know that something is up. 

He may be a monster, but I can read him better than any human I know. His long pale fingers dotted with those blue freckles picks at a hole in my comforter, head bowed and two little mustard colored horns poking out from his mess of hair with one on the left, and one on the right. "I didn't think ya'd be home from yer gram's 'till like, this mornin', like ya said," he reveals with a heavy huff holding a hint of an animal-like sound to it, catching me off guard and tearing away any kind of response I had ready. "But, I popped in 'round quarter afta four, afta gettin' done at Ronny Snooker's house, and found ya all curled up like a toasty lil' burrito. Wanted t’ wake ya, trust me I did, but I knew I shouldn't cuz ya'd get all angry at me fer wakin' you an' I hate it when yer mad at me. Can' handle it."

". . I shouldn't even be talking then," I speak up, and his head of curls lifts, letting me find those magical eyes past those long-ass eyelashes. If every monster has eyelashes those long, I fricken swear.

"No, 's not yer fault, Jose. Jus' a teenie tiny misunderstandin’, 's all."

"I did miss you, though. I mean, I guess."

"Ha! I knew it, just had tha feelin’," Harry smirks, his ghostly lips spreading high and wide, and almost up to his eyes. Dark dimples fall into his chiseled cheeks as he whispers an 'aha!' and then, all of a sudden, his wiry stony arms are around me. "Ya miss me, ya miss me, now ya gotta kiss me!"

"I don't think that's how it goes," I get out in between the middle of tight hugs enclosed in his stiff arms, as his familiar musty smell comes over me. It’s like an old basement.

My favorite smell.

"Sure, it does. I know what 'm talkin' 'bout, gotta respect yer elder, goose," he insists, and when I look up at him, he's still grinning. Soon, it falls into a pensive line, and the nostrils of his big pointy nose flare. And sure enough, he sniffs me. "Wha's that I smell on ya?"

"What the hell, Harry?"

"Ya smell like . . Smell like peanut butter, love. Thought you lot ran out last week, like ya said," he says quickly, the words leaving his devilish lips at light speed.

Oh no.

His thick eyebrows hike up his forehead as he sniffs around me fervently, only making me giggle and giving me a tickle. "Oh, ya think 's so funny, do ya? Don' like it when ya tell me lies, goose, an' you know jus’ how much peanut butta 's me favorite. You silly goose, you." He raises a finger and wiggles it at me, giving me a glimpse of his short dirty nails.

"Okay, Okay, I'm sorry! Mom brought home some the other night, like a big tub from Costco. But, Harry, you can't eat it all this time!"

"An' why bloody not?" he replies, annoyed. His dark unruly eyebrows come together and down in a furrow.

"Because! I got blamed for it the last time, like you always seem to do!" 

"Dunno wha' yer talkin' 'bout. 'd never be such a big meanie an' blame sumthin' on ya like that," he smirks, and I push him off of me, getting up and walking over to the black dresser sat against the wall by my door. "What, 'm I s'posed t' do, Josie? Y’know I got this love for peanut butta I can' control."

"You can say that again," I mutter, opening one of the drawers of my dresser and rifling through my clothes

I hear him tsk tsk from behind me, and a squeak from the mattress follows in suit. When I glance over my shoulder at him, he's lying on the left side with his hands behind his head, getting all comfy. Rolling my eyes, I grab a t-shirt and pajama bottoms at random to change into for the night.

"But, I don't know, Harry. Don't they have peanut butter down there?"

"No, I’ve already told you this how many bloody times?! Ni's allergic or summat, tha bloody weirdo, so he neva let's me within like, a mile radius of it. He’s afraid 'm gonn' kill him or summat, even though tha's impossible. Dunno how he can be allergic t' sumthin' so bleedin' delicious. 's rubbish, 's what it 's," Harry says, shaking his head which I laugh at. His eyes drag over to me and he leers at me before shaking it again with his lips pressed into a disapproving line. "Talk it up, Jose. You try bein' a monster for a day."

"I would, if you'd let me," I say quietly. Walking across the room, I slip into my closet,shutting the door behind me.

"Don' even ge'mme started, you li’l shit. Ya think I dunno what yer gettin' at, d’ya?"

"Hey! Be nice to me, and what ever happened to trying not swearing around me? I thought you said it was 'unbecomin’ o’ me t’ swear ‘round you’ and all that," I yell through the door, turning my back as I slip off my clothes to change into the others sitting at my feet.

"Ya, that lasted 'til you were 'bout I dunno, ten, goosie. 's like me vocabulary, I can' help it. I mean, God, ya should hear Ly’ swear - he curses like a friggin' fairy. But, don't tell him that cuz he'd kick me in tha jewels if he heard me compare him t’ a fairy. I mean, ya wouldn' think they're capable o' cursin' - those fairies with that teeny tiny body o' theirs, but boy, oh boy. do they. ‘m quite envious of his swearin’, tho’, if I do say meself."

"I know, I remember. You taught me my first swear words, my parents were horrified when I said 'shit' for the first time. When was it again? Oh yeah, that day in fourth grade when I fell learning how to roller blade," I giggle in return, sliding on the pair of plaid pajama pants, tying the strings at the waist. "And, how would I tell Ly’ anyways when you won't let me meet him?"

"They should be lucky I didn' start ya sooner, but ya, one o' tha proudest moments o’ me damned life," he sighs happily as I walk out of the closet splaying my caramel blonde hair over my shoulders. I try to ignore that he dodged the second part of my sentence. Now, I'm rolling my eyes as I walk to the door and flick off the light, soon joining him and his fake crying on my bed.

Curling up under the covers, my bedside lamp lights his features as he stares up at the ceiling, thinking. Thinking about what, I don't know, but I'm curious. "What do monsters think about, Harry?"

"Y’know . . I rememba tha first time ya asked me that when ya were- what, five? Jus' came home from yer second or third week o’ school an' asked me it. Suddenly, yer in Kindiegarten and ya think yer such a hoot."

"Well, I don't remember what you said then, considering it was almost thirteen years ago, so please, do enlighten me," I joke, and the single dimple in the middle of each of his cheeks falls down when a smile bends his lips upwards. Who knew a monster could have dimples, or be so cute.

"Okie dokie, smartass, well 's not real different from you humans. Y’know, think 'bout food and things we wanna do," he answers me, turning his head and looking me in the eyes. Yellow smile falling and dimples slowly disappearing. He raises his eyebrows at me, only to wiggle them a second later, making me giggle.

He almost scoffs, biting his tongue as his head of curls goes from side to side. I murmur a dumbfounded 'what,’ earning me a shrug of his bony shoulders in return. "Dunno, missed yer laugh, I guess. Don' hear 'em often when yer not 'round. Well, not happy ones, that is," he tells me, giving me a cheesy smile showing no teeth. I sigh and move closer to him, my forehead just missing his shoulder by a centimeter. His calming musty smell walks up my nose, and I close my eyes with a happy smile.

"What did you do while I was gone?" 

"A whole lotta nothin'," Harry hums in reply, and I feel the hard tips of his fingers on my scalp stroking at my hair. "Jus' went 'round me business scarin' tha other kiddies in town. Ronny, Daisy, the redhead, and the new little tot on Willow Street. They're pretty easy, 'cept Ronny, he's such a li’l shit, ugh. Did I tell ya I took all tha air outta his bike tires, and drank his chocolate milk that was s'posed t' be for lunch tha next day?"

"No," I giggle, moving closer to him and finding his shoulder and the soft holey fabric of his pitch black t-shirt.

"Ah damn, it was a hoot. Wish I coulda been there tha next mornin' t' see his face. Tha li’l devil deserved it, he gave me a right bruise on me shin kickin' me when I popped in tha other night," he huffs, making a funny sound with his lips. “That kid can't grow up soon enough. Hell, 'm almost tempted t; make it seem like 'm a ghost hauntin’ their house, so they'd move tha fook out an' I don' hafta deal with him anymo'."

A chuckle falls from my lips as my eyes remain closed and I breathe in his smell. Oh, how I missed you. "Ya fallin' 'sleep on me already, Jose? 's hardly nine o'clock, 'm disappointed in you."

"I'm tired, and I have school tomorrow," I whine, hiking the covers up my shoulders with a groan when they don't come easily. The bed moves and the comforter goes up smoothly, making me open my eyes to find his nimble, pale hands draping it over me. He gives me a smile before lying back down and replacing his hand in my hair, going back to lulling me to sleep playing with it.

"Oh ya, yer a big ol' senior now, hmph," he clucks, ending it with a final sigh. "Fine, I guess ya can go t' bed. But, we gotta catch up one o' these nights 'bout yer trip t’ yer gram's. Ya betta have saved me some o' her butterscotch cookies, or 'm not gonna be too happy with you, goosie. And, I was searchin' real hard for where I hid yer house key, almost thought 'd found it, but I dunno." I hum a sleepy 'okay' as I close my eyes again, grunting in frustration as I try to find his shoulder again. His lovely giggle touches my ears and I find him not long after with a huff.

"Funny li’l thing, you are. Now go t' bed, ya sleepy bones. An' try not t' snore, will ya? I mean, 's awfully cute, but it interrupts me readin'. Gotta see what you lot are readin' this year an' catch up t' ya," he jests, and I shove him with a small groan.

His squeaky laugh leaves his devilish lips, hanging there for a small second. "Alrighty then, go t’ sleep, you. Have tha sweetest o' dreams, goose. Oh, and don' let tha beddy bugs bite."

[unatempesta-dipensieri]

Say my name. -Ateez

words: 1,400

warnings: blood, canines.

Keep running. Just keep running.

The moon was bright making it possible to see, at least for what if could, the nature that surrounded me. A sensation of pain struck me, but I tried not to lose the rhythm of my run. The pain was so severe that I collapsed on the ground, with an indecisive look I looked where it hurt me and I almost vomited. The calfskin was quartered, because a piece of wire was all around the calf, tightening the skin even more. I didn’t know what to do. If I removed the wire, I also removed the alive skin and wounded me even more, and if I left the wire it would become infected. I leaned against a tree and tried to catch my breath, opting for the right option. 

“I finally found you, bitch!” I looked up and saw Rick with a crazy smile.

I tried to get up to escape, but he pounced on me, holding me against the tree.

“ I found you immediately after you were injured, your blood brought me to you. Too bad your mates will find you only when you’re dead.” and in a nanosecond I found myself screaming with his canines sunk in my neck.

“Hongjoong!” I screamed until I started seeing black dots and passed out.

A year ago.

“___, finally we managed to go to the disco,” said Minji wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yes, after a month of exams, we can relax,” I said smiling.

We went immediately to the dance floor, with a drink in one hand and the other raised to the sky.

After fifteen mintes, Minji went to get another glass, while I stayed on the dance floor enjoying the music.

When an unfamiliar pair of hand snaked under my boobs, I didn’t do anyting to stop them. The body that molded to mine thrummed with something dangerous, the heady musk of maleness and something wild was making me a little scared. I threw caution to the wind when one of his fingers almost touched a nipple through the fabric of my dress. I placed one of his hands on my right boob while his other hand was still on my waist.

“Rick” he whispers in my ear.

“What?” I said turning a little.

“My name’s Rick,” he said again.

“Oh, I’m ___” I said in his ear.

“Nice to meet you ____” he said kissing my temple.

Not even the shadow of Minji, maybe she had found some cool boy to have fun with, and I had grown tired of being there with Rick but he didn’t seem to give up on me for a moment.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, pulling away from him and getting lost in the crowd of sweaty bodies.

Unknown’s POV.

I was sitting on Yeosang’s lap when I felt a pleasant smell, I turned to Mingi who was beside us and I realized that he too felt it.

“Hyung, did you hear it too?” I said to Yunho, who had just arrived at our sofa with a drunk girl.

“Yes, her smell is really good,” he said smiling at me, showing off his canines.

Yunho sat next to me, making the girl sit on his lap, then clinging to her neck.

“Yunho, try not to kill her,”I said in his ear.

“Hyung don’t worry!” he said looking at me with red eyes.

At some point of the night, I started to feel tired, too weak, so I leaned against Yeosang’s chest.

“Yah San! What do you have?” Seonghwa said kneeling in front of me and attracting the attention of the other six, who turned to me.

“I don’t know, I feel dizzy,” I said covering my eyes with one hand.

“Isn’t it that our girl drank too much?” Hongjoong said, bringing a glass of wine t his mouth.

I tried to answer hime when severe pain in the neck didn’t make me lean forward, making me cover the part that hurt me.

“San, what’s going on?” Wooyoung and Jongho entered our room worried because they had felt on of their mates suffering.

“I don’t know but it hurts,” I said falling back against Yeosang who squeezed my arms.

After the pain increased, I began to undestand what was going on.

“She’s dying! Someone is biting her!” I said widening my eyes.

“What? We need to find her now!” Jongho said looking at me worried.

“Yes and hurry! It hurts!” I said crying.

I had never felt so much pain, neither when I trasformed nor when my mates branded me.

The boys got up, Yunho takes the girl out after making her forget everything and Yeosang put me on the sofa and stood up.

“Let’s go find her, you try not to hurt yoursefl!” he said giving me a kiss on the forehead going out with the others.

Occasionally it was a nuisance to experience the pain of the mates.

__’s POV.

I was washing my hands when looking up in the mirror I saw Rick behind me.

“Are you crazy?” I said wiping my hands.

“You don’t know how much I refrained from jumping on your neck,” he said taking a step forward towards me.

“Okay, can we talk about it out the bathroom?”

I didn’t like that situation at all, I tried to move towards the door when Rick, with inhuman froce, pushed me towards the white tile wall, taking my breath away.

“What the heck?” I tried to move but I found him against my body.

“What is it? Are you afraid now? Before you are a slut and now you don’t want anymore?” he said holding my wrists firmly against the wall and blocking my body with his, while a psychopathic smile made space on his face.

“Leave me, I never said I want to do it with you!” I said trying to free myself but it was as if there wasn’t a person in front of me but a concrete wall.

“Now let me have fun” I widened my eyes when I saw his canines grow longer and his eyes turn red.

I looked for something to hurt him but then I remembered that he kept my wrists still so I screamed, looking for help.

“Scream, but no one can hear you” and said that he sank the canines in my neck.

An excruciating pain made me squirm against Rick’s body as he freed my wrists by holding me by my hips. He detached himself slightly and then hung up with even more voracity on my neck, causing me even more pain. I started feeling weak and started seeing black dots. When I thought I was dying now, the bathroom door opened and seven guys entered.

“Rick if I were you I’d leave the girl,” said one of the boys.

Rick got away, letting me fall to the ground, the turning to them.

“I was just having fun,” he said, wiping his blood-soaked mouth.

“Too bad the one you bit is our mate,” said one of them taking a couple of steps forward.

“Oh? Your mate? You always get the one with the best blood!” he said glacing at me, the he lowered to my level.

I kept seeing black dots and my hearing was muffled.

I only I hadn’t let myself go, all this wouldn’t have happened.

And what is a mate? Who are these guys?

“Don’t touch her!” said one of the boys but I couldn’t understand who.

Rick got up and wiped his hands against his black trousers and then started walking towards the door.

“___, we’ll meet again very soon” and after said that he went out.

“My name’s Hongjoong, I know you’re in shock now and what I’m going to ask you to do will panic you, but you have to trust us. We’re not like Rick” said a boy kneeling before me smiling.

I couldn’t answer, I felt the blood dripping on my dress and the strength missed even more.

“What are you going to do?” I whispered, leaning my back against the wall for support.

“You have to drink this,” he said, passing a small ampoule contaning a red liquid.

“What’s this?” I said looking him in the eyes.

“Don’t ask questions and drink” he said uncorking the ampoule ad making me drink the liquid vigorously.

The taste of metal made my eyes widen. He was making me drink blood! Immediately I tried to detach myself, but one of his hands held my head still, making me continue to drink the blood.

“I know it sucks, but I’m doing it to help you!” he said looking at me with sweet eyes.

When the liquid was finished he removed the bottle and wiped the corners of my mouth.

“The holesthat he made are gone and you should also feel better physically,” he said smiling.

“Who are you?” I asked looking at the other boys.

“Now you don’t need this information but keep this,” Hongjoong said giving m a piece of paper, where his cellphone number was written.

“What am I supposed to di with it?” I folded the note and put it in the pocket of my dress.

“In case something happens to you, call me” he said.

When he finished the sentence I saw black and passed out.

tag list:

@zaffiro99​ @atiny-piratequeen​ @yangcaffeine​ 

[hanniebvnnie]

Operation Miroh

trigger warnings: none

written + edited by: 🥺

pairings: hwang hyunjin x oc

summary: A string of murders lead Detective Yang Nami down the winding streets of Seoul’s maze district, searching for the Vampire Slayer. But what happens when her digging leads her far closer to home than she could have ever thought? What happens when it’s someone she’s supposed to trust?

Prologue

There are lots of rules when it comes to vampires.

First, they must be invited into a house before they can enter. I'm not entirely sure why--they aren't usually portrayed as the most polite of people, not when they're plunging their fangs into your neck and sucking you dry. But it's a rule, and they have to abide by it.

Second, they must avoid certain things such as sunlight, garlic and anything remotely holy. Supposedly, it's because they're devil incarnates and anything too potent or bright or religious can harm them. I just think it's because they have weird allergies. Kind of like how I'm allergic to oranges, which is really inconvenient because they look like they taste good. It sucks.

Finally--not that it's the last rule, but it's the final most obvious one--they can only be killed by certain methods. Some of these include the use of silver, fire (they're insanely flammable), decapitation and a stake to the heart--the most famous and popularly used of them all.

All of this is purely hypothetical, of course. Just myths formulated by people with better things to do than tell stories of bloodsuckers and the threats they pose to us poor, helpless prey.

At least, that's what I thought.

I had read enough stories and watched enough movies to know the basic rules about vampires, but not enough to blindly believe my boss when he told me they're real.

"You're kidding, right?"

He's kidding. He has to be. Maybe he's crazy, or maybe this is a prank.

I searched Captain Park's face for signs of amusement or maybe some sort of twitch--a crack in his demeanor to tell me that he wasn't being serious. His face remained completely flat.

I glanced around the room for cameras, wondering if I was on some kind of prank show, or that one TV program What Would You Do?. It would have been a really shit prank, because I was definitely not buying it, but you never know. Maybe they'd run out of ideas. I might have been payed more for not falling for something so stupid.

The same security camera that had been in the office since I began working there blinked back at me, red light flashing. I'd seen security footage from it before--for a security camera at a literal police station, you'd think that it'd have better resolution. Apparently not.

Which meant it wasn't a prank show, at least not one that valued it's camera quality. Which meant my boss was crazy.

He stared at me silently, not bothering to answer my question. Yep, definitely crazy.

"I'm serious, Detective Yang." He did look serious. Since when did he start taking acting classes? I thought. I mean, I took drama for 3 years and even I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face after spilling that level of bullshit.

"So you're telling me," I said, picking at my finger nails, "That not only there's been a series of killings around this area, but that they're all down to Vampires."

"A Vampire. And yes, we don't know for sure, but that's what it looks like."

"And what evidence do you have that it's a-" I waved my hands around in the air, as if summoning some common sense for the man. "-An actual Vampire and not just, I don't know, a regular serial killer. Which would be so much easier to deal with."

He clasped his calloused hands together and leaned back in his chair. He had an air of distaste surrounding him as if I was the one who was speaking crazy, but maybe that was because he always looked like he'd just smelled something revolting. Wrinkled skin scrunched up unlike the smooth sheets of paper stacked on his desk; lips pursed as if he'd sucked on a lemon for four hours; small, black eyes squinted despite the large, square glasses balanced on his nose. He had a habit of looking down on people even though he was 5'6 at most. Most people would describe him as intimidating but, to be fair, most people hadn't been told by him that Vampires exist.

"I understand your disbelief." Yeah, no shit. "I, too, was skeptical at first. But the evidence I've been shown convinced me that this is no joke. I know you like to believe that we humans know everything about our world, but the truth is that we simply cannot. You're going to look into this case whether you believe it or not."

Fighting to ward off the compelling urge to sigh and tell him again how stupid this is, I nodded curtly. "So I just have to find this..." God, I can't believe this is actually happening. "...Vampire. And bring them in."

A failed attempt at a smile passed over his stern features. He must have thought he'd won. "Precisely. I'm glad you're picking up on this."

"Can I think about it over the weekend and get back to you?"

I definitely would not think about it and I definitely would get back to him--to tell him that I was absolutely not doing it.

But of course, the universe seemed to be against me all of a sudden. Or maybe it was just him. "No, you can not," he stated plainly. "I've given you this case and you must take it. It's that simple."

"But Sir, there are loads of other Detectives who can do this job. I'm sure there are more... believable cases you can give me," I argued, trying my hardest not to sound in control and totally not like I was pleading him.

He leaned forward and his chair whined under his weight. "You're right." Wait, really? "There are plenty of other Detectives who can do this job and do it far better than you can. However, I am asking you to do this, and like the fair and just man I am-" (I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes at that one and, instead, just stared at the side of his desk). "-I will give you a choice: You do this case or you're out."

"Hold on," I began, gaze snapping up from the corner of his desk to those hard, black eyes, "I'm out as in... fired? For real?"

He nodded nonchalantly, not a word slipping past his thin lips. You have to be kidding me.

"That's ridiculous. This entire thing is ridiculous."

"I'm giving you a choice. Make it." He shrugged.

It wasn't really a choice, just the illusion of one. I'd worked under this man for two years by that point. He knew how much I loved that job and all that it meant to me. He knew how much I threw into it. He knew everything I'd given up to be there. And now I had to choose between discrediting my career with a Vampire hunt or losing it altogether. Options, options, options.

"You know what my answer is already."

The corners of his mouth curled up into a smirk. "I do." He reached for a pencil with a sharpened, pointy edge and twirled it around his fingers. "But I want to hear it from you."

God, I hate this man. Trying to hide my seething rage, I gritted my teeth and swallowed. "I'll take the case."

He barely reacted, just continued to play with the pencil. That doesn't mean I didn't notice the triumphant, cocky glint in his eye, though. "You are more like me than you think, Nami."

I looked at him curiously. That couldn't possibly be true. The only similarity that we shared is both working there, and we didn't even do the same job. So yeah, apart from the massive age gap, gender difference and literally everything else about us, we were totally the same.

"How so?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer or not.

"We're both intelligent, dedicated, hard-working." And not the slightest bit modest, clearly. "And like me, you know your place in this world and you will stubbornly defend it." He dropped the pencil onto the desk and it landed with a muffled clatter, then rolled until it hit a framed photograph of him with who I could only assume were his wife and two children. It reminded me that there must have been some remnants of a kind, young man beneath his cold, commanding demeanor--in the worst way possible, though.

He reached over to pick up a file and flicked through it until he settled on a page. I watched as his eyes scanned the paper. Just as I thought he was about to provide me with some tangible evidence of the wild claims he'd made that meeting, he spoke; "You are dismissed."

I found myself glued to my seat, my limbs weighing me down like anchors. "That's it? Are you not giving me a file on this?"

He glanced up from what he was reading for a brief second before continuing. "I'll email the main pieces of evidence to you digitally. You will be given a file tomorrow morning, once all of the necessary data has been compiled."

I didn't reply. Was I supposed to leave just like that? This man had told me that he thought the serial killer rampaging our region was a Vampire and that he was willing to fire me if I didn't take the case, all in the span of 30 minutes. And I was supposed to just soak in all that information with barely an ounce of explanation or evidence? Apparently so.

Hesitantly, I stood from my chair. A searing pain shot through my back, reminding me that I'd been sitting in a wooden chair for the past half an hour.

Captain Park regarded me for a second as I crossed the room. Hand on the doorknob, I faltered, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn't, I left the room, shutting the door behind me as gently as possible--despite the desire to slam it in frustration.

It was almost dark by the time I got home. The cerulean blue sky was stained with bright white dots, and the streets were bathed in the orange, artificial glow of the streetlights. With flushed cheeks, a running nose and icy hands, I fumbled with my keys until my apartment door unlocked, making a mental note to take a scarf or gloves in to work the next day.

I had stayed later than usual that night, finishing off any write-ups and looking through evidence relevant to a few other cases. After the meeting, I hadn't seen the Captain around, but that was for the best. I might not have been able to control my instincts for much longer.

Warmth swept through my body as I stepped in to the living room. I discarded my satchel on the floor and shrugged off my coat, folding it over the back of the couch. It was unusually empty and unusually quiet. Just as I went to search the apartment, a voice sounded from behind me.

"You're home late."

I whirled around to see Soyeon, leaning against the threshold where the living room and kitchen met. Her blonde bob was pulled into a short ponytail, revealing her pointed chin and signature smirk.

"I texted you," I said.

She retrieved her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, the blue light illuminating her face. "Oh, you did. Sorry, I didn't see. My phone is being weird at the moment."

"You gonna get it fixed?"

"Eventually."

I rounded the couch and plopped onto it, the cushions sinking beneath my weight. "Where's Jeongin?"

"In bed," she answered, following suit, "I think he has a cold."

"You should have told me, I would've brought some soup."

She waved her phone in the air as a reminder. "Again, dodgy phone. And it's alright, I got some anyway."

"Stupid school kids," I grumbled. I sighed and sunk further into the couch. Soyeon glanced over at me, concern gracing her features. "Bad day?"

I chuckled humourlessly. "Weird day."

"Not allowed to talk about it?"

I faced her and nodded. She repeated the action without a word of protest. It was different at first; Soyeon was always so eager to be involved in every part of my life, and when I told her that I couldn't disclose information about the cases I was working on for legal reasons, she got upset. But after a while, she understood that it was out of my control.

Instead, she extended an arm out to me. I shuffled closer and pressed myself into her side, inhaling her familiar scent of acrylic paint and chai tea.

"You must be tired," she mumbled.

I hummed in response, unable to muster up the energy to force words out. Her head leaned on mine, the way it always used to, except this time was an act of friendship rather than romance.

With every passing moment, my body grew weaker and my eyelids heavier, and after a while, I was unable to resist the tempting call of sleep.

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 4793 for chapter three (3/?); 14856 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

It was crazy to think all that could happen in a twenty-four-hour time period.

One minute, Damen and Nik were unpacking their belongings in a paid-for-by-Etoile hotel room, one minute later they were both delving into their own very important research, and one minute after that they were on a photoshoot set, their first photoshoot set ever.

Nik, upon arrival, was certain he was in over his head. Damen didn’t want to say it out loud, but he thought Nik was in over his head too.

In typical Nik fashion, his own researching had been spent going over each paper in the folder he had been given in the meeting. By the end of the day, there had been scribbles in all different colors of ink spattered across the surfaces of the pages, the meanings useless to Damen who had spent the same amount of time Nik had spent going over the folder figuring out how he could tag along to the photoshoot.

During his own research, Damen had discovered that most photographers do, in fact, have an agent that handles their business and, when available, attends photography events with them. Naturally, Damen had concluded, there was no one better suited for that role than he himself and he had told Nik as much in his fifth interruption of Nik’s studies that day. Nik had waved him off and Damen had taken that as a go-ahead to do as he pleased.

It’s how he found himself here, looking around in awe at the everything going on. He briefly wondered if all sets were this busy or if it was more an Etoile thing. Everything about Etoile seemed busy.

The shoot wasn’t scheduled to actually start until ten in the morning and the photographer’s call time had been for seven. Damen thought that seemed really early, but upon getting there and seeing the organized chaos of what was going on, he started to think seven wasn’t early enough.

He whistled under his breath and said so.

“It’ll be fine,” Nik said. He wasn’t looking at Damen, not looking at him at all. His eyes were assessing the room, the people, the lights. “All the photographers are meeting with the designer of this shoot, then the models are going to finish getting ready while we set up, then we’re going to set them up, and then the shoot begins. At least I think that’s how it’s going to happen. That’s what the papers said.”

A woman pushing a wardrobe cart walked by them, the black coverings for the clothing items hanging on it swishing against one another in an uneven fashion, all in contradiction with the one slightly squeaky wheel.

“So, who do you go to first?”

“Photographers are meeting over there,” a voice said from behind them. They both turned to see a woman with a severely cropped dark bob standing by a beverage table. She was watching them with blatant curiosity burning in her eyes. With a jut of her sharp chin, she was motioning over at where a large white covering was hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the gallery.

“Thanks,” Damen said after a moment.

[Continue on AO3]

“You both looked lost. Here, that kind of expression puts you behind the rest.” She walked toward them, a dark red mug steaming with caffeine in hand, and gave them her free hand for a handshake. “I’m Vannes. One of the designers. And you,” she said, pausing as she shook Nik’s hand, “must be one of our dear boss’ lovely photographer experimentees.”

“If that’s how we’re defining it,” Nik said with a purse to his lips.

“And that makes you,” she trailed, eyes moving over Damen.

“I’m his agent,” Damen said. Vannes laughed, the sound bright and loud. No one paid them any mind.

“You said that so confidently, I almost believed you.”

Her eyes kept that blatant curiosity in them as she walked back over to the beverage table. There was something there Damen didn’t necessarily dislike, but he did find unsettling. He and Nik looked at one another, each with one raised eyebrow.

“Shall we?” Damen asked after a minute with a smile on his mouth.

“Yeah,” Nik said. He was biting off a laugh.

It was an adventurous little walk over to where the curtain was. There was a handful of more carts with clothes that rushed by, each pushed by a harried looking assistant of some kind, and what was definitely one of the models, a tall thing with flaming red hair who didn’t see them as anything more than an obstacle needing stepped over in his path all on their journey over. But once there, they were face to face with Nik’s competition.

“We’ll get introductions out of the way so we’re all familiar with one another,” an older and stout man said in heavily accented French. “My name is Audin. I, as well as Ms. Vannes, am one of the assistant designers of Etoile’s gold label line. Charls, Etoile’s head designer, will be in and out as this photoshoot is taking place, but he is also checking in upon the final designs for the Paris Fashion Week clothing so he will be busy.” Audin began to walk, handing out papers to the five photographers. “I am aware that you received paperwork from our very own courageous leader, but you may find some of the information on this sheet extremely useful. Remember for those of you who may not have experience in a photoshoot of this scale, these days can go for well over twelve hours.” Damen and Nik shared another look after Audin most definitely looked at Nik as he said, ‘for those you who may not have experience.’

“Without further ado, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Jeurre from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Jeurre was by far the oldest of the photographers, with short cropped hair and a horribly serious expression that downturned his thin lips. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Guilliame, also from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Guilliame was a timid looking young man with fidgety fingers and eyebrows that looked permanently high on his forehead. “I would like to welcome you, Ms. Talik, from Turkey, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Talik was a tall and muscled woman, nearly at eye-level with both Damen and Nik, and eyes so dark they could have been black. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Hendric, from Denmark, and congratulate you on your opportunity.” Hendric was large, broad across the shoulders, and had a mop of red hair and a matching beard that was more orange than red. “And lastly, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Nik, from Greece, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.”

Today is going to be quite busy, but hopefully quite rewarding as well. I am looking forward to seeing each of you work.”

Audin didn’t stay to talk or mosey around. He left, finding his way back to a table where Vannes stood with her severely cropped dark bob, and Damen huffed out a laugh.

“I can’t help but feel like that welcoming was nothing but a show.”

“Yeah, my gut is telling me he just did that so we wouldn’t run out the door before they could effectively suck us in for the day,” Nik agreed. He huffed out the same kind of laugh, looked down at the paper in his hand, then looked up at Damen. Overwhelmed was an understatement. “I should –” he started, a hand motioning vaguely at nothing.

“Right. Yeah, of course, Nik. Go do your thing. I’m going to wander, see what trouble I can get into,” Damen said. “Maybe after I get a coffee.”

“I was going to tell you that you looked like a zombie from that shitty movie we watched last month, but I didn’t want to insult you.”

Damen laughed as he walked away, fighting down the instinct to flip Nik off, and then watched until Nik disappeared back behind the curtain. Then, just as he said, Damen started to take the time to wander.

The photoshoot was in a gallery, one located in the southern part of the city, and its grandeur nearly outmatched that of Etoile’s headquarters. It was an all-white gallery, nothing but perfectly glossy marble and empty white walls. There were statues here that reminded Damen of the ones back home, all white, even their eyes, but they didn’t invoke the same kinds of feelings as the ones home; they felt foreign and cold and yet Damen couldn’t not look at them.

“Big boy.” The pet name was said from somewhere behind him and, once again, he turned to find Vannes looking at him with that same expression she had worn minutes ago. “Need help working the coffee machine?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“So, if you’re not a photographer, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, handing him an empty red mug identical to her own.

“I told you, I’m here with one of the photographers, Nik. I’m his agent,” Damen said. The coffee maker hissed, steam rising from where it was pulling a double-shot before filling up with ninety-degree’s hot water.

Vannes leaned an elbow against the table, lowered her head just a smidge, and said in a quiet voice, “You’re not really his agent, are you? Brother perhaps?”

Damen felt his cheek dimple. “Close enough. Best friends since we were in diapers.”

“You two must be the influencers then,” Vannes said, laughing like she had earlier.

“Influencers?”

“You know, those people on Instagram or whatever that have millions of followers and pretty bodies to keep those followers interested.”

“No,” said Damen. “We’re not like that. We don’t sell anything or –”

“You sell yourselves,” she said, the words accompanied by an eye roll. “You’re not so different from our boys. The main difference, however, is that our boys will eat you alive.” Vannes snatched a sleek black stir stick that sat available in a holder before turning and walking back to where the photographers had disappeared off to, her heels clicking. “Take a croissant, you’ll never have one this good anywhere else.”

Damen understood the overwhelmed look he had seen in Nik’s eyes earlier only, for Damen, he wasn’t sure if it was just being here, if it was the strong smell of the espresso in his nose, if it was the dizzying effect the lights that were getting set up over where the main photos would be taken, if it was the shimmering gold of the clothes and makeup and jewelry, or if it was the thrumming feeling that everyone’s smiles were fake and not telling Damen all he should know.

He shook off the feeling by walking again, this time with a steaming cup in his hands. He walked by the table of jewelry, glittering watches, rings, necklaces, earrings, and a few other items he wasn’t quite sure what to make of, and he didn’t dare touch them. He then walked by the clothing. Unfamiliar as he was with fabrics, he recognized the gauzy look of some shirts and he took in its appearance next to the embroidered sleeves, lace trim, and sleek looking fabric of some of the other pieces.

More people were arriving every second. Damen had noticed it as soon as Vannes had left, the constant opening and closing of the gallery doors, the parade of faces, some smiling and some not. In the corner he saw a familiar face. Jord was there, looking serious as always, and his sunglasses from the day before yesterday were firmly in place despite them being indoors. Damen thought about approaching him and then thought better of it. Instead he opted to wander more, letting his feet guide him where they pleased.

Across the gallery, he spotted Nik for the first time since they had separated. He watched as Nik took a few pictures of one of the statues, looked at the LCD screen, adjusted a few buttons that Damen was certain could change everything about a photo, then took another picture. He watched Nik repeat the process and when it became clear that Nik was going to do that for a while, Damen continued on.

In the far back corner was where the magic must be taking place. Magic, in this case, meant changing the models from every day-beautiful to Etoile photoshoot worthy-beautiful. There were more carts of clothes, more jewelry, a changing curtain, and a line of vanity mirrors that were lit up like the Eiffel tower at night. Damen found himself walking there, preparing to perhaps introduce himself to the makeup artists that might already be there, when he suddenly saw a swish of gold; and then Damen saw him.

Damen hadn’t expected the models to have been ready so early. Then again, Damen didn’t really know a lot about fashion so, looking at it now, his expectations were probably way off the mark anyway. Still, whatever expectations he had had going into this hadn’t prepared him for this.

Everything about him was gold.

He had legs a mile long, legs dressed in a loose and transparent gold material that brushed the tops of his bare feet. Across his shoulders was a drape of gold silk that clung to the skin right below his collarbones and then flowed, the holes of the sleeves so low the top three ribs on both sides of his chest showed. On one of his hands, one of his elegant hands, were four rings, three of them simplistic bands with the smallest of gems embedded in the metal whilst the last one held in its center a large citrine stone. On the other hand were three rings, each with equally sized jewels, ones that matched the jewels dangling from his ears. It was only when he turned, assumingly to talk to one of the makeup artists, that Damen got a look at his face and was able to take in the delicately placed gold leaf on his temples, that dusted the tops of his shoulders and the even more beautiful gold of his hair that had gold interwoven through the strands. Then the light hit him, and Damen saw the one piece of him that didn’t match, that wasn’t gold at all. Beyond the gold shadow dusting the inner corners of his eyes was the most startling blue color, brighter and clearer than the color of the water back home.

Even if he had been in a room full of nothing but the most beautiful of things, Damen knew then and there he would have never been able to look anywhere else.

Whatever snippet of conversation the model and the makeup artist had been having must have ended because suddenly he was walking toward Damen. Somehow there was both a determination and a carelessness to the way he walked, as though he was very ready for whatever was to come and felt very above it all too.

“À moins que cette tasse de café ne soit pour moi, il n'y a aucune raison pour que vous vous teniez ici.”

Damen had a lot of reactions to that. The main part of him wanted to laugh, that kind of laugh that comes out as a huff of air from his nose, and say something, something like, ‘This coffee isn’t for you, but my room has a coffee machine that’ll do a great job if you want to check it out.’ The other part of Damen wanted to say something of the same tone as his, something in French just to cause a reaction, something like, ‘Surpris, vous pouvez même me voir ici depuis ce grand cheval sur lequel vous êtes,’ or ask ‘Portez-vous de l'or pour montrer votre personnalité scintillante ou pour cacher votre merde?’ But instead of doing any of that, saying any of that, Damen just stared, taking in the way he walked as though he was gliding, taking in the hard pull of his otherwise full mouth, taking in the single strand of blond hair that had fallen out of his artfully done do and instead was swinging in front of those blue eyes.

It was only when he was standing by Audin, speaking, that Damen noticed Nik, still across the room, staring pointedly right at Damen whilst making the universal ‘Cut it out!’ motion across his neck.

It brought Damen back to himself and he laughed, laughing harder when Nik mouthed, ‘You’re dead to me.’ Damen walked over to Nik, mouthing back as he walked, ‘I’m the only thing keeping you from hanging yourself right now,’ with a noose motion and everything.

“How’s it going?” he asked, taking in the open camera bag and all the lenses scattered. The death stare he got from Nik said it all.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” He lifted up one lens that was wider than the one already in his hands before setting it back down. “I knew that coming into this. I knew that when they handed me that folder and I most definitely knew it walking in here. But after that?” he said, jutting a thumb where Charls had joined Audin and the model, “I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive.”

“Hey,” Damen started. “You’re going to be fine. They’re not even going to know what to do when they see what you create.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard what they’re saying about me. About us,” Nik said.

Damen leaned a shoulder against one of the many white pillars. “No?”

“Well half of them speak only French, so I’m sure my translation is off, but Mr. Denmark over there was talking to Jeurre, the old man, about how we’re influencers,” he said, making a face at the word.

“Oh,” Damen with the exact same face, “yeah. Vannes, our lovely friend we met when we first got here, told me that.” He took in Nik’s furrowed brow, took in the muscle clenching in his jaw. “Look, they might think of us, of you, like that right now, but I meant what I said, Nik. They’re going to see what you create and they’re going to realize how below you they all are. I –”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charls announced loudly, his voice carrying far with the high ceilings. He sounded joyous and genuine, far different than anyone else here had sounded as they spoke. “Many of our models are in the final stages of dress. That means it will be time to begin in the next few minutes. Photographers, please begin setting up over here, to the left. I can’t wait to see what art you envision!”

“See?” Damen muttered. “That guy believes in you.”

Nik rolled his eyes and went to comment when the blond walked by again. He was going back toward the vanities where one of the stylists was beckoning him. Damen watched with rapt attention as the stylist fixed that loose strand of hair that had been one of the many objects of Damen’s focus earlier.

“His name is Laurent.”

“Hm?”

Nik was squatted down, rearranging lenses, but now he was looking at Damen. The look in his eyes was too familiar, a resigned kind of look that Damen hadn’t seen on Nik’s face since Jokaste, and yet he was smiling. The upturn to his mouth made him look more exasperatedly fond.

“The blond. His name is Laurent.” Nik fiddled with two of the buttons on the camera, turning one to the left three times, turning the other to the right once. “He’s Etoile’s top earner and also the nephew of the owner. I would say he only got the job because of his connections, but clearly,” Nik said with a careless motion to where Laurent stood, “that’s not the reason. Or, well, not the only reason anyway.”

“Laurent.” Damen tested out the name. “He’s, uh, something.”

“He’s blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, and, if what I’ve heard is true, a raging bitch so yeah, he really is something. He’s all of your weaknesses wrapped into one.”

Damen ignored the last part. “Who said he’s a bitch?”

“Anyone and everyone that’s ever been in a room with him for longer than two minutes.”

“He can’t be that bad,” said Damen.

Nik shot him another look. “Jeurre over there has worked with him before. Jeurre says that at a photoshoot two years ago, Laurent made one of the newer designers cry so hard that he quit on the spot. I’ve heard one of the current designers talking about how Laurent refused to let one of the newest models, one of the newest signees, be part of this show at all and put down his foot until his uncle gave him his way. I also heard another one of the models say that Laurent gets to lead all the shoots because of his name.”

“Well, I think his face probably has a big thing to do with the last part,” Damen said.

“That’s not the point, Damen. He’s a spoiled, entitled, and, again, raging bitch. If he doesn’t like someone, he can and will make their life a living hell. And in this case, that means that if he doesn’t like me, it’s me whose life will be made a living hell and who won’t get a shot at making it beyond these next three days. But, if what I have also heard is true, he doesn’t like anybody so…” Nik trailed. “Who knows what that means.”

“Come on, who doesn’t like your smiling face?”

“Alright everyone,” Charls said over the noise of the room once again. “We are now ready to do our preliminary shots. Photographers, you will each do some photographs of our entire beautiful group before we start rotating each model with you all individually and in smaller groups, most likely duos.”

“Time to start,” Nik said with a huff.

“You’re going to kill it,” Damen said.

“Or get killed.”

The photoshoot background was nothing but a white backdrop, one that might as well have been the white walls of the gallery. The models were all in place and they looked like the inside of a jewelry box, all glittering and golden and bright. It was evident who the stars of Etoile were; they were placed near the front, shining. The redhead Damen and Nik had seen earlier was there, dressed in an all-sheer gold piece, the only solid bit of gold being the piece around his hips and the line of paint from the center of his forehead all the way down the bridge of his nose and the middle of his lips. Then there was a brunette, curly haired and young with green eyes and a flowing golden top, ones with sleeves that almost touched the floor when his hands were by his sides and a shock of gold shadow on his lids that made his green eyes look full of fire. Toward the back was a slew of other models, all pretty, if generic, mostly with hair in shades of brown and a small handful of ones with brown eyes that reflected the gold and made the eyes look like honey. And there, at the front, was Laurent. That loose strand of hair had long been put in place but Damen couldn’t not remember where it had fallen, how its gold had matched the gold of everything else and how Laurent’s blue eyes were the most startling thing in this entire gallery.

Damen, seeing that it was his time to let Nik do his thing, took a step back.

All five of the photographers had a different set up, had a different way of standing, and all of the models, even in a group setting, radiated a different kind of energy. Damen watched as Nik took a picture, checked it on the screen, adjusted something on the camera settings, and took another. He watched as Nik lowered himself a little, instead of standing at his full height. Then it became clear Nik had found the right settings for himself and his camera. And then Nik became less interesting to watch from his stagnant pose and Damen’s gaze quickly drifted.

Despite what Nik had told him about Laurent, Damen found himself drawn to watching the blond. There was something about him and the way he moved that was so unlike any of the other models, so unique to him and so graceful and elegant. Damen watched as Laurent pressed a shoulder against the redhead’s shoulder, watched as he lifted a single finger, one heavy with a ring, and placed it underneath the redhead’s chin where the line of solid gold paint ended.

It seemed too soon that things changed; Charls, who had been watching it all with bright hopeful eyes, started separating the photographers to different sections. It became clear the sections were random, that some photographers had sections of the gallery with pillars, or another had a section with the chandelier light overtop. Nik was led over to the gallery windows, bright and surrounded by the statues that reminded Damen of home.

The models were sent in groups and duos as said, all except Laurent who was moving around alone. Nik’s first photos were with the curly haired brunette and three of the less prominent models. Damen watched with fascination as Nik rearranged each model a few times, made some changes after taking three photos, and then took more photos, immediately pleased just as he had been with the group photos earlier.

Each group and duo stayed with each photographer for ten minutes. Damen realized it as he found himself watching Laurent move from the photographer from Denmark to the photographer from Turkey. The photographer from Turkey was in the section under the chandelier and Damen couldn’t not see how she moved back and played with her angles so the light from the chandelier created a rainbow effect with the light and shine of Laurent’s gold. Damen would bet money that those would be Times Square billboard worthy.

Damen had just turned to watch Nik ask the redhead to face the window when Charls announced that it was time for them to move once more. The redhead, heels clicking, left with a flirtatious wave. Then Laurent was there.

Laurent didn’t so much as even wait for Nik to mutter a hello or give him any kind of instruction before he was posing himself, the poses mostly just him standing and yet they were captivating in how natural they came to him. Nik went with it, not bothering to speak up, not until they only had another five minutes.

“Could you,” Nik started, his voice quiet in his attempt to not disrupt anyone else, in his disuse of it, “could you maybe pose with the statue?”

Laurent said nothing, only looked at Nik with a cool blue stare before moving to the statue closest to the window. With a gentle touch, Laurent pressed his fingertips against the statue’s own outstretched ones. Nik snapped a photo. Laurent stayed there for another thirty seconds, his eyes staring straight into the statue’s, and then he stayed there, his eyes staring straight into the camera. After that he shifted, turning himself into the open embrace of the statue’s arms, pressing himself against it close, pressing his cheek against its own cold one, soft as a lover. This time he looked ahead, his eyes finding an empty spot across the room, looking at it under his lashes, the look seductive and untrying. Damen’s breath was lost somewhere.

Nik asked Laurent another question, asked him, “Could you move behind the statue?” and Laurent did. Without prompting, Laurent draped his arms over its shoulders, but not before unclasping his shirt and letting it slide off his body so he could place it on the statue. Nik stepped closer so he was a foot away from the statue, so he could get a closeup shot of Laurent’s eyes against the gold of his now-discarded shirt and the white of the statue’s body.

And then Charls was calling again for the rotation to continue. Laurent left without a spare word or glance for Nik. The gold of his shirt, held between two fingers like it was a dirty handkerchief, trailed behind him.

Nik huffed out an unamused laugh. “Still think he’s not a raging bitch?”

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 3/8

The ghost is spoken to, but we also see more character trauma. (at least Virgil and Logan are having an okay time)

Pairings: Implied Thomas/OC, implied sibling-y c!Terrence and c!Valerie, sibling-y Analogical, Creativitwins and Moceit, platonic DLAMPR (soon to have a T in it!), and Romantic husbands Remile! (Also married parents but they don’t have names yet)

Read on AO3!

Word count: 2217

Warnings: References to shifty parenting, unhealthy relationships with food, depression, and of course, the general angst that comes with being yanno... dead for about a century with implications of period-typical sexism and the fallout that death has on your loved ones. Stay safe!

Other notes: Hi! I know this is sooner than usual (and also a bit shorter than usual) but I really wanted to get this out early, because there's two other things I'm working on! A c!Thomas-centric number+1 with friends and side interactions, and a Cartoon Therapy oneshot collection (with only cartoon therapy characters! no sides!) that has found family, Dot and Larry VS the internet, and everyone punting mitchell in the face because he deserves it. You can vote for which one you'd like to see posted FIRST on here! 

Now, sorry for that wall of text- here’s the chapter!

——————————————————————————–

Thomas didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a clue as to how he just did that. He hasn’t been able to so much as move for decades, now. Almost a century!

(The only reason he still knows the time is because classrooms date the boards. Everett is 96, Val 95, Terrence 87. )

But somehow, somehow these highschool kids around Thomas’s (? do ghost years count?) age managed to hear him hiss, and now he can talk to them.

In the words of that one kid here in the fifties who was usually half seas over, “ fucking shit!”

The one with the glasses (Logan? Or was it Nico? Naw, Logan.) is still tapping on the funny small glowing box. A phone, or something. (It looks too small to be a telephone, and it has no wires, but the future is pretty crazy!) and the other one, Janus is looking at the space that he inhabits like it’s on fire. Whatever else is happening today is happening, but the corner that Thomas lives in is definitely not on fire, that’s for sure.

Janus begins to step forward a bit, towards Thomas (!!!), and attempts to touch him. His hand goes through, like most things do (bar the occasional stray acid droplet, but they don’t burn anymore) and he pulls it back slowly.

Logan clears his throat, looking up from his ‘phone’ and at Thomas.

“Hello.” he says cautiously, not daring to hope. But Thomas can’t get the words out anymore, it’s like the single work took too much out of him to say it back. So he tries hissing in the morse code that Daddy taught him and (and he taught Val, because she’s amazing, woman or not) hoping, hoping they’d figure it out.

.... .. (hi)

Janus looks confused, but Logan lights up immediately, tapping frantically on his ‘phone’, until it shows something with morse code translations written on it.

“Could you possibly repeat that?” asks Logan, and he’s beaming, and that face is now one of the nicest faces he’s seen since he died. So Thomas tries again. It saps a little energy out of him, but not enough to really be an issue. Not like talking.

“Hello there, uh… do you have a name?”

- .... --- -- .- ... (Thomas)

“Thomas. That’s a nice name. Is it alright if we ask what year you ar- were from?” That question was unexpected, but one Thomas was willing to answer.

.---- ----. ..--- --... (1927)

“Nineteen twenty-seven”. Huh. Wasn’t this part of town a boy’s military school at some point back then?” asks Logan, and Thomas hisses again to signify the yes. He was a student there, under Pop’s behest, while Val stayed home to get ready for being married, even though she was all of eight years old and barely old enough to start her midwife training with basic first aid.

He wonders if she ever got to join the Red Cross like she’d dreamed to do. He hopes so.

Logan’s still asking questions, but Thomas is getting tired again, and the extra clarity letting him reminisce about his family is not helping at all. He makes a series of somewhat weaker clicks, trying to convey he’s tired, and Janus seems to pick up on it, patting Logan on the shoulder and motioning at the door for them to leave, citing a ‘Virgil and Patton’ (brothers?) as a reason to go soon, anyways. Logan huffs a bit, though clearly as a jest, and they say their goodbyes, probaby, based on their hand movements, but by now, Thomas has faded enough to lose a bit of track.

…

“Hey, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, this is a gravestone. Didn’t expect you to reply. Well, I was always the talkative one before,a dn I can do it again.”

'___'

“So uh, Hey! It’s me again, Terrence, coming with the daisies as usual. I can’t believe that it’s me doing this, ya doof. It was supposed to be you, Val.”

'___'

“Yeah, I guess I should go back soon. Everett’s cold isn’t getting better, nor worse. I wonder what you’d do.”

'___'

“Yes, love you too. I hope you, Barry and Linda are doing alright up there. We’ll… probably see you soon anyways.”

'___'

“Hey- tell Thomas we said hello, and that we still miss him. All the time. Eighty years should be long enough, but it really isn’t, is it?”

(Tommy isn’t here.) …

“Okay, so you’re saying that the ghost, a literal ass ghost--”

“Language!” chirped Patton. It was starting to become routine. “Sorry Pat but okay, so a ghost talked to you over morse code??!!” Exclaimed Virgil, his tone getting more and more excited by the syllable.

“Yes, I literally just said that Virgil.” huffs Logan, pressing his knuckles to his temple. He loves his twin, but times like this really test his (already dwindling) patience with shenanigans.

“Okay, so what did he tell you??” asks Virgil, looking almost starry-eyes with the sheer level of excitement. It’s been a while since Virgil was this excited about something.

Logan clears his throat and taps Janus’s shoulder, taking him away from something he was talking about with Patton, which was involving hushed voices of some sort. Janus extracts the notebook from one of the many, many button-up pockets in his cloak (Patton is good at economical design, whie Janus handles the drama), after scrambling around for a few seconds trying to locate first the book, then the page, handing it to him very quickly before jumping right back into his conversation with Patton. Logan is mildly perturbed by this action, but tries to ‘roll with it’, as Roman would say if he took the bus.

“His name is Thomas, or at least we’re relatively sure that he’s a he, and he died in nineteen-twenty-seven. He was a student here back when the plot of land that is now Haley-Dove lower and upper secondary was a boy’s military school. He began to exhaust himself around here, so we dropped the questions.” Virgil nods, perusing the notes, scribbly as they are that Logan’s made as if they were a short story written by an author he really respects, like Leigh Bardugo, possibly. It makes Logan oddly happy to think about it that way. Virgil’s eyes keep widening over the course of his reading, to levels that are almost comical. Janus and Patton’s conversation has gotten a bit louder, but not enough to hear, still. At the moment, he can’t really bring himself to care. In the end, the bus stops before Virgil can finish reading, so Logan gives him the navy-covered notebook to keep for now and return for dinner, with the instruction to add in his own commentary and ideas on a different page.

Patton and Janus leave the bus last out of everyone, looking rather perturbed and avoiding each other’s gaze, though they’re still clutching each other’s hands tightly. Logan will likely ask what happened on Monday. For now, Amma is at the bus stop, waving at them. She’s the only Indian woman on the stop, so, decently easy to see. Amma picks up Logan’s bag, even though he’s insisted for years that he’s “adjusted accordingly for years, and does not require any assistance!”. Amma usually just retaliates that he shouldn’t need to get used to something with a rather strange expression, but he’s digressing now.

(She started saying it after middle school, and everything that happened there.)

“Hi!” she exclaims, while taking Logan’s bag. Virgil just has his laptop bag and notebook, with his headphones around his neck. They both smile the same.

“Hey, Amma. How’re you doing?” Practiced. Synced. It works every time, as Amma’s grin gets even wider, causing Virgil to start stimming with his ring and Logan to start flapping his own hands.

“Sooo- how’s your day? I see Logan’s notebook with you, V!”

“It’s for a…” Virgil looks at Logan, quietly betraying the fact that he has no clue what to say. Logan indicates to the lizard along the cobblestone path, and his twin’s expression changes into dawning comprehension, as he quickly finishes his sentence.

“It’s for a report on Lizards, Amma, that I’m doing with Remus. You know, Roman’s brother?” she nods, and then smirks.

“Oh, you mean the boy you have a cruuuuuusssshhhh on?” she teases, and Virgil goes red immediately, batting her hand away from his hair, where she was ruffling it.

Wait- how did Virgil have a crush on Roman? They had been friends for all of two weeks, and did not display any crush-like symptoms such as reddening of face, gushing about the crush for hours or purposely trying to get into more situations with the crush, or even doing simple things like taking an obnoxiously long time on singular texts. To his relief, Virgil shakes his head.

“No, it’s not a crush. He’s a good friend, but no.” he says, a bit more seriously, but not dismissively. To Logan, because Logan can hear those things, he says “Not yet.” Logan does not bring it up yet, because it feels like Virgil might need some process time for that, and besides, they share a room. Logan can grill him later, when Virgil is willing to be teased lightly. Or well, he hopes he’s light enough.

…

Mom and Dad are fighting again.

It’s not like the walls are soundproof, no matter what they seem to think. The argument is pretty typical. Small issue begins with civil conversation, becomes slight aggression as two very different people are unable to see eye to eye, and then someone in the middle of a bout of particularly aggressive mood makes an attack on personality, and then it’s all ‘fuck off’’s and crying.

Yeah. it’s a thing. But Remus and Roman know what to do- it’s the fight law. Headphones on, loud playlist on, door shut and internet in full use to avoid the fact that their parents are incapable of shutting the fuck up. This is fine.

Actually no, that’s what Roman says, but Remus knows it isn’t. Roman’s just too scared of conflict by now to bring it up. And who’s fault might that be, huh? (okay, so maybe Remus is a bit resentful.)

Whatever. It’s not like they’ll stop if he and Roman tell them. They’ve tried before.

The problem is that they’re good people. And parents. They definitely try to be the best parents possible. But Remus (unlike Roman) has never had the illusion that his parents are gods, only to have that slowly broken down over time to see his parents as people. They’ve always been people to him- people who try their hardest, but also fall flat in other areas, areas that also happen to be important.

But he should probably make his way to the kitchen to make some fruit salad. Roman probably isn’t going to eat anything else tonight, with how he seems to be doing. Otherwise, those stomach acids are going to gargle and gurgle till they consume his stomach whole! (it doesn’t feel fun to imagine that, so he stops)

(he’s so angry that those idiots thought it was a fucking joke. It’s something he and Virgil agree on, for sure.)

And if Remus tears the granola packet wrapper a little too harshly? Well, it’s not like anyone’s going to hear it at this rate.

…

Patton and Janus aren’t talking to each other, which is probably the one thing he never expected from them.

But they aren’t, and it’s becoming more concerning by the hour. They’re still hanging out together, currently working on one of their sewing projects- embroidering a hoodie in protection sigils as a paid commission for the witch’s girl, and they seem okay in each other’s presence, but they aren’t talking to each other. Just making overly meaningful eye contact, and looking away as quickly as they met eyes.

Patton in particular seems to be pretty upset, as a marked difference from his usual demeanor. He’s pricking his fingers left and right, something that never usually happens, choosing to hand stitch rather than go ahead with the sewing machine that he got for christmas, which was being used by Janus for the moment. In fact, Emile was about to get him some bandaids when he overheard them speak to each other for the first time since they got back.

“Pat, you can’t keep it in forever. You can't. It’ll kill you.��

Patton isn’t replying.

“It almost killed me, Pat please, please just… say something.” Patton does say something after that, but Emile can’t hear it, and he doesn’t feel like it’s something he’s meant to hear anyway. Janus lightens up after that, and Patton starts talking again, monosyllabically and softly, but Janus seems so relieved, that that must be a good thing.

Emile goes, heart heavy, and decides to speak with Remy about the best ways to show that they’re there for Janus and Patton. They’ve only been living with him for a few months, but they feel like their kids, and Emile (and definitely Remy- he’s the ultimate parent-friend) wants the best for them, and for them to be happy. They didn’t deserve the lot they got.

Hopefully, he and Remy can prove that yes, some things are

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {33}**

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Fluff, Angst, NSFW 😁

Word Count: 10.3K 😳

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Y’all said 10.3K was not a problem. Prove it, let’s see how many of y’all read it all. LOL.  Hope you guys like it, you deserve it. 🙃😏

Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive***

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️ ❤️

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

Chapter 33: Ready?

-Vixen-

  “Hello, earth to Vixen!”

  You shook your head and noticed your friends and Nexus staring at you. You’d zoned out—again. You’d lost track of how many times your mind drifted.

  “Hey, yeah.”

  “Hey, yeah? What the hell was that? where were you just now?”

  You shook your head and rubbed your forehead. “It was nothing. where were we?”

  They looked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “We were talking about how fine your baby daddy is,” Angie blurted out.

  “Oh boy, here we go.”

  “Yes, here we go. To think your disappearance act that night in Vegas was more than you being a workaholic choosing work over fun. You were off getting your back blow—wait, can he blow backs? He is white.” They all laughed, and you took the opportunity to take a long sip of your half and half iced tea lemonade. You really didn’t want to divulge any details about your sex life. You almost laughed because it had been years since you’d gotten any sort of blowing out of your back.

“You’re quiet. Oh my god, white boy can lay pipe Vixen?” Jia’s tone was full of shock, and it matched the bugged-out eyes of all your friends.

  “Why do you look so surprised? Have you guys heard the rumors about him over the years? I can pull them up right now,” Drea added as she took up her phone and scrolled.

  You were suddenly filled with dread as well as a strange level of curiosity. Over the years, you purposely stayed away from a lot of fodder that surrounded him. You couldn’t stay away from the movies and everything about that part of it, but anything personal you kept away from like the plague.

  “Okay, so for the last threeish years, he’s been a little quiet, but there have been girls. Jessie that was a fling that lasted a few months, but she told anyone that would listen about him being her ideal guy. She even talked about the sex said he was the best she’d ever had. Sarah, not much info on that one, but she’s pretty. There are rumors about a string of flings that he’s kept pretty low key, and one named Lita, they had been together most recent a few weeks ago,” she finished.

“Wow, he’s a whore.”

  “Every saint had a past, and every sinner has a future. I don’t think we should judge him based on tabloid fodder,” Nexus voiced. She looked at you, giving you a stern eye that said ignore it.

  “Saint, sinner, doesn’t matter to me. I am just trying to get some deets on how Captain America’s stroke game is,” Angie clarified.

  “Guys. It was years ago, who remembers that far back?”

  “If it were good dick, I’d remember it on my death bed and tell all you hoes about it,” Drea chimed.

  You shook your head and looked around the restaurant you were at. It screamed authentic Boston. It screamed lowkey but didn’t gimp on modern luxuries. The wooden tables looked like fine red cedar; the glass top roof gave the space an airy and warm glow thanks to the afternoon sun, and the scattered potted plants gave the restaurant great pops of color. Looking around at the faces of the diners you could tell they were enjoying the food as well as the ambiance of the place and that made you like it even more.

  “Vixen!”

  You looked at them. You’d once again drifted off. Only this time, it wasn’t to thoughts of Chris it was to thoughts of a restaurateur. If it wasn’t one, it was the other.

  “Sorry I got lost. This place is great.”

  “Could you stay present and not drift off to work land?” You rolled your eyes at Joan. She should have been the one to get it; she was the one who’d gone to culinary school with you. She did the same thing all the time. That was one of the reasons you got along well; she knew what you were going through.

  “I would stay present if you all weren’t so damn nosy about what kind of dick game my kid’s father has,” you blurted out, the stress of everything was compressing on you.

  “Let’s get off the topic of dick,” Nexus suggested.

  “We will, she just has to admit one thing,” Angie began.

  “What Ang?”

  “You know and remember what kind of dick game he has.” You smiled though you tried not to. This wasn’t a smiling matter. You’d always worried about the day they found out who Ella’s dad was. You worried because you knew they would be like this.

  “Fine. I know and remember—kind of the kind of dick game he has. What I will not do is talk about it.”

  The four of them booed you while you and Nexus laughed. Your phone chimed in your bag, and you dug for it. Your first thought was something was wrong with Ella. This was the first time Chris was left with her. Your parents were close by, but for the most part Ella was his responsibility. When you looked at the screen you saw a message from Kassius.

  MSG Kassius: Second wave of publicity starts in a few days. The first batch of pictures we took will suffice for now, but soon we need to do reshoots to push that ASAP. When will you be back in LA?

MSG: A few more days. Four tops. I’m still dealing with a few things.

MSG Kassius: Okay. If it works, I can set up for you to get reshoots in Boston. The team can be out there in twenty-four hours and get it done in one afternoon.

MSG: Yeah, that actually can work. I don’t want to hold the timeline up anymore.

MSG Kassius: It’s fine, Vixen. We are right on schedule. The team has been doing excellent promo work, and I hear lots of whispers and interest in you. I think you are about to blast off fame wise.

  Your heart sunk a little. You hadn’t thought about fame when you decided on all of this. Fame was not what you were after. In San Francisco, you’d passed up on huge partnerships because the idea of fame was terrifying especially with Ella and your situation then. Now your situation was much more precarious. You didn’t know if fame was the best thing.

  MSG Kassius: I’ve been getting calls from the head bosses at Food Network.

  Again, your eyes bugged out.

  “Food Network? Holy shit!”

  MSG: Food Network? As in cooking shows Food Network?

MSG Kassius: Yeah. One of the executives saw you at Culinary Expo said you did a cooking segment and loved it. He says you have something. I wasn’t going to tell you until they requested a meet, but cat’s out the bag.

  You couldn’t believe your eyes. Someone at Food Network saw your segment at the expo and was now in talks for god knows what.

  MSG Kassius: I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything about it. As for the team and the reshoots, how about the day after tomorrow?

MSG: Yeah, I’ll confirm before then.

MSG Kassius: All right, thank you. Get back to it.

  You were so stunned you weren’t even hearing your friends.

  “What is going on with you?”

  “That was Kassius, the guy I’m working with. He just told me there was an Executive from Food Network that was at the expo, and they saw my segment and liked it, so now there may be talks about something.”

  They all squealed and clapped bringing all the eyes in the restaurant to you. Your smile was so broad that it almost matched how big your embarrassment was. They swarmed you with hugs and congratulations and even more questions about what it meant. You had no answer. You didn’t know.

  After another hour at the restaurant, the six of you were now checking out the types of shopping the area had. You found a few things for Ella and thought about finding a new outfit, but you didn’t know how you’d explain it to them. You knew they wouldn’t just leave it as you wanting to get a new outfit, they would badger and press and be invasive, and you didn’t have any more mental space. You were processing a lot.

  In a few hours, you were going on a date with your daughter’s father, who happened to be your ex-husband. This date was happening years after you’d met, slept together, had a child together, and divorced. You wanted to laugh at the mere thought of your entire situation. You’d jumped over every step and went right to the endzone. Now it felt like you were backtracking to dot your I’s.

  You didn’t know what you were doing. You always knew what you were doing—always. You were in unchartered territory, and you knew it. Once you realized you were still attracted to him, you’d entered unchartered territory. You didn’t know precisely how to be or what to say. You just knew you had an overwhelming desire to jump his bones.

  Before you knew it, you and Nexus were at their hotel helping them pack up so they could get to the airport. As you watched them dance around and act ridiculous you were grateful for each of them. Yeah, they drove you absolutely bat shit crazy, and they were loud and often times hella uncensored to the point of embarrassment, but they had good hearts and were always there when you needed them. You were born with one sister, but you’d discovered four more.

  At the airport, the goodbye was short and sweet. You thought you’d get away without one of them giving their unwarranted advice, but you were wrong. Joan was the one to turn back to give you one last hug. It was a hug that lasted a little longer.

  “You have a beautiful brain that loves to overthink and loves to ignore and avoid. It’s part of your charm. You also have a beautiful heart; it’s big and kind and broken. You can’t live with a cold heart Vix. You can’t live by shutting people out and never letting anyone in. All you have to do is let the right one in.”

  When she pulled back and looked at you, there was an “ah-ha” moment between you. You knew she’d caught the nature of yours and Chris’ relationship, knew she’d picked up on whatever was drifting around the two of you whenever you were near each other. In the glance that lasted a few moments the two of you understood each other. She walked off to catch up to everyone else, and you and Nexus got into the car and headed back to the house.

When you walked inside, you expected to see chaos, but it was all quiet. As you walked around the house looking for Chris and Ella every expectation was not met. You expected to see nothing but mess, hear nothing but screams or cries, but every turn you didn’t find that. You were met by more quiet and calm. When you got to the back you expected to see them in the pool, but they were not in the pool. You walked further into the yard and saw Chris and Anthony playing with Ella. Both of the masculine men were wearing brightly colored princess costumes. You and Nexus stopped in your tracks and looked at each other with your jaws dropped.

  Anthony wore a yellow Belle costume with full-on Burnett wig. He was sitting at table decked out with teacups, flowers, pastries, and a few other items.

  “What the hell--,” Nexus began.

  Chris was walking around the table dressed as Rapunzel, but the one from Tangled. He also wore a wig, but it was blond and ridiculously long, so long he had the braid wrapped around his arm. He was serving tea to Ella, who was dressed as Ariel but wore items of Tiana’s as well. From the distance you stood, all you could hear was the high pitched voices of Anthony and Chris as they chattered along with Ella. You looked to Nexus again, who had her phone out and was filming the entire thing. The smile on her face was huge.

  “I’m gonna marry him.”

  Your head snapped to her again. Nexus never brought up the “M” word. She always said she was not the marrying kind. This was a first, and you knew she meant it. You’d be surprised if their relationship didn’t lead there at some point. They were extraordinarily compatible and similar. Half of you marveled that after such little time someone could know something so important. It was as if their hearts recognized each other the minute they met, and everything was pulling them together. You almost laughed as the thought popped into your head that if you and Chris had done things differently then maybe Nex and Anthony may have already been married.

  The closer you got, the more you could hear.

  “Oh, princess Ariel Tiana, this tea is just delightful,” Chris informed in a high-pitched tone that you were sure was supposed to resemble a woman’s voice.

  “I have to agree with our dear friend Rapunzel, can I call you rap girl? Your name is so long,” Anthony responded in his own high-pitched voice. He was sitting to the side of the chair with one shoulder poked out ad his head angled up. It screamed attitude.

  “Of course, rap has a nice ring to it.

  “Thank you, sis,” Anthony finished.

  Ella nodded her head and took a sip from the cup.

  “Goo tea sis.”

  You and Nexus busted out laughing, unable to hold it any longer. The “sis” took you out. All eyes went to the two of you. It was then you noticed the two men had very badly done makeup on. Chris had pink and purple glittery eyeshadow on that matched the deep purple blush that was applied to the high points of his cheekbone and bright pink lipstick. It all went very well with the outfit he wore. Antony, on the other hand, had yellow eyeshadow on with bright red blush to his cheeks and the same bright red lipstick. It made you and Nexus laugh even harder.

  “Mama!” Ella ran over to you just as you stooped down to meet her and hug her. You then noticed her makeup. She had on glittery green eyeshadow with a peachish colored blush to her cheeks and soft pink lipstick. It wasn’t bad, though none of the colors looked good together.

  “Wow, princess. You look—wow.”

  “Who did this to you, Ella?” Ella pointed to Anthony who batted his eyelashes quickly.

  “I did a marvelous job,” he informed in the same high-pitched voice. Nexus smiled again. Ella led you to the table with your pinky in her hand. It gave you the chance to take in Chris’ outfit fully.

  “Tea too mama, tee-tee,” Ella ordered.

  “Yes, please do join us for a spot of tea,” Chris pressed. You smiled and sat down adjacent to him as Nexus sat next to Anthony.

  “My goodness, I feel like we’re underdressed for the occasion, Vix.”

  You snorted then pinched your lips.

  “I feel it too Nex.”

  “Fiddle-dee, we understand don’t we princess Ariel Tiana. Not everyone can be as fashionably amazing as we are,” Anthony quipped.

  Looking at Nexus’ face, you knew she was head over heels, no way of getting up in love with that man. Your eyes turned to Chris to find him already watching you. Your face heated, feeling a little self-conscious.

  “Tea sis.” Ella said again, holding out two cups, one to you and the other to Nexus. All of you busted out laughing at the same time.

  For the next thirty minutes, you enjoyed teatime. You watched Ella’s interactions with Chris and took notice of how perfect it all seemed. She didn’t hesitate to touch him or to smile at him, and he looked more comfortable as well. You loved watching them interact. It was quickly becoming your most favorite thing. Your eyes dropped to his lips, and you mentally corrected yourself.

  “Second favorite thing.”

  Soon you were sitting and watching Ella just twirl around the yard. She looked happy and carefree, and it warmed your heart.

  “What’re you thinking?” You looked to Chris, whose eyes were already on you.

  “Uh—nothing, just she looks so happy and carefree. I think she loves it here.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Well, she’s always welcome here. Her room is always prepped.”

  You looked down at the table and snorted. “Who did this to you?”

  “She did.” You examined his face again.

  “You don’t like it?” You laughed, then nodded.

  “I love it. The purple and glitter really bring out the blue in your eyes.”

  Chris nodded and then shook his head. “Go on laugh it up. If I were a less secure man I’d be very self-conscious right now.”

  “So you’re secure wearing the prettiest Rapunzel get up I’ve ever seen and makeup to match?”

  “Absolutely, my little girl wanted to play princess tea party costumes and all, and I was not going to disappoint.” You smiled again. He had no sense of toxic male masculinity, and it was yet another thing to like about him.

  “How was your day?”

  “It was good. Got some food, did a little shopping, and took my friends to the airport.”

  “Maybe I’ll get another opportunity to get to know them better. They seem like great women.”

  You nodded again and wondered if he always knew the right thing to say.

  “Da-da, come ance.”

  “Go, dance, and frolic in the grass princess Rapunzel,” you teased.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Chris responded in his high-pitched woman’s voice as he got up and skipped over to Ella.

  “That is the worst woman’s voice I’ve ever heard, by the way.” Chris turned back and stuck his tongue out at you then began skipping and dancing with Ella.  You couldn’t handle watching any more, so you stood and walked back to the house. As you walked inside you saw Anthony and Nexus whispering and giggling together in the kitchen. She never giggled.

  Once you made it to your door, there was one single long stem lavender rose taped to the door. Your steps slowed as you got closer. Standing in front of the door, you took it and took a whiff. The fragrance was strong but soft all at once, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. You bit your bottom lip and opened the door still lost in the flower. When you turned around you nearly dropped everything. There was a huge bouquet that housed pink, white and purple roses were wrapped around a few layers of soft white tulle lying across your bed.

 “Oh my god.”

 Slowly you walked to them. Each step felt like your legs were filled with lead. Once you made it to the side of your bed your fingers traced the tulle and then the delicate soft petals of the roses. They were beautiful.

  You perched on the edge of your bed, then bent to smell them and moaned. No matter how detached you were, you couldn’t ignore that flowers still gave you that warm and fuzzy feeling. You noticed you didn’t feel like this when Zack gave you flowers. You felt nothing then. That acknowledgment made your nerves rise.

  You saw the note sticking out from between two buds. Once you opened it, you read it’s contents.

  Vixen,

 There was a conversation we had all those years ago that plays in my head often. I asked you what your favorite flowers were, and you said you didn’t have one, but you were a sucker for roses only if they weren’t red. You mentioned red roses were so typical and the only thing men ever thought to give. You said you liked the unconventional choice rather than the predictable one. That alone told me a lot about you. It said you preferred sincerity over intentional shows, you would rather a plain and simple expression over something fake and extravagant. You only needed the sentiment to be evident and real. I can do that. There are many ways to give you the world. I’ll see you at five at the gazebo.

 -Chris-

  Your heart was racing. You began to wonder if he’d always been this charming. Thinking back to those years ago, you quickly found your answer. This had always been him. He’d just become more devastatingly so.

  “Oh dear god, I beg you help me keep my panties on tonight.”

 ~~~~~~~~

 -That Night-

 You didn’t want anyone to know, neither of you did. You had an early dinner with your family, Chris and Anthony. Neither you or Chris ate or spoke; you were so wrapped up in your thoughts you just rolled it around your plate. Thankfully because of Anthony’s presence, you were not the topic of conversation; it was instead Anthony and Nexus. Then you allowed Chris to tuck Ella in while you began getting ready.

  You did and undid your hair more times than you could count and changed way more than you should have. It was annoying. You were never like this. By the time it was almost five you stared at yourself again and took a few deep breaths. With your shoes in your hand you walked out your room and downstairs, hoping no one saw you. Just as you were about to be home free you saw Anthony and Nexus cuddled up beside the pool. You froze and tried to think of another route. Before you could move Anthony was the one to see you. He smiled and nodded then fanned you along while he distracted Nexus. You scurried across the deck and then the backyard toward where the gazebo was.

As you approached, you saw Chris standing there with his back to you. From behind he looked delicious. The closer you got, he must have felt your presence; he turned around and froze just watching you approach. You smiled, and the look on his face was like someone had kicked him in his gut.

  “Hi. Am I late?”

  Chris didn’t speak; he just stared at you for a long while. Then he shook his head as if he’d just zoned out or something.

  “Sorry, um—no, I think you’re right on time.” You smiled and watched him hold out another purple rose. Smiling, you took the flower.

  “Thank you; it’s beautiful. I love it, and the ones upstairs.” Chris smiled, and the two of you stood there, staring at each other. Chris cleared his throat and took a breath.

  “Shall we?” he motioned to two bikes, one blue and the other pink.

  “Are those bikes?”

  “They are. Tell me you remember how to ride.”

  “I’m willing to try to remember.”

  You shook your head at your dirty thought and smiled. “Sure. It’s been over ten years, at least.”

  “Same for me, but we’re not going too far, and the truck isn’t the best mode of transportation there.”

  You looked over yourself at the dress you wore then to the bike and shook off the worry. You were actually getting a little excited.

  “All right.” You approached the bike and dropped your heels in the basket then lifted your leg. “Don’t look.”

  Chris snorted and looked away and climbed on his bike. You sighed once you were finally on it.

  “All right, follow me.” Chris peddled off, and you followed close behind into the forest.

  As you rode, he pointed things out and teased you for the way you peddled trying to keep your legs together. The more he teased you, the more you got in touch with your tomboy self and pushed impropriety to the side and enjoyed the ride. You stood on the peddles and enjoyed the carefreeness you felt. After you’d been riding for about eight minutes, the house was no longer in sight. Chris went into a different part of the woods than you’d ever been and cautioned you to be careful.

  After another ten or so minutes, you pulled up beside a stopped Chris. “Why’d you stop?”

  “We’re here.” You looked where he was, and your jaw dropped.

You’d made it to a lake, but it was not just any lake. There was a long walk path that was decked out with lanterns. It began at the shore and went out over the water for several feet. At the end of the way, there was a tiny cabin that was decked out It was decked out with twinkling tree lights that had it competing with the amazing backdrop of nothing but wilderness and the reflection of the lowering sun and the sky.

  “Oh my god.”  You pressed your palm to your stomach and tried to steady the butterflies that were rampantly causing havoc on your nerves. You didn’t know how long you stood there just frozen. A plethora of possibilities and outcomes ran through your mind.

  “Are you okay?” Chris’ voice brought you out of your head and back into the present. You looked at him, and for the first time you didn’t have any words. That was new for you. Staring in his eyes your mouth went dry, and you felt your body drift to him. Quickly you pulled back and cleared your throat.

  “Ye—yeah.”

  “Okay. This is where we leave these and go on foot.”

  “On foot? Down that?” You nudged your head to the steep dune before you.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Chris assured as he leaned the bikes against a tree and waited for you to take your heels and clutch from the basket of yours. You looked down to see his held out hand. “Ready?”

  You felt like it was a loaded question, felt like it didn’t just mean ready to go down the dune or walk across that walk path. You felt it asked if you were ready for what came now? Were you ready for what came next? Were you ready for whatever happened tonight and any other night or day beyond? You didn’t know if you were, but you also knew that everything had been leading here. Fate was on your ass, and that bitch was saying your move.

  -Chris-

With your hand in his, he took it slow leading you down the dune. He was glad you weren’t wearing heels because you may have twisted your ankle. Though the heels looked to go perfectly with the dress, he liked you barefoot, liked you looking carefree and down to earth rather than fully put together. He remembered he loved the way you looked that first morning he woke up to you. Your hair was a mess, mascara and eyeshadow smudged, lipstick smeared across your cheek and naked. He honestly thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen on spot. When you put on his shirt and paced the room, that was the first time he’d had a strange feeling in his chest. You squealed, and he saw you about to fall, without thinking about it; he scooped you off your feet and carried you the rest of the way.

  Once at the shore, he looked at you to find your eyes already on him, and you were breathing hard as if you’d run a marathon. “What?”

  Your Adam’s apple bobbed, then you cleared your throat and looked away as he let you down.

  “Nothing, just—I didn’t ehm—expect you to be so—strong.”

  He smiled and tried to prevent the blush he knew was creeping up his neck.

  “Well, I am Captain America.” You laughed, and the tension was immediately broken up.

  “Good one.” He began the walk to the boardwalk with you following behind.

  As you walked, he felt you lagging behind. When he looked back, you were looking around at the lanterns and the water and every so often the cabin ahead. Your expression was concealed so he was having a hard time piecing together what you were thinking. It was a miracle he was able to pull this off especially since what he wanted to be done in the time span was what some would call impossible. He made it happen though, another perk of being Chris Evans. As he looked at the cabin, he had no regrets. You deserved nothing less.

  “What is this place?”

  “It came with the property. Remember I told you the lake was the selling point for me? Well, on the lake there was this old decrepit cabin, and I restored it. I don’t use it really. I always found it interesting it was kind of in the middle of the lake rather than at the shore. There were so many possible places I could take you tonight, but this was my number one choice.” He stopped in front of the door as did you. You looked around your feet and saw the lavender moss floating above the water, then you looked up at the lit trees, and in the glow of the light you looked at him.

  “It’s beautiful.” He smiled and nodded, then opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Slowly you walked in and gasped. He watched your face as a few emotions passed across them, but you didn’t speak. Just when he began to think he’d missed the mark here and went way over the top, you rubbed your forehead.

  “Well fuck!”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  You blew out a breath and looked to him.

  “Well, you just made it that much more difficult not to sleep with you.”

  He could have been knocked over with a breeze, and he was sure his expression showed it.

  “Wow.”

  You laughed, it began small but got louder and much freer, it was almost obnoxiously loud, but it was contagious. Soon the two of you were laughing together as if you hadn’t just said you would possibly sleep with him.  He motioned for you to take a seat, obliging him you walked around and sat on one of the cushions on the floor behind the table. He followed suit but took up the bottle of wine that was off to the side in an ice bucket.

  “Wine?”

  Nodding, you continued to look around as he filled your glass. He couldn’t help wondering what you were thinking, couldn’t help replaying your words from mere seconds ago. He knew you were kidding, but did he know you were kidding.

  “She was probably being truthful.”

  “Since I know you didn’t have dinner, I know you’re hungry.”

  “Starving, Evans. Feed me, please.” He laughed as he went into the insulated bags that were in the corner. He took out container after container filled with appetizers, salad, main course, and extras.

  “My God, where did all this come from?”

  “One of my favorite restaurants in Boston. Everything they make is good. I’ve had everything on the menu.”

  “Did you get everything on the menu?”

  “Maybe. I know you love tacos and burritos and nachos and all the os, and spaghetti but I got to thinking what else do you like so. Voila, we’re having a bit of everything.”

  When he was done, there were easily twenty containers that decorated the table. You snorted and laughed loudly again.

  “Wow, that’s one way to get answers.”

  “All right. So over here are appetizers, these are salads, and here are all the entrees. Pick what’s first.”

  You ran your fingers over the tops of a few containers he’d shown were appetizers, then pointed to one that was furthest away. Opening it, he held it out to you. Your face lit up as you took up a piece up with your fingers. He smiled, loving you didn’t bother with utensils.

  “What is it?”

  He looked at the lid and read the table.

  “Lettuce cups, they’re filled with oyster and pickled vegetables with a chipotle sauce.”

  You bit it chewed then nodded your approval.

  “Not bad.”

  “Is it a like or nah?”

  “Eh—I’m not big on oysters. I’ll cook them, but eating them is another thing.”

  “They say oysters are an aphrodisiac.” He had no idea why that came out, but your amusement was evident.

  “They do say that. Have at it, tell me if you agree.”

  He ate his lettuce cup with you watching him. After a few seconds, he felt no different.

  “Guess not,” he answered. You scoffed but didn’t look convinced. He picked the next container and read its contents.

  “Crab cocktail.”

 “Yay, I love crab,” you chirped as you took one and happily gobbled it down.

  “I like crab too, any seafood really.” You took another while pointing to the next container.

  “Avocado salad.”

  “Another favorite, I love eating and cooking with Avocado,” you informed.

  You ate a few forkfuls of the salad, as did he. The two of you went back and forth picking different containers then enjoying the different types of foods. There was a wide variety, seafood, various meats, textures, and flavors. You heartily ate and didn’t seem to care how you ate or how much you ate. He hated when women ate like they weren’t hungry all for the benefit of men. You didn’t care what he thought, and he was grateful for it.

  After almost an hour, all the containers had been opened and consumed, and you sat there, sipping your glass of wine laughing at his jokes.

  “No lie, ask Scott, that is exactly how it happened.”

  You pinched your lips and slapped your hand over your mouth to quiet the snort that escaped you.

  “Sounds like the perfect situation to scare you straight.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I was scared for a long time.” You laughed louder, and he just sat there nodding.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, just—wow.”

  “No, by all means, I was an idiot kid.” You smiled and finished your glass.

  “Have room for dessert?”

  “Oh my god, Chris are you trying to get me fat? This was easily twenty-five hundred calories, not including those two bottles of wine.”

  “I never took you as  a woman who counted calories.”

  “Oh, what woman did you take me as then?”

  He shrugged and smiled to himself and took another sip from his glass.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit, that little smirk spoke volumes. Go on, tell me.”

  He shrugged again, then finished the glass. “I don’t know, maybe one who did what she wanted when she wanted no matter what.” You shimmied your shoulders as you made a face as if you were thinking.

  “Well--,” you stretched out. “I wouldn’t say you’re right, and I wouldn’t say you’re wrong,” you answered.

  “So you are that woman then.”

  “When I want to be.”

  “Well, Vixen. Do you want to be; here right now?”

  It was a question with double meaning. He was curious how you’d respond. He watched your tongue slowly dance across your bottom lip before you sucked it into your mouth.

  “Dessert it is.”

  With a smile, he stood and cleared the containers away, putting them in the trash bag in the corner. He walked around to you, held his hands out and waited for you to take it. He didn’t have to wait long before you placed your smaller hands within his larger ones. He led you out the cabin down the boardwalk, but only halfway, then he stopped.

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?” Your eyes bugged out as confusion knitted your brows together. You looked at him incredulously.

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “What? Why? What are you about to do?”

  “Give you dessert, but you have to trust me.”

  You stared at him, and he could see the ill trust shining through your eyes, you looked conflicted as if you wanted to say something, but something held you back.

  “Trust is a funny thing with me, Chris,” you began. He nodded, fully understanding what you meant and how you felt.

  “I understand completely. So I’ll modify, tonight, do you trust me?” You gazed into his eyes for a few moments then nodded your head. He had to earn your trust; he knew it.

  “Okay, thank you.” He sat at the edge of the boardwalk and slid into the waiting canoe. It was a fluid motion for him; he’d done it tens of times. When he turned to you, your eyes were as wide as saucers. He held his hand out to you.

  “What the fuck?”

Laughing, he steadied the vessel and waited for you to take his hand. After almost a minute you took it.

  “Do what I just did, I’ll do the rest.”

  “Oh my god, are you going to pull me into the lake, Chris?”

  “No, I promise.” You took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the boardwalk just as he did. Just as he was about to take over, you stiffened and held your other hand out to his chest.

  “Wait.” Stopping, he looked at you.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to fall in.”

  “You can swim, it’s no big deal either way.”

  “No big deal? Chris, this took hours to accomplish,” you explained, gesturing to your figure from head to toe. “If I fall in, it’ll be ruined.” He smiled. It was sweet you’d put so much effort into the way you looked tonight, and it was sweet you even wanted to.

  “As I said, no big deal. You’ll still be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

  The air became thick, and the moment heavy. You sighed softly then took his other hand, quickly he pulled you into the canoe pressing you against his body as his arms engulfed you. Your soft gasp was cut short by the force of how your bodies met. Slowly you looked up into his eyes, and he had to fight the urge to kiss you. He brushed the back of his hand across your cheek then cupped your jaw.

  “Dessert better be mind blowing.” He smiled, nodded, and set you on one of the benches in the canoe. He untied the rope and pushed off from the boardwalk.

  “I promise it’ll be to die for.”

  He rowed further out to the lake. The setting sun cast a warm glow in the water, and you just marveled at it.

  “Wow. How the hell do you leave this?”

  “It’s hard, especially when I think what’s waiting for me back in LA. The only comfort is knowing I will be back. I spend maybe three to four months in LA, usually when working; otherwise, I’m here—home.”

  Your eyes fell to his, and that is where they stayed while he continued to row the boat. As you rowed in silence just enjoying the sounds of the paddle hitting the water and pushing through it and the trees rustling in the gentle breeze he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Underneath the sunset here in the lake close to his home he’d never wanted to keep things the same as much as right now. If he could he’d press this moment, sealing it forever.

  When he stopped, he took the two containers from underneath his bench and held one out to you. When you opened it you smiled widely.

  “You look like you’re a cheesecake woman,” he theorized. You nodded.

  “I am. How’d you know?”

  “I remember the two of us buying and finishing an entire cheesecake after we got married.”

  You looked down and took a piece of the cake and began eating. “You then called room service for apple pie and drizzled a diabetic shock amount of caramel sauce all over it,” you added. He cut into his dessert and held up the forkful of apple pie drizzled with caramel. You snorted and laughed.

  “Some things never change,” he voiced.

  The two of you ate in silence for a few moments.

  “How long did it take for all of it to come back?”

  “About a week,” he informed. You nodded.

  “A few days for me.”

  “You know as far as weddings go, I think it was a good one,” he admitted. The two of you sat in silence and thought back to the night.

  “Eh—I guess it was all right.” You smiled at him, and it was a smile that hid so much. He pulled out the bottle of wine and poured a glass for you then himself.

  “What should we drink too?”

  He thought for a moment, then looked to the sky and smirked.

  “Sunsets.”

  “Sunsets?” He nodded.

  “I see sunsets as a sign of the beginning of something new. A lot of people see it as an ending, but I see an opportunity to start something fresh, new—something better.”

  You looked at him from underneath your eyelids, and you looked just like how Ariel did with Eric.

  “So—sunsets.”

  “Sunsets,” he repeated. Your glasses clinked together then you drank still peering at each other.

  After enjoying the final remnants of the setting sun, the lake turned dark. The only light was that of the lanterns on the boardwalk and those in the trees that framed the cabin. It was more than enough to see you clearly.

  “Remember what you said in LA when your parents found out about Ella and me? You said you hid Ella because you were hurt.”

  Your eyes dropped.

  “What did you mean by that?”

  “Let’s not go there, Chris. Let’s just—stay present.”

  “My mom always says that you can’t move forward until you address the past. I want to move forward, Vixen. Any way we can.”

  You studied him for a few long moments, then took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Uuugh. Um--,” you stuttered.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Fine, yes. It is so easy in situations as those for someone to get hurt. Did I get hurt? Maybe—yes.

  He nodded and toyed with his glass. You averted your eyes and looked around the lake. The tension between you rose. As he looked at you, his mind went back to the last night with you. Somehow it felt like full circle. He went over every detail then he saw it. The one thing he’d regretted this entire time. The one thing he’d been running from facing.

  “Vixen, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Your face was blank as you took another sip from your glass, the cheesecake was long gone.

  “I was the world’s biggest and worst asshole three years ago.” You were lowering the glass from your lips when he said the words, but you lifted it again and finished the drink on one breath.

  “I said something to you--.” Your voice interrupted him “

  “Chris, you don’t--.”

  “Yes, I do. Please.” You reached for the bottle and refilled your glass then took another sip.

  “I said something to you that I am ashamed of, something that I have run from and deeply regretted every day for the last three years. I don’t even know where to start to--,” he sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to find the words he’d wished he’d been brave enough to say before.

  “The guy I was then—” he shook his head remembering all his younger antics. “I was a dick. I was self-absorbed, I knew women wanted me and would do just about anything for a taste of the lifestyle I’d been thrown into, and I let it get to me. I fell in that lifestyle headfirst. I became the douche brothers tell their sisters to stay away from. I slept around--a lot. I woke up to a different woman every week. I lived for the next party, the next pretty face, and the next movie. It was always about what was next. Settling down, sticking with one person was a nightmare then, I didn’t think I was ready. There was still too much I thought I wanted to do.” He took a breath; your eyes were on him, but he couldn’t read you. It was like you’d shut down and become android like.

  “I saw you that night, and you froze me, no lie. I didn’t expect that or everything else that happened that night. I didn’t expect the effortless conversation or the smooth way we grooved together. I didn’t expect to tell you everything I did, or feel so good with you, so effortless. The night at my house was great. It is easily one of the best nights of my life. What I said to you was wrong on so many levels, it was insensitive, disrespectful, rude and a bunch of other words I’m going to let you fill in. I didn’t think how it would make you feel, how it came across, how it sounded, I didn’t think at all. I’m sorry, Vixen. I am very sorry.”

  You didn’t speak or look away from him. He wasn’t sure you’d respond, and he intended to give you all the time you needed to process. As a few seconds, turned to a minute and a minute to a minute and a half, then two, he began to lose his nerve.

  “The insanely ridiculous thing is that what I said couldn’t have been further from the truth. I didn’t even realize it until I came back out of the bathroom and saw you were gone. It hit me that I was an idiot,” he rushed out.

  Silence fell between you again, and this time, he decided he wouldn’t speak again until you did. A soft melodious hum sounded, he looked down and saw your finger slowly rotating the rim of the glass. He remembered you doing this the night you met. He showed you his secret talent, and you showed him this. You switched fingers to your pinky, and the sound became higher pitched but still beautiful.

  Suddenly you stopped then sighed.

  “Okay.”

  “O—okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay. I’m done holding on to that. Thank you for apologizing.”

  “I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  You hesitated for a moment then spoke. “I forgive you.” Feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he smiled. It was a smile you returned.

  Slowly but surely, his body drifted to yours, and unless he was crazy yours drifted to his as well.

  “I have something I have to tell you,” he began with a whisper.

  “What?”

  Your faces continued to drift closer and closer. As he opened his mouth to tell you about the marriage, one of the ores fell into the water. You tried to reach for it but leaned a little too quickly, and the canoe rocked. In the blink of an eye, you screeched and tumbled over into the lake. When you came up your eyes were huge.

  “Oh my god! Chris! I told you my ass would fall in. Look!”

  He didn’t mean to laugh, but he did, and it wasn’t a small one either. It was a gut-busting one.  Your jaw dropped.

  “Oh my god, are you laughing at me!?”

  He shook his head as he tried to catch his breath, but every time he tried to stop laughing, a fresh wave began. You screeched and slapped the water. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing. Come on let me help you.” He reached over for your hand. You pulled him into the lake headfirst. When he reemerged you were cackling and not even trying to hide it.

  “Wow, that was petty.”

  “Then call me queen petty because that was funny.” You laughed some more as he came closer and splashed you in the face with a big wave of water. Your shocked expression made him laugh until you pushed your own wave of water in his face. That began the water fight. You each splashed, screamed, laughed and played in the water. He felt like a kid again, felt like he had no care in the world. Slowly the two of you stopped splashing. He drifted closer and brushed back your hair from your forehead.

  “See, told you,” he began.

  “Told me what?”

  “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” You smiled small at first, but it spread across your face until you hid it behind your hand.

  “Whatever, Evans.”

  The two of you swam back to the boardwalk. Once there, he hoisted himself up and onto the wood, then he reached into the water for you.

  “Come on. It’s warmer inside.” He led the way back to the cabin. Once inside, he closed the door and went for the small solar-powered space heater he kept in there until he brought over one of the blankets and wrapped it around you.

  When the two of you sat in front of the heater, you offered him some of the blanket. Soon you were huddled together sitting in silence. It wasn’t an awkward one either. It felt as natural as breathing.

  “Why did you stay at your house if you saw that night everywhere?”

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He wondered if he could be this open with you. Half of him wanted to, but the other half was afraid. He knew he was in love with you, knew he wanted you without a doubt, but your feelings were still unknown. He didn’t know if he could be this vulnerable, then have you pull away.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you added.

  “In the beginning, I used it as a way to punish myself. I knew I’d messed up and regretted it. As time went on and years did I used it as a way to remember,” he admitted.

  “Remember what?” He looked at you and skimmed your face.

  “You—us.” Your eyes met his, and he knew this was the moment that would dictate everything moving forward. He decided to go for it. Closing the space between you, his lips met yours for a soft peck which turned into another, then another until it turned into a timid kiss, one he could feel your hesitation in.

  “We can’t,” you whispered in the middle of the kiss. His forehead pressed to yours.

  “Why not?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek and your jaw. He loved your skin.

  “Because Ella. Our daughter.” Your eyes were closed.

  “So it’s not because you don’t want to? Don’t want me?”

  He had to know once and for all.

  “Do you want me?” Your counter question had him pulling back but only a little, and enough to look into your eyes. His hand cupped your cheek, making you look at him.

  “Vixen, you know I want you. How can I not? Jesus, I’ve wanted you for three years.”

  The shock on your face was evident. Your lips crashed to his taking lead of a passion-filled kiss, one that stole almost every ounce of his control leaving him with only a tiny sliver. As he was about to deepen the kiss you pulled back.

  “Mmm, No. God, Chris. There is a difference between wanting me and wanting this from me,” you expressed. He knew what you meant.

  “I know there is. I know the difference. I don’t want this Vixen. I want you.”

Needing you to take the lead, he waited. When your lips met, the kiss was a soft, sensual rapture. Slowly your lips danced, teasing one another, daring each other to let go and have everything they wanted. He didn’t want to think about anything else, not what he should do, or shouldn’t do, not the future. He just wanted to think about you and him right now.

  The kiss intensified, and your moan was the first to escape between you. It coaxed his free until the two of you were moaning and relishing in the feel of the beginning of your desire for each other. After several long minutes you slowly fell to your back atop the blankets and stared up at him. He held his breath afraid you’d pull away; instead you grabbed his shirt and pulled him on top of you to continue the kiss. That was what he needed for his confidence to take flight. His hand gripped your calf and slid up your leg to the hem of the wet dress.

  “You’re shaking,” you whispered. His embarrassment shone on him with his blush. He looked down to his hands that were, in fact shaking.

  “I am.”

  “Are you cold?” He shook his head, then met your eyes.

  “No, not cold.” The moment stretched with you staring at him. He wondered if you understood. You raised his hand to your lips and placed a soft kiss across his knuckles. Using the same hand, he caressed your cheek, down to your jaw, then chin. Using his thumb to softly rub across your bottom lip, he then dipped it inside. You kissed his thumb and never took your eyes off his.

  “God, she drives me crazy.”

  Your lips met again, but the heat he felt inward crept out as he took control of the frenzied kiss. When he felt your legs part for him he comfortably settled between them and pressed himself against you. You gasped and angled your head back, giving him the leeway he needed to taste your skin. He kissed, licked and sucked your neck as his hand found yours to entwine with. You pulled your hand away to grip the hem of his shirt and pull it up over his head. The material dropped to the wooden floor with a wet “splat.”

  Your hands were on his chest in seconds, and you slowly took him in. He sat up and allowed you to get your fill. Slowly your hands roamed across his chest, down his abdomen and back again.

  “Is it the way you remember?” You smirked and shook your head.

  “A lot has changed.” He smiled then lowered to kiss you again. You had lips that needed kissing and kissing often. Your hands at his waist surprised him. When he felt you undoing his belt and pants he nearly lost it. Until this morning, this was just a dream or a nightmare of his. He’d envisioned this so many times over the years, and every time he thought of it he wanted it, but he didn’t feel as if he deserved it.

  Your small hands began to urgently pull at his pants. Lifting off his knees he helped you get them off. Once they were at his thighs he broke the kiss, stood, and pulled them off kicking them to the side. You gazed up at him with half lazy eyes, and he’d never wanted anyone more.

  “Come here.” You sat up as he dropped to his knees and claimed his lips. You rolled him onto his back and sat on his need. His groan was more forceful than he intended, and it rivaled your moan. Just like that, his need for your rose exponentially. His hands gripped your back then trailed to your hips. Once there he squeezed and got lost in the feel of your full hips in his hands.

  When your lips left his and trailed to his neck, your hips began rotating making his need pulsate even more. Your moan said you felt it, and the way your rotations picked up speed said you wanted more. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, and he slowly lowered it as he did, the material loosened on your body. You sat up bit your bottom lip then slipped the straps off your shoulders revealing your bare breasts to him for the first time in years. A stronger man would have laid there marveling at your beauty and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, but he was not strong anymore. He had you the woman of his dreams—and nightmares in his arms, and he was filled with more wants than he’d ever had in his life.

  Sitting up, he cupped your breast and latched his mouth to one pert nipple. As he did you hugged his head to your chest and arched back. Your moans were like music to his ears, and the louder you got, the more he needed to hear them. Switching to the other he lapped at your flesh and moaned his pleasure. He rolled you onto your back and pressed your hands above your head. The new angle had your breasts poked out for him like they were offerings—offerings he happily accepted adding soft nibbles to your stiff peaks.

  “Mmm, Chris!”

  Slowly he kissed down the center of your body to your stomach, where he pulled the rest of your dress off. Once he made it to your pelvis he slowly pulled your underwear lower until he saw the tattoo he remembered, the tattoo that was part of his nightly haunting. He dropped a soft kiss to the design then pulled the remainder of the fabric from your body. With you fully bare before him, he thought you looked like a goddess.

  He parted your legs and wasted no time dipping his tongue to your sex. At the first touch, you arched your back and gasped loudly. He’d intended to tease you and go slow, but your reaction made it impossible. His tongue had a mind of its own. He flicked and sucked at your bud getting lost in your taste. He was a thirsty man, and your juices were the only thing that could satiate him. With every pass his tongue made you writhed and moaned. When he sucked your flesh into his mouth your thighs clenched together, trapping his head where it was. Feeding off of your pleasure he sped his tongue. You were soon bucking and riding his mouth as your hands gripped his head.

  “Fuck, Chris, yes, yes!” When he felt the gush of fluid into his mouth, he slurped at your skin and kept your sex firmly on his mouth though you tried to push his head away and pull yourself free. He wasn’t having it.

  “Shit,” you stretched out as your body convulsed.

  It was then he tore his lips from yours. When he looked down at you he watched you shake loving the way your breast jiggled and how hard you bit your lip. When your eyes met his, the fire he saw there matched every flame he felt within. He felt your hand grip his length as your eyes fell to his protruding need as it rested on your pubis. Your mouth fell open looking at the part of him he wondered if you had forgotten. He wondered often if you ever thought of him, of it, and touched yourself. Did you ever imagine him on top of you—inside of you.

  You positioned him right at your opening, but both of you were frozen as if taking in the moment. He moved forward, intentionally nudging your wet bud with the tip of his dick. You moaned and rolled your eyes back. It was a beautiful sight, so beautiful he did it again and again. On the fourth buck of his hips, he slowly slid inside your heat. At the first touch your eyes flew open, latched onto his, and your mouth opened.

  Every centimeter he slid in, he felt as if your body both accepted and rejected him. You were tighter than he remembered, and he nearly lost his mind because of it. After sinking halfway into you he pulled back to sink in again, feeding you more and more of him each dip. Once he was fully sheathed, you clung to him while your core squeezed him, sucking him in deeper.

  “Fuck, Vixen!”

  Of their own accord, his hips began a slow pace that quickly picked up, creating a steady rock that stretched you. Your moans egged him on and made him want more and more of you. The more he wanted, the faster his hips thrust, the faster his hips thrust, the deeper he plowed. It didn’t take long for your moans and grunts to compete against each other and bounce off the walls of the cabin. Your eyes locked onto his and held him captivated.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Dipping down, he kissed you as your bodies collided together taking everything the other offered and giving even more in return. When he felt you clench around him for the third time he almost claimed his release, but he wanted too much and didn’t want it to end. He wanted to stay nestled deep inside you for the rest of his life.

  “Chris!” Your high-pitched moan brought him out of his head. Your hand latched onto his jaw. He kissed your palm and felt his release quickly approaching. The sight of your bodies connecting was enough to drive him mad. The way your body accepted him was a thing of beauty, and the way you responded to him was pure magic. It had never been like this with anyone—just you.

  “Vixen!” That was his only warning as his release claimed him, and he released himself deep inside you. His body shook from the power of it. his grunts fell from him one after the other. Dropping his head onto your shoulder he could barely catch his breath. Holding you tightly, he rolled taking you with him allowing you to lay across his chest. Slowly your bodies stopped shaking, and your breathing evened out. Soon all there was to hear was just nature all around you, but he’d already pressed to memory the sound of you shouting his name as you came. It was a sound he was already addicted to, a sound he knew would haunt him, as would his love for you.

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

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

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[analvelocity]

Rubbernecks

This is a submission I wrote for @thewebcomicsreview‘s “Write a Story You Worthless Piece of Shit”, a writing prompt meme with prompts silly enough that I wanted to try my hand at one of them. I realized I haven’t written any prose recently and I felt the itch, so thanks Daniel for giving me an excuse to go mad in front of a Word Doc for way too many hours.

This one, uh, got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope people have at least half as much fun reading it. The prompt I chose was as follows: A middle-aged southern redneck truck driver finds the legendary Kitsune-Neko Katana, the only weapon that can save the world from an invading alien race.

You can find all 4,600+ words of Rubbernecks below the cut.

ANALVELOCITY DOT TUMBLR PRESENTS: RUBBERNECKS

Bobby cracked open the window and felt the now-cooling Mohave air ripple through his cap. As the sun hid once more behind the end of the road, he took off his aviators and hooked them over the top button of his shirt. It was going to be one of the long ones, he could feel it. Just him and the white lines 20 feet ahead of him as he directed 40 tons of cargo through the dusty blackness. This was home to him, and if he was one of those strange monk fellers, he’d much rather be meditatin’ here than on a mountaintop. It was for this reason he chose to leave his radio off, letting the breeze whip his ears at 65 miles an hour as he breathed a sigh of contentment.

This was the life. No Garth Brooks or radio chatter to disturb his personal zen. Always the feelin’ of progress, feelin’ like no matter where you’re gon’ end up, you’ll be right where yer’ meant ta be. When all was said an’ done, there was nothin’ more peaceful than- BOOM. A ripple shook his steel cocoon as he felt an electric shock run from his toes to the last remnants of his hairline. Stunned for a moment, he glanced to his right as he saw blames bellowing out of a line of Joshua Trees running about half a mile of the highway. He could feel ol’ Bessie begin to wobble and shake, and Bobby knew that was a sure sign that he should pull up. As Bobby stepped out of the truck, he felt a blast of hot air lash at his face. He reached into one of the back pockets of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled box of cigarettes. He felt around his pockets. Nothing. He looked up at the door, then again at the bent cigarette in his mouth. With a sigh, he walked up to one of the nearby burning plants and lit it. As he took a couple of puffs and surveyed the landscape, he saw it. At the end of the trail of flame, a series of blinking lights. Now Bobby here was no Boy Scout, but he knew Morse Code when he saw it. “Prob’ly one of them there Wright Brothers types gettin’ ambitious.” He chuckled to himself as he began to walk toward the lights. Far as Bobby was concerned, the ground was good enough for him. His eyes began to readjust to the darkness as he approached the source of the fire. His eyes widened. That was no airplane. The flaming ball of chrome sticking out of the cracked earth before him looked like it had no doors or windows, but as he stepped around it he noticed a single hole burned through what he presumed was the side of it. He inspected the hole, and realized that whatever shot this thing, used some serious hardware. The kind of hardware Jimmy One-Eye would probably give his left nut just ter’ get a look at. Bobby had dealt with more busted radiators in his time than he could count, so he knew this thing was goin’ to be too hot to touch. Still, he left his gloves and kit in the truck, and he needed to get this cargo to LA before morning so he wasn’t interested in staying any longer than he needed to. Bobby’s task was simple - see if there were any survivors, and leave the rest to whatever guvamint acronym dealt with flaming sky eggs. No time to get this engine back runnin’, assumin’ this thing even had an engine.

Wrapping his baseball cap around his right hand, he tested the egg by poking it. Cold to the touch. Cautiously, he put the hat back on his head and placed his bare hand on the surface of the object. A series of beeps. Some more flashing lights. A ripple in the surface, and then beginning to shudder and groan. Bobby stepped back.

The shuddering began to grow and grow in intensity, shivering and rippling as it morphed into alien shapes. Bobby stepped back once more.

Then it stopped. Then it made a tiny, almost imperceptible dinging sound. Then it spat out a girl. At this point Bobby didn’t know how to react. But if he didn’t the egg sure didn’t either as it flung the girl several feet in the air, landing her face-first with a thud at his feet. Bobby leaned over and checked her pulse. He couldn’t feel anything. He rolled her on to her back. She looked Asian, that much he was sure, and covered in deep lacerations and burns from head to toe.

She seemed young, definitely too young to be out of high school. She wore a short blue skirt, the kind of short that would make the most progressive mother clutch her pearls. A white shirt that seemed way too small, exposing her belly button. An odd-looking boy scout necktie that seemed to glow in the dark. She looked like one of those girl hero types that he caught lil’ Jenny watchin’ back at home from time to time. And in her hand, the most absurd looking blade he’d ever seen in his life.

It was long thin blade, with what looked like nine fox tails working as a guard at the hilt. Several inscriptions of cats, were engraved on the blade, each one glowing a searingly bright pink.

“Well that there’s a bit fruity, ain’t it.” He reached down to check her pulse. Nothing. Bobby furrowed his brow. He took his hat back off and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With a sigh, he reached for the sword clasped in her hand and picked it up. What happened after was immediate. The girl’s clothes shifted into some kind of modest private school uniform. But more frighteningly, Bobby felt a surge of energy flow through the sword. Bobby’s world shook, and then everything went black.

********

“Wake up, Chosen-Senpai.”

Bobby shuddered awake to see a blurry figure standing over him. As his eyes adjusted to the bright lights around him, he sat up and felt the shallow pools of water rippling between his fingers. “I ain’t in the Mojave anymore.” As he looked around him, he could see the girl more vividly now. The same girl he pulled from the wreckage, but strangely uninjured.

“Very astute of you, Senpai.” Bobby eyed her with a mix of scorn and confusion. He looked at her, she looked at him. After what felt like half a minute of waiting for the other to say something, Bobby decided to break the ice. “Where ar-“ “The sword holds the past lives of all who have wielded it before. This is the realm where the Chosen meet, to share their combined knowledge and experience with the Hero who wields it.” Bobby’s eyebrow slowly raised. “Who ar-“ “My name is Sakura. Heiress to the GenkiNeko toy chain, forty-seventh wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword, slayer of the Kawaiiju. I will be your spirit guide on your journey as you continue my work, as the previous owners of the sword have done before me.” Bobby stood up. “Now wait here missy, I ain’t about t-“ “You are the forty-eighth wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword. It is your destiny.” “I’m a trucker. The only destiny I got is-” “Listen, old man, I like this even less than you do. But the Kawaiiju aren’t going to stop with me. Whether you like it or not, you will need to face them.” Bobby laughed. “Let’s see how these illegal immig’rints handle the 12-gauge I got in the back. I don’t need no’ gay knife fer’ tha-“ “Your shotgun will have no impact on the Kawaiiju, Senpai. Only the sword can pierce their flesh” “Well ain’t that convenient.” Bobby was stunned for a second. He actually finished a sentence with this crazy woman. “What-“ “You must take the sword and follow your path. The sword is just a blade in your hands now, but the Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.” “No.” “What?” “I’m not goin’ ter do it. I don’t even know what you want me ter do-“ “You have no choice. It is your destiny.” Bobby scoffed. “Lady, this here?” he gestured to the void surrounding them. “This is America. And it’s my gosh-durned right to do whatever I want. That’s the American wa-” Sakura rolled her shoulders backward and groaned into the sky. “Burgerland, of course. Why did I have to crash here?” Bobby chuckled, looked at the sword still clasped in his hand, then smiled. “Listen, Say-koo-ruh. What if I take this thing to the nearest truck-stop and give it to the first teenager that rolls by?” She paused, pinching her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That, uh, might work? But there’s a pro-”

“Good, it’s settled then. Now I don’t want ter hear any more of this talk about Nee-Koes and Keet-Soons and Cow-Why-Juice, you hear me?” She shrugged, an almost resigned smirk on her face. “Fine. But when what happens happens, make sure you keep the blade nearby. The last think we need is humanity’s last hope in the hands of an alien invader.”

Bobby shrugged dismissively, and for a while the two stood there for a moment in awkward silence.

“So what the heck is a Sen-Pi-“

********

Bobby shuddered awake, sweating. He checked his watch. Damn, he’d been snoozing out here for 15 minutes. If his boss called in while he was out here, that was probably comin’ out of his paycheck.

“Strange dream.”

He looked around. The sword was still in his hand, but the body was gone. Bobby decided it was probably best not to question it, as he shrugged and made his way back to the truck. On the way, he considered throwing the sword away, but something prevented him.

“Could probably get gas money selling this to a scrapyard.” Bobby chuckled. In fact, now that he thought about it, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

By the time Bobby was settling back into the driver’s seat, he’d already decided on the place – a scrapper mentioned by Billy-Bob in the Trucker’s Network just off the beaten track. And better yet – still on the way to LA.

The past hour, he thought, must have been a hallucination. There were certainly enough engine fumes to rationalize that as such, but a Japanese schoolgirl? That one was certainly new. A pang hit him as he warmed up the engine – was this guilt? Bobby quickly brushed the feeling aside as he pressed his foot against that familiar accelerator.

********

thru-thrum.

A few hours had passed, and a strange feeling washed over Bobby as the white lines on the empty road began to blur together. Hair standing at the back of his neck. A chill of… anticipation? He pushed it aside as he reached to the passenger seat for another cig- hang on, was the sword glowing?

thru-thrum. One eye on the road, he looked across the car and sure enough, leaning against the glovebox was that girly blade. The inscriptions were now pulsing, but the blade itself was now glowing with a pink hue that was growing steadily brighter. This time, Bobby knew he wasn’t hallucinating. thru-thrum. thru-thrum. “The Kitsune-Neko senses her prey. The hunt begins.”

That familiar voice.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

“But who is the hunter, and who the hunted?”

“Oh fuck me! Now I’m hearin’ the dead!” THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Bobby wiped the sweat off his brow. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking. And then, in the corner of his eye, he glanced something in his rear-view mirror. Something advancing. His eyes widened as terror ripped the breath from his throat.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Something giant was slithering along the road at an incredible speed, steadily, advancing on ol’ Bessie. Like a Beanie Baby fucked a Kraken. And it looked livid. Bobby didn’t think. He punched the gas and picked up the microphone on the CB Radio. Shaking, he clicked the button and spoke. “10-33, 10-33. This is Freebird, callin’ from the Interstate 40 en route to Shakytown.” He paused for a moment. “10-33 please respond.” Static. Second after uncomfortable second rolled by. And then, a familar;

“5 by 5, this is the Ludlow Watering Hole. What’s your situation? Over.” He breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief was fleeting as the spectre loomed over his rear-view. But now he knew Maeve was in town. This varmint was gon’ find out the meaning of Southern Hospitality. “I’m about 20 minutes east of your position. I got the hammer down and a bogey on my tail. I need all the drivers you have. And guns. As many as you got. Over.”

A moment.

“Copy that. I’ll contact the boys. You know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” Another sigh of relief. “Oh, and Freebird? Welcome back. Over.” Bobby hung up the mic and glanced at his rear-view. Yep, definitely close now. Whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it fast. And hopefully Maeve wasn’t dragging her feet. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

The sound was very loud now, the sword to his right now shimmering with light, shivering like it was itchin’ for a fix of the good stuff. And that’s when he saw the sign - Fender Joe’s House of Scrap. A lightbulb moment – if he was gon’ take this thing on, with or without the Trucker Network, one of them was gon’ die in that metal graveyard. He twisted the steering wheel to the left, and felt Bessie tilt with him. But Bobby knew Bessie like she was his second wife. And with a flourish, the truck righted itself as he flew through the exit. The pursuer was not as elegant, slamming itself into the wall of a nearby overpass, splattering glowing technicolor blood. But the blood stopped in midair, and rushed back to its host as the tentacled monstrosity regained its composure and resumed its pursuit. As it did, the radio once more crackled into life. “10-8, 10-8. Freebird, we have some boys heading to your position. What is your situation with the bogey? Over.” Bobby had never been so overjoyed to hear anyone speak over that radio. He picked the mic back up. “10-4. I’m about to dig in at Fender Joe’s. Get here as quick as possible. 4-10? Over.” A moment.

“Negatory, you’re a Mud Duck. Please repeat, over.”

“I said, I’m at Fender J-“ The truck slammed through the gates of the scrapyard as he hit the brakes. Carefully adjusting the steering wheel, he shifted the handbrake and the truck whipped around, skidding through the clay for tens of feet before glancing the piles of old whitegoods littering the compound. No time to think. Bobby reached behind his seat and pulled out his 12-Gauge and a few boxes of ammo. “This is going to be Freebird’s last stand.” He thought as he stepped out of the truck and turned to face the entrance. His rearview told him that objects may be larger than they appear. That was a gosh-durned understatement. The Kawaiiju before him stood at least 20 feet tall, with a mass of tentacles ripping through the fence as it advanced on him. As the creature drew closer, he could faintly hear the sound of… was that meowing? “Okay, I know you’re new to this country so lemme teach you somethin’ about the Second Amendment!” he shouted at the creature, as he unloaded two shotgun shells directly into its My Little Pony-lookin’ face. It doubled back and made a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek, and then rearranged its face back into its original shape. Bobby laughed. Clearly this thing didn’t get the memo, he thought to himself as he popped some new shells into his gun. He was preparing his next one-liner when an errant tentacle whipped him, sending the man careering into a pile of old toasters.

********

“Ergh… Just give me a sec” he said to the figure looming over him. It took a moment for his clearly concussed brain to register that a familiar Japanese girl was standing over him. He fumbled around helplessly on his bed of toasters for a moment until he looked across the compound, realizing that his shotgun was currently sinking into the creature’s bags of flesh.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Hearing him, the creature whipped around and began rushing toward him.

“Reach out your arm.”

“What?”

“Just do it. And say, ‘Neko Neko Nii!’” “WHAT?”

The creature was once again looming over him now.

“Just do it!”

Bobby blushed and gritted his teeth. “Argh! Neko Neko Nii!”

The Kawaiiju raised a clawed tentacle in the air, and slammed it down above him. SHWING!

Bobby opened his eyes. Somehow, he was still alive. With a pink sword in his hand, held above his head. The creature’s tentacle sliced clean off, wriggling limply on the toaster bed at his side. Sakura laughed. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” Bobby didn’t have time to think. Primal survival instinct kicked in as he shot up, grabbing the hilt of the blade with both hands as he slashed at tentacle after tentacle that whipped at him. And one by one, they all fell. The Kawaiiju roared mightily once more as it threw its full weight at Bobby, who ducked to the side and with one swift uppercut, slashed right through the creature’s torso. Neon blood spewed everywhere, coating Bobby as he wiped the goo from his eyes. The Kawaiiju was hurting now, that’s for sure. “Yeah! How’d you like that?” The creature stood still for a second, then the blood once more began to return to its body, peeling itself from the toasters, the sword, and Bobby himself. Sakura, still standing with her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her blazer, looked on at this with mild bemusement. The tentacles wriggled back into life as they crawled like worms back to their host, reattaching themselves to the sockets as Bobby looked on in horror. He clutched the sword and held it before him. “All right girl, you said this sword could kill these things. Why isn’t this working?” “I told you before, didn’t I?” “Tell me wha-“ he failed to ask as one tentacle, now balled into a fist, slammed him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He could only look on disorientedly as the blade skittered off and disappeared into a pile of refrigerators. He reached out. “Neko Neko Nii!” Nothing. “Neko Neko Nii!” he shouted. The Kawaiiju almost seemed to cackle as it readied itself for the killing blow. “Well Bobby, I guess you were going to die someday.” he said to himself as he relaxed his body and closed his eyes, allowing himself to embrace the void. Six tentacles raised into the air as the creature gurgled with something adjacent to laughter.

It was at that moment that a truck burst through the entrance of the scrapyard, careering through the mud to collide face-first with the creature. Once more it shrieked as it exploded into that glowing rainbow bodily fluid that Bobby was becoming uncomfortably accustomed to.

Dazed, Bobby looked to his side, and shouted out a hoo-rah as five trucks circled around the interior of the compound, before trying to get up once more. Several familiar faces emerged from the doors, each one more heavily-armed than the last. And last, stepping out of the truck that saved him, was a heavy-set woman holding an LMG like one would hold a briefcase. “Just in the nick of time, hey Freebird!” Bobby smiled, pumping his fist into the air as he righted himself. “Maeve! And not a moment too soon! Good to see you babe.” “Now Bobby, you wanna try saying that again?” she said, tapping the LMG with her other hand like a used car dealer would slap a car. “Point taken. Eyes up, everybody, because this ain’t over.” Maeve frowned. “You sure about that? This situation is lookin’ pretty handled over-“ It was at that moment that the truck flipped into the air, spinning into the other trucks as the Kawaiiju revealed itself once more, enraged. Maeve stepped back, shocked for a moment at what she was seeing, and readied her machine gun. “All right boys, let’s show this rubberneck what happens when you mess with the Trucker Network!” The team nodded in acknowledgement as they all began to unload their firearms into the tentacled horror. Pistols, assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns... oh shit, is that a rocket launcher? Maeve and Bobby both ducked out of the way as the first rocket connected with flesh. First an explosion of blood and fire, then the creature reforming just in time for another rocket to scatter alien meat once more. “It’s not working!” said Maeve. “Do what you gotta do – we’ll cover you!” Bobby’s eyes darted around the landscape, riddled with flashes and metal and enough colour to make Lisa Frank start bleeding out the eyes. “Thanks for comin’, Maeve. Glad to know you have my back after all these years.” “Naw, are you gettin’ sentimental, boy?” Maeve looked back and grinned toothily. “We’ll always have your back. We’re the Trucker Network! And more important, we’re friends.” An epiphany struck Bobby like a bolt of lightning.

“The Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.”

Without a second thought, Bobby held his arms before him as he lunged toward the beast. It was like time had slowed down, as he moved faster, superhumanly so, toward the creature, ducking and weaving between tentacles. As he approached the creature’s torso, his arms clasped together in a thrusting motion.

In a flash of bright pink light, the sword once again appeared in his hand, and drove straight through the heart just recently exposed by an errant stick of dynamite. The creature shrieked one more bloodcurdling shriek, and then collapsed inward on itself like a black hole. The Kawaiiju was dead, and this time it wasn’t coming back. Everyone looked on, dumbfounded. And then the cheering began. Bobby and Maeve moved into the circle of trucks, Maeve setting down her LMG as a few of the other truckies pulled out some beers from the trucks. Cracking open some cold ones, they all began to chatter among one another. Maeve approached Bobby once more. “Well Freebird, I can’t say this was the evening I was expecting to have, but I think we’re all going to remember it.” She eyed him up and down. “For more reasons than one.” Bobby looked at her quizzically, then glanced at the apparition of Sakura. She was doubled-over in laughter. “Okay what are you laughin’ about?” It was at that moment that he noticed that everyone was looking at him with a bemused look on their faces. Bobby looked down. “…oh.”

********

“…happy birthday dear Jenny, happy birthday to you!”

Bobby looked on at his daughter with pride, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Thank y’all for coming!” she said, buzzing with excitement as she blew out the 18 candles dotting her carrot cake. She looked over at Bobby, beaming. Bobby knew he wasn’t around all that much for her – he was wed to the road and it never let him stay in one place for long. A glance over at her mother’s piercing glare indicated that she concurred.

As the party began to wrap up and the family began to tidy the barn, Bobby approached his daughter.

“Hey Dad!”

“Hi, Jenny.” He furrowed his brow. Was this really the right time? Is this really the right choice? “Come with me, I want to give you your birthday present, but it’s out the front”

“Sure thing!” Jenny gleefully responded.

Bobby was getting cold feet. Her mother would certainly kill him when she found out. Probably for the best that he get out of the state as soon as possible.

He turned around to her as they stepped through the front gate. “So this isn’t just a gift from me, it’s a gift from the whole Trucker Network. So make sure to say thank you to Maeve next time she’s in town.”

“Will do!” Jenny was clearly overflowing with excitement, with her hands balled into fists.

Bobby opened the door of his truck, sighed for a moment, and then pulled out an intricately-wrapped box, short in height and depth but a few feet long. He looked up – Sakura’s ghost was sitting there, sporting an almost Cheshire-Cat grin.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? You know how dangerous it is out there. You know you’ll be exposing her to a world she’ll never come back from.”

Bobby frowned determinedly. “Yes, but will she want to?”

He handed the box to Jenny. Like a ravenous beast, she ripped the box open with her teeth, the ribbons and paper falling in tatters on the dirt road beneath them. Bobby winced – he’d spent all night on that.

She looked inside the box. “Whoa! Thanks Dad!” A moment of silence. “…uh, what is it?”

“This,” said Bobby, smiling as he drew the long metal object from the box. “is a tyre iron. You’re going to need it for the other half of your present.”

He gestured over toward the other side of the street. Jenny gasped. There it was, a brand-new semi-trailer. Not one of the most heavy-duty bits of hardware around, but if his Jenny was going to learn to drive, she was going to drive the best.

“Is it- is it-“ she was practically vibrating.

“Yeah, kiddo.” he smiled. “She’s all yours. Keys are in the ignition.”

“Um, I don’t want to ruin your moment, but…”

He looked out toward the gate of the house. His ex was advancing on him and he didn’t need any supernatural sword powers to know that his time was up.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

********

Jenny ran to the truck and sat in the front seat. She’d never felt so alive; her Dad may be gone a lot but there was always something so magical, so fantastical about the stories he’d tell her about his time on the road. Sitting in this truck, she felt closer to him than ever before. She sighed contentedly, then looked over at her dad. And then a pang of sadness, as she heard the truck rev up and pull out, disappearing into the street once more, her mother screaming and shouting at him the whole way down the block. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Just like that, he was gone again. *chhhk* Jenny looked up. The truck radio was coming to life. “This is Freebird to Sailormoon, Sailormoon please respond, over.” Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes as she hurriedly picked up the microphone. “10-4, 10-4, This is Sailormoon, hearing you loud and clear, over.” “Freebird to Sailormoon, I’m proud of you. Sorry I had to hightail. You know your mother. Over.” She giggled. “Sailormoon to Freebird, it’s okay. Bring me back something nice. Over.” A moment. “10-4 to that.” “Motherbear to Freebird and Sailormoon, this is adorable but you are hogging a vital channel. Cut the shit, over.”

Jenny dropped the mic, embarrassed.

“Sorry Maeve” said her dad. “I’m back on the road again, what have you got for me?”

“Some rubbernecks causing havoc in a town just south of your position. Follow the highway and you can’t miss it.”

“Freebird to Motherbear, roger that.”

Jenny grinned before picking up the mic again. “Give’ em hell, Dad.”