#I might be grasping at straws but the thought wouldn’t leave me

[acaptainbyanyothername]

One of my favorite themes Midst is exploring is what it means for a person to become an idol, a symbol. How they and the narrative deal with that is FASCINATING.

Obviously we have Lark. Clara Mire was shoved into her symbol at a very young age— she became the poster child for Caneum, the boogeyman under Trustee’s beds, the universal villain. She has spent her entire life running from that symbol, adopting an alias and jumping from place to place. But her tragedy is that in running from her symbol, she has had to partially become it. Lark is TERRIFYING, and leverages that all the time, against Fuze, Phineas, even Tzila. Lark became dangerous to run from her symbol of Dangerous.

Then we have our buddy Tripotentiary Moc Weepe. Upon his transformation, he becomes the symbol of the Trust. He literally and figuratively makes the Trust translucent to show off its diseased, rotting insides. He is the true Trust, inside and out. No wonder everyone hates him.

Jonas Spahr is forced to be this golden idol— don’t show weakness, put on a media-ready smile, not a hair out of place and it’s showtime. He groomed to be this way like one of Costigan’s plants, and she’s snipped away all of his natural humanities. He is golden and perfect at the cost of his personhood, and it’s killing him.

Contrast that against Phineas Thatch. Phineas tries to become that golden idol, Spahr tries to cull his imperfections, but it doesn’t stick. Phineas is too messy, too human, he can’t become the untouchable symbol. So he’s rejected and abandoned by his idolatristic society.

I think even Hieronymous Loxlee could count as a symbol— if Weepe is the Trust, Harry’s the Breach. Secretive, in disguise, hidden in plain sight. It’s a heavy burden to carry though, causing him to have to make decisions as a symbol rather than as a person. He needs to maintain the Breach above his own personal relationships—drop the moon on Midst if it saves the Breach, even if it dooms his loved ones and his own daughter. He can’t afford to be a person, he has to be the symbol.

But then Midst episode 15: Breach comes and says they’re just people. Lark is just an old woman. Jonas Spahr is just a man. It’s a clash of these various symbols and ideologies and inflated idols but they’re all flesh and blood that can die in an explosion. Anyways

[suguann]

an. another ex-husband gojo fic because i'll die with this trope. this ends exactly how you'd expect (if you know me)

Satoru doesn’t take it well when you tell him you have a boyfriend after bumping into him in the grocery store parking lot. At least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell, his expression inscrutable as ever behind his dark sunglasses—the sharp arch of his brow the only indication he’s heard you at all.

“Is that so?” he finally says, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. Has you grasping at straws to make something right that isn’t even wrong yet. Has any thought of this being an easy conversation shattered at your feet.

You clear your throat. “Yeah…he’s nice. You might even like him.” 

No, he wouldn’t—a little voice in the back of your head tells you. Knowing it's because all of the unreadable parts of you are no longer connected to him, but instead to a man you've barely spent two months dating, and that must infuriate him.

He doesn’t ask (not that you expect him to) when you find yourself prattling on about how you met Rin through a friend, how he’s an investment banker and takes you out to his cabin on the weekends, that he’s predictable—stable is what you really mean, but don't say—with an ordinary life who wants kids—

Satoru seems to chew on that last bit of information like he’s suddenly tasted something unpleasant, the line of his brow flat and unimpressed, the slant in his mouth mutinous. He’s uttered all but three words, and so far, this entire conversation leaves you with nothing short of a stomach ache.

“He really is a good person,” you add, just because you have nothing else to say and your penchant for filling awkward, empty spaces.

Then he smiles, and you relax a little. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

You smile, too, a soft, sure thing this time that makes his widen.

But if you'd been more level-headed and less flustered about bumping into your ex-husband after several months of silence—since he signed his name beside yours in front of your lawyer—you’d realize how dangerous that smile is.

You’re unsure if it’s too contingent to be considered a coincidence, but he starts showing up in odd places after that all-too-uncomfortable one-sided conversation in the parking lot.

First, it’s at your favorite coffee shop you usually stop at on your way to work. It’s strange because you remember him hating coffee, how he'd always preferred to load it with creamer and sweetener just to get rid of the bitter taste. But you don’t mention it when he offers—no, insists on paying for your coffee and blueberry streusel muffin.

When the total pops up on the register, he doesn’t even blink when he opens his wallet.

Of course, you can't let him pay. There must be something in writing somewhere that says ex-husbands shouldn't pay for their recently divorced ex-wife's coffee.

He shrugs, smiling, after you tell him it’s expensive—has that ever bothered me?—and slides a shiny black card across the counter to the barista.

“You can't show up out of nowhere and start buying me things,” you hiss afterward, slightly flustered by the whole ordeal. The city’s big, but you still worry about one of your friends or colleagues seeing you with Satoru—they may get the wrong idea. “We’re not together anymore.”

"Do I have to message you the next time I want to get you coffee?" he tucks his hands into his coat.

"No, we shouldn't even be getting coffee together."

“Am I not allowed to be nice now that you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I said,” you huff. “And you didn’t even buy yourself anything. How am I supposed to look at it?”

He shrugs, “I decided I didn’t want anything,” and you don't even think he notices that he holds your hand when you go to cross the street.

Habit. You'll write that one off as a habit, but he doesn't let go until you're in front of the tall, shiny doors of your office building.

The second time he shows up unannounced is while you're walking through the quaint park near your apartment, which you know is far from his sleek penthouse on 5th Avenue, the one with a perfect view of the city and the bay—a thirty-minute drive, at least.

“I bought a house out here,” he tells you when you ask. “It’s up on the hill.”

You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve driven past it a few times. It's a cozy brick stone with lots of windows, a white picket fence, and a large backyard, something you’ve always wanted since before you were married. According to a real estate website, his house is a little over a million. 

Interest must be written all over your face because he asks: “You want to see it?”

There are a number of reasons why you shouldn’t say yes, why you should politely decline and finish your last lap along the trail and run to the grocery store afterward to pick up something for dinner and call Rin to let him hear about your day—

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “But make it quick.”

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with something akin to affection. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to remind him, again, that you’re not together, so he’s not allowed to use pet names, but a large hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the shiny, sleek SUV across the street leaves you with a mouth full of cotton.

He watches you take in the hardwood floors and tall ceilings trimmed with crown molding. When you stop in the massive kitchen to run your fingers over the granite countertops, it almost feels bittersweet walking through the house of your dreams while your ex-husband eyes you questioningly as if he's looking for your approval.

“So? What do you think?”

The smile you give him is genuine. “It’s beautiful.”

Satoru matches your smile with a bigger one, almost blinding. “That’s good, that’s really good.”

You feel like you should ask why he bought a house this big in the first place, but there’s a pebble in your stomach if you think about family photos on the walls with him happy and smiling, his arm around a pretty wife who wears frilly aprons and kisses him on the cheek when he comes home. A future where you don’t exist, yet he’s letting you take a peak into it, anyway.

So you don’t say anything.

You meant to leave an hour ago, but he plied you with dinner— friends can have dinner together, can’t they? —which leads to two glasses of wine and then watching movies together on his very soft couch. If everything didn't feel so fuzzy around the edges, you probably would have noticed the signs sooner, that he’s trying to—

(He presses you into the couch cushions, biting marks into your neck and chest until your breaths come out fast and high-pitched.

“We shouldn’t,” you manage to say, still tipsy and tongue heavy in your mouth from the wine you had. "Toru, I should really go."

He huffs a laugh against your cheek—you note how he still wears the same cologne you bought him all those years ago when everything was so new, and there wasn't a ring on your finger yet—pressing a messy kiss there that makes you squirm. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times, though?”

“B-but I have a boyfriend.”

In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh around the fluttering pulse in your neck, just shy of too rough, though your fingers in his hair pull him into you like you can’t get enough.)

That maybe this means he—

(Satoru bunches the lace of your panties in his fist, shoving them up around your knees, trapping your legs together against your chest. A long, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest at discovering the creamy mess between your thighs. “Always had such a pretty wet pussy, fuck. Do you get this wet for him, too?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs because he hears what you don’t say: No, you’ve never been this turned on when it’s with Rin. Satoru’s the only one to ever leave you wet and shaky just from a few words.)

It’s an insane thought, but it’s almost like Satoru—

(He holds his hand up to your mouth, telling you to lick before he wraps it around his cock, pressing the tip into the slick seam of your cunt. And you forgot how big he is, just on the side of too much, the bit of effort it takes for him to sink in a little, and then all at once, rending you right down the middle.

You whimper, fingers scrabbling clumsily for one of the throw pillows near your head, needing something to hold on to.

“There you go, pretty girl,” Gojo breathes, hips tight and close, grinding into you so that you can feel how deep he is. “I see she can still take it.”)

No, he wouldn’t—

(He fucks you hard enough to send you skittering up the couch, only to pull you back down again, grinding you on his cock to touch places inside you that he’s only ever managed to reach. You whine into where your face is pressed against the back cushions, biting down to muffle how loud you’re being.

He makes a displeased sound and forces you to look at him again with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"What if I give you a little baby, huh? We'll be a family together. You, me, and our baby in this big house. Doesn't that sound nice? We'll fill the house with babies," he mutters, bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth, forcing your legs further against your chest.

The angle rubs just right inside you. You make an unintelligible noise at the back of your throat, unable to move or get better friction in this position.

“We did it your way last time, didn’t we, baby?” his little laugh is breathless, kind of mean. “I let you leave with all those silly thoughts in your head; thought you knew what you wanted, but now we’re going to do it my way from now on.”

His words should strike alarm bells, but when he fits his hand between your bodies to strum his thumb against your clit, your mind empties.

"You've always been mine." Words barely audible, he still sounds breathless; wrecked. "It's about time you get that through your head.")

Except you know he would. 

A month later, you’re packing away the fine china in your apartment, wondering how the few things you own will fill a house so large.

[rae-writes]

nothing like you-

Dazai x little sibling!reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : angst, very minor implication of sexual trauma in the beginning, light description of injuries, major character death [reader]

synopsis : “The one thing I like about me is that I’m nothing like you and I never will be.”

a/n : the reader might be dead but I'm not! surprise!

“Samu, please!” Your eyes were wild as you gripped onto the sleeve of his coat tightly— something happened during your last visit to Mori’s office- the meeting that, for some reason, Mori refused to let him join in on- because you weren’t so adamant about this before. “Please, let’s leave. Let’s leave and never look back and start a new life- anywhere but here. I can’t. I don’t wanna do it anymore.” 

Dazai felt his heart tugging in two different directions. On one hand, you were his little sibling; only by a year, sure, but he promised himself he’d do anything to protect you and stay with you always, and you did the same in return. 

On the other hand, he’d finally met someone who gave him a different outlook on life- who made even the slightest shine appear back in his eyes. How could he just…leave after finding that? 

“…you’re strong, n/n. You can do it- we’ll make it. You’ve got me and the slug.” 

You stared at him in disbelief, unable to really grasp the fact that your big brother was just brushing you aside. He didn’t even ask what happened. Didn’t show any concern for you. 

You couldn’t grasp the sight of your brother being so cold to you, so you grasped at straws instead. “We…we can take Chuuya with us! And..and Oda, and all the kids, and even Ango if he wants- we can all go together and start new lives, together!” 

The idea sounded amazing. Just the thought of it made Dazai’s heart warm, but he knew…Mori would never allow that. Even if each of you managed to escape, the boss doesn’t forgive and forget easily. It was safer to just stay. 

“Enough, Y/n. We’re staying. There’s no need to get everyone wrapped up in your selfish desires when we’re all already here.”

Any hope you had left of your big brother still being inside there- the one that made you laugh with dumb jokes, the one that held you when you cried, the one that never forgot your birthday and gave you hand drawn pictures because he couldn’t afford anything else, the one that promised to love you even after death- shattered. 

Dazai expected you to scream at him. To curse at him, to start throwing punches and kicks, to start crying about how he was the worst brother in the entire world. He wouldn’t blame you. It was true- just look at him. He didn’t even blink as he brushed you aside. 

You didn’t do any of that. You just stared at him, slowly blinking as tears cascaded down your cheeks. You’d gotten paler, as if the mere interaction was killing you. “I wanted to be like you so bad, Osamu…you protected me and took care of me even in the worst of situations and I wanted to be exactly like you so that I could return the care and love you’d given to me…”

His throat began closing up, fingers itching to reach out and grab you, apologize for turning out like this and take your hand to run away and be the big brother he used to be. He didn’t do any of that. 

Osamu just stood there silently and let you break his heart like he broke yours. 

“I’m glad I didn’t get that far.” 

He watched you leave his office, mouth dry and unable to speak, hands too numb to try and reach out— he was 17 then and Dazai never saw you again after that. 

Not until he was 20 years old, three years after finally leaving the mafia (it took a year after you left and Oda dying for him to finally break free) and one year of being in the Armed Detective Agency. 

It was a sunny spring day. There was a cool breeze blowing cherry blossoms around, butterflies were around every corner, flocking the blooming flowers. He remembers wondering if you were even still in Yokohama- if you were seeing what he saw whenever he walked outside. He hoped so; you'd always liked the spring. 

Beautiful day as it was, he and the rest of the Ada were holed up in their meeting room, discussing recent incidents around the city and watching the news for any potential jobs. Everything was pretty bland until…

“Hey, turn the volume up!” 

“Just this morning, a 19 year old was discovered dead in an abandoned shipyard port. Authorities say they were found with their throat slit and shirt ripped open with the words ‘you should have stayed’ written in blood. Due to their face being bruised and cut beyond recognition, we don’t yet have a positive ID, however this picture was found on the scene a few feet away from the body.”

Dazai already felt an uneasy sense of dread crawling up his throat before they showed the picture. 

And then it flashed on screen, showing you and Osamu- no more than 13-14 years old- with your cheeks pressed together and peace signs thrown up; you were smiling widely while he had his tongue sticking out. Blood was splattered across the photo, directly over your face; it was much too neat to be an accident. 

The walls felt like they were closing in. 

You should have stayed. 

Everyone turned to look at Dazai with expressions ranging from surprised, sympathetic, or horrified. 

You should have stayed. 

He didn’t see any of them, though, as he’d stumbled out of his chair and dropped down beside the trash can, dry heaving and retching and half sobbing. 

You

Should 

Have 

Stayed

Various pairs of hands were grabbing at him, pulling him off the floor and stabilizing his body so his legs didn’t give out. They were all talking- he could see their mouths moving and hear the muffled sounds of their voices, but he wasn’t listening. 

For a few moments, Osamu Dazai was concerningly quiet. 

And then he screamed, loud and shrill and broken and horrified.

It had been three years since he let you walk out of his life. Two years since he begged President Fukuzawa to help search for you. One year since becoming a better man than he was before. 

…It had been four years since he told you that your big brother loved you more than anything. 

He’d never get the chance to tell you again.

[worth-the-chaos]

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: As you all attempt to connect the dots of the gruesome murders occurring around your small but sinister town, secrets start to spill when Steve realizes you’ve been keeping things from him.

Content Warning: violence, descriptive details of Chrissy’s murder, scary upside down shit, swearing (maybe that should have preceded the previous warning), arguing, guilt and trauma

Word Count: 7.2k

Author’s Note: Ahhh! I’m so excited to be getting this chapter out! Again, sorry it took longer than usual…college is kicking my ass and syllabus week is not syllabus week-ing (kind of bullshit if you ask me). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I can’t wait to see what y’all think!

Message me if you want to be added to the taglist to get updates when the next chapter is posted…I’d highly recommend it if you want to follow the story since I don’t have a definite posting schedule :)

Series Masterlist | Chapter 12 | Next Part

***

Once you had caught up to the police cars, to your horror, you were met with the sight of a body covered in a white sheet in the middle of the road. Nancy was there talking to a police officer and when she had noticed the five of you there, she quickly finished her conversation with the officer.

Now, you were all sitting at a picnic table in the trailer park, debriefing over everything you knew thus far. Your head was spinning hearing it all over again. Even though you didn’t feel quite ready to handle it, you knew that you had to. You looked around at your friends sitting beside you at the table and thought about how you were all just victims of circumstance.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Nancy finally spoke up after Dustin’s explanation.

“It’s just a theory,” Dustin replied.

“No, Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense. I mean, why them?” She shook her head as she said it. You wondered how Nancy was feeling. Knowing how much she had struggled with Barb’s death, you wondered if Fred’s was impacting her similarly.

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place?” You suggested. “I mean, they were both at the game…and near the trailer park,” you added, trying to find any and all connections you could possibly make. I just want it to make sense, you thought, if it made sense that means we could fix it.

“We’re at the trailer park,” Steve spoke up hesitantly, looking at you with worry in his eyes as he grabbed for your hand under the table. “Uhh…should we maybe not…be here?”

“There is something about this place,” Nancy began, “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

“Weird as in…?” Robin pushed the question.

“Scared….upset,” Nancy looked you all in the eyes. You felt a chill go down your spine as you considered the fact that these kids—your peers—likely died in terror.

“Max said Chrissy was upset too,” Dustin reminded you all.

“Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right? So maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecna before?” Robin suggested. You were all grasping at straws at this point. There wasn’t anything to even go off of.

“I don’t know about you guys, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone,” Steve spoke up. You felt a pang in your chest as you remembered all that you hadn’t been telling him.

“Maybe they did,” you added hesitantly. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you…you wouldn’t go to the police. They’d never believe you.”

“But you might tell your shrink,” Robin finished your thought, sharing a knowing look with you. She had been keeping secrets for you. What Steve didn’t know was that when he had picked you up in the middle of the assembly, the two of you had run into Ms. Kelley before you could make it to the nurse’s office.

You were still crying after you and Robin had gone back inside after hanging up with Steve. You were no longer inconsolable, but tears were still streaming down your face. Robin tried to quickly rush you to the nurse’s office, her mind going a million miles a minute trying to think of a good excuse. Suddenly, you turned the corner and you jumped as you were met face to face with Ms. Kelley.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” She asked you. Her eyes searched your face looking for an answer and you felt your heart leap to your throat. You were choked up, unable to speak, so she continued, attempting to be quiet to maintain confidentiality. “Is this about the mall fire again? Do you need to schedule another appointment with me?”

You avoided eye contact with Ms. Kelley, instead more focused on looking over her shoulder at Robin as her face twisted into a look of confusion and concern. You felt guilt pull at your chest from the look on her face and you redirected your gaze to the floor, suddenly way more concerned with the dirty laces of your tennis shoes.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Ms. Kelley. Thank you though for all your help this semester. I think I’m just having one of those days and-and with Jason talking about it at the assembly…it just caught me off guard is all,” your voice was small as you responded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“What can I do to support you right now?” She further inquired. All you could think of was the panic that had settled in your ribcage and how you desperately needed to leave.

“I guess…I just don’t think I’m in a good frame of mind to be in class right now. I have a quiz in O’Donell’s and I don’t want my grade to tank because of all of this,” you choked out. Ms. Kelley nodded as she rubbed circles on your back to help calm you down.

“How about I go to the front office and get you all signed out and Robin can wait with you outside for your ride?” You nodded and she turned to Robin, “you can call her folks on the payphone for her, yeah?”

Robin stood dumbfounded for a second before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!” She quickly replied, nodding aggressively, still a bit shocked by the whole encounter. Ms. Kelley thanked Robin and headed towards the main office, and your eyes were still fixed on the floor when Robin spoke up again.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?” She grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look her in the eye. “I’m not going to say I understand what you’re going through specifically, but I was there too, so if you ever need to talk to someone about it without shrouding it in lies about a fire, please just come to me.”

You stood there in silence for a little bit before you nodded. “You can’t tell Steve,” you warned, your voice serious. “Seriously, Robin. He can’t know about any of this.”

Robin looked like she wanted to protest but sighed before finally agreeing. “Fine. Let’s go wait for your dingus.”

Your breath caught in your throat as she had said it. You shot her a look that said “don’t even go there” as everyone was getting up to go. She rolled her eyes but dropped the subject. Suddenly you noticed Nancy was heading in a different direction as Steve started to follow after her.

“Woah, woah, Nance. Nance! Where are you going?” Steve called after her, concern lacing his voice. Your heart dropped a little at the nickname, knowing that was what he started calling her after they had started dating. You knew that he loved you, but you couldn’t help but feel less than when you remembered Steve had spent nearly a year dating the most perfect girl in Hawkins.

“Oh, there’s just something I wanna check on first.” She responded, though something in her voice made it clear that there was more than she was letting on.

“Something you maybe wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin asked, exasperated, and you couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. We’re all in this together and it doesn’t make sense to be keeping things from each other, you thought, but it was followed by an immediate pang in your chest as you thought about the things you’d been keeping from your own boyfriend.

“I just don’t wanna waste anyone’s time.”

“Uh, are you serious? Flying solo with this Vecna guy on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need someone to go with you. In fact, I’ll go,” you started heading towards her, but Steve caught you by your elbow and pulled you back, the change in momentum causing you to stumble.

“Oh, absolutely not! No way in fucking hell!” Steve yelled, and your jaw set at the anger in his voice. You opened your mouth to argue, but Robin spoke up before you could get a word out.

“This is stupid. I’ll go with Nancy and we’ll sort out whatever it is we need to sort out,” Robin started heading towards Nancy’s car and Nancy quickly followed.

“Be careful!” You yelled out after them and they didn’t really respond because who could honestly be careful with any of this shit anyway? None of you really knew what the hell was going on.

Steve rolled his eyes as you all got in the car. “Wipe your feet,” he warned Dustin, who, in true dumbass fashion, began wiping his dirty tennis shoes off on the floor mats in Steve’s BMW. “Not on the inside! On the outside idiot!” You couldn’t help but chuckle as Steve aggressively started the car. “Always the babysitter. Always the goddamn babysitter!”

“Hey, it could be worse…the kids behave sometimes,” you reminded Steve and he looked at you like you had three heads.

“Yeah, sure, if sometimes means on the corner of never and not at all, then sure. They’re perfectly behaved,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help but laugh. The laughter, however, didn’t last long as the reality of the situation started to settle in. You were going to have to talk to Ms. Kelley.

“Hey, so I think I’ll go talk to Ms. Kelley by myself, you know. I just…I’ve been talking to her recently because she’s been helping with some college application stuff, so I’ve got a good rapport with her and whatever,” you attempted to remain nonchalant, but you stumbled over your words a bit and Steve looked at you funny. You just stared pointedly at him and he shrugged, making his way to her house. Luckily with it being such a small town, it wasn’t too hard to figure out where she lived. He parked on the street and turned the car off, beginning to unbuckle.

“What are you doing?” You asked quickly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going with you,” he responded, his brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance.

“No!” you put a hand on his shoulder, and he stopped in his tracks, his confusion significantly multiplying.

“This shit is fucked, y/n. I’m not letting you go by yourself, no way.”

“Well, then Max can go with me,” you offered, looking at the girl in the backseat who was equally confused. “I just think it’s a good idea for you to keep the car running…you know, in case something happens and we have to leave quickly.”

It was a dumb ass excuse, but Steve let it slide as he rolled his eyes and started the car again. Max opened up her mouth to ask you what the hell was going on as you made your way to the front door but you just gave a small shake of your head to shut down her potential questioning. You knocked on the door and Ms. Kelley finally answered, a look of confusion and concern painted across her features.

“Hey…I-I’m sorry to bother you over break but do you have a minute to talk?” You asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the anxiety settling in your chest.

“Um, yeah, of course. Of course,” she replied, stepping to the side to let the both of you in. You both sat down in her family room as she took a seat across from the two of you.

“So, what’s going on? What would you like to talk about?”

“I just brought Max here because with all of the murders going on…we’re just…I guess we’re just feeling a bit uneasy. It’s just making it difficult, especially since Max lives in the trailer park too where the body was discovered. It’s just hitting a little too close to home.” Max nodded, following your lead, though neither of you were being dishonest. You were both scared shitless.

“You both have experienced trauma and I know both of you don’t like to talk about it or deal with your emotions,” Ms. Kelley spoke up and you looked over to Max. She must have been seeing Ms. Kelley too. “But when you keep your feelings bottled up like that, it is very easy for something to set them off. So now, when it rains, it storms.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max replied, and your heart ached for the poor girl. You felt the ever present guilt tear at your chest as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat as she went on. “It’s just, I live right next door to where it happened. The police asked me a bunch of questions…and I guess I was just wondering if they talked to you? I know you were seeing Chrissy—“

Ms. Kelley cut her off, “you know I can’t talk to you about Chrissy.”

“I know but what if there was a serial killer loose in her neighborhood?” You chimed in. “Did Chrissy mention anything? Anything at all about who might have done this?”

“Girls, I really can’t discuss this, I’m sorry. You both wouldn’t want me talking about you to other students, right?”

“If I were dead and it would help catch the killer, then yeah, I most definitely would,” you shot back, beginning to get heated about the way this was getting you nowhere.

“Well, let’s leave that to the police then, okay?” Ms. Kelley responded, staying calm per usual despite your outburst.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded, but another plan was already taking root in your mind. “Can we use the restroom on our way out?”

“Sure. Up the stairs to the left.” You grabbed Max’s wrist and gently but quickly guided her up into the kitchen, ignoring Ms. Kelley’s directions she had given you and grabbing keys labeled “office” out of a bowl on her counter.

“Come on,” you whispered, dragging her behind you as you both swiftly and silently made your way out of the house. You quickly got in the car before looking at Steve who was staring at you expectantly. “Drive.”

“What? Y/n, what did she say?”

“Nothing, just drive!” You emphasized and Steve abided as he took off. You would have to wait for the sun to go down, but as soon as it did, it was go time.

You were breaking in to Hawkins High.

***

You fumbled with the keys as you tried to unlock the doors of the school. You weren’t the type of student that did this shit. Sure, you weren’t exactly a goody-two-shoes, but breaking into the school? That was a bit too much, even for the likes of you guys.

You finally got the door opened, pushing into the dark hallway, flashlight illuminating the dark corridor as you made your way into the building. After making sure there was no one in sight, you waved the rest of the gang to follow you.

“This is dumb as hell,” Steve reminded you, “like I don’t know in what world you see this going okay…and—and if we get caught, you might as well kiss your chance of scholarships goodbye.”

“Well, some things are more important than college,” you grumbled, annoyed with your boyfriend. You guessed it was cute that he cared so much about your long term plans and aspirations—but still.

He scoffed and you rolled your eyes as you continued to make your way down the hall. Suddenly Dustin’s walkie talkie came to life, Robin’s voice echoing out into the empty hall. “Dustin, do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy.”

“So, Nancy’s a genius. Vecna’s first victims date all the way back to 1959; her shot in the dark was a bullseye,” Robin sounded excited. Dustin was about to speak again when you took the walkie out of his hands, pressing down the button to speak.

“That is totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now,” you relayed quickly into the radio.

“Wait, what are you guys doing right now?”

“You know, just…breaking and entering in the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files,” you replied a bit sheepishly. Robin asked you to repeat yourself, but Steve grabbed the walkie talkie from you.

“Just get your asses over here, stat. We’ll explain everything,” Steve sounded irritated. He wasn’t super thrilled to be bringing two of his other senior friends into this who were likely to be expelled if the school found out about their actions.

You swiftly unlocked the door to Ms. Kelley’s office, immediately moving to unlock the file cabinet that contained all of her student files.

“It’s like a mini Watergate or something,” Dustin mumbled as you yanked the drawer open, flipping through the files. “Hawkinsgate!” Dustin emphasized, though you weren’t entirely paying attention, attempting to find Chrissy’s file.

“Didn’t those guys get caught?” Steve reminded the boy, his anxiety rising by the minute the longer you all were in the building.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, stopping at another hauntingly familiar name on a file.

“Did you find it?” Max asked, everyone’s attention now on you.

“Yeah, and not just Chrissy’s file…Fred was seeing Ms. Kelley too.”

You all looked between each other, the room becoming increasingly more tense as elements of what you knew were beginning to connect. You sat down as you flipped Chrissy’s file open. You were thumbing through the pages when you found a handwritten note with a list of symptoms. You felt your heart drop when you read them. “Um, can I see Fred’s file,” you whispered, not drawing your eyes away from the words on the page.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve replied, setting Fred’s file in front of you. You frantically flipped through the pages until you found a very similar handwritten note, detailing all the same ailments. You sat there, staring wide eyed at the page in front of you, hoping desperately that if you stared at it long enough that the words would change. They didn’t.

Dustin spoke up from behind you, “hey, y/n…you have a file in here too?” It was more of a question than a statement, and you broke out of your trance as Steve looked at you confused. When you didn’t say anything, he turned his attention to Dustin, his confusion turning to anger.

“Hey, that’s not funny. Stop bullshitting, man,” Steve warned, but he stopped in his tracks when Dustin held up the file folder, your name printed clear as day across the top. Why in the hell were you seeing Ms. Kelley? His mind raced as he tried not to think about all the other things you might not be telling him.

“Y/n? What is this? Y/n…y/n!” Steve began to interrogate you, holding up the file folder in front of you in a white knuckled grip. He was mad…that much you could tell, but his voice continued to sound farther and farther away. Instead, a different voice rang out, your name echoing into the room in a low and gravelly register that made your skin crawl. Even though you didn’t want to, you felt compelled to follow it.

You turned, getting up from your chair and exiting into the hallway. You heard a slight, rhythmic ticking before a chime rang out. A chill went down your spine as the noise caused your heart to sink in your chest. If anxiety had a sound, this was it.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as you pushed on through the hallway. You were surprised no one else had followed you, but you pushed the thought aside as you turned the corner, you flashlight slightly shaking in your unsteady hands. The light caught the wall at the end of the tunnel, and you felt nauseous looking at the ornate grandfather clock sat nestled into the wall, fissures spreading outwards as the plaster cracked around its wooden frame.

The pendulum swung back and forth ominously…hypnotically as you continued towards it. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but your legs wouldn’t listen as they continued forward, bringing you closer and closer to the clock. It continued to tick evenly, which was almost more unsettling as you wondered what it was counting down to.

“Y/n,” the voice growled out again. It was all too much to bear, so you squeezed your eyes shut tight as you willed it all to be over. Instead, you were met with bright blue, yet sinister looking eyes staring back at you.

Suddenly, Steve’s voice filled your ears again and you felt someone shaking at your shoulders. “Y/n! Y/n, please wake up! Y/n!”

Your eyes shot open as you stared wide eyed into the familiar brown ones you would daydream about. Except, instead of having the familiar flecks of light as they twinkled when he talked to you, they were dark and full of worry, his brow furrowed as he stared deep into your eyes.

You gasped and leaned forward in your chair, collapsing into his arms. He immediately reacted to your movements, pulling you in close as his hands frantically moved across your back, as if trying to make sure you were still all there. You were breathing heavily and fighting back tears as you gripped Steve’s shirt in your hands.

The door suddenly burst open, causing you to shriek, and Steve swiftly pulled you up out of your chair, yanking you behind him as he gripped your hand in his. Your heart rate began to slow as you realized it was only Nancy and Robin…not whatever that thing was that you saw.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked hesitantly. You looked between Dustin, Max, and Steve as you tried to figure out what you could possibly say. After a moment, you finally settled on something, reluctantly opening your mouth to speak.

“I…I saw something.”

“What do you mean you saw something?” Dustin asked hesitantly. He had been scared out of his mind when he saw you go catatonic in the chair, unresponsive to Steve’s shouting. He had thought back to Eddie’s account of what happened to Chrissy as he sat frozen watching Steve try to wake you.

Your lips parted to try and explain, but you shook your head, moving around Steve and darting towards the door. He tried to stop you, but Robin put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back as everyone followed you out into the hall.

“It was right there….a grandfather clock. And—and it was so…real. When I got closer, suddenly I-I just…I woke up,” you explained, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. It sat there plain and empty, and it almost was more frightening that the clock you had seen was gone now.

“It was like she was in a trance or something. Exactly like what Eddie said happened to Chrissy,” Dustin elaborated. Steve’s stomach dropped and he suddenly felt nauseous. That couldn’t be it. He couldn’t live with himself if you…

He pushed the thought aside.

“That’s not even the bad part,” you interjected, turning to face your group of friends.

“What the fuck do you mean, y/n?” Steve asked, his voice dead serious. You didn’t answer him as you quickly made your way back to Ms. Kelley’s office, opening the files that had sent a shudder down your spine as you read them earlier.

“Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Ms. Kelley for help. Uh, they both were having headaches, nosebleeds…nightmares, trouble sleeping. And—and then they started seeing things. Bad things,” you started explaining. Steve thought back to all the times you had woken up gasping in the middle of the night, burying your head into his chest as he soothed you back to sleep. He thought about the tissues he had started keeping in his car and the jokes he made about your suddenly frequent nosebleeds. He thought about the headache you had just the night before. He felt more sick to his stomach than he had ever felt in his life as he followed the dots you had connected.

“These visions, they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually…everything ended,” you whispered the last part, your voice beginning to fail you.

“Vecna’s curse,” Robin looked at you, fear in her eyes.

“Chrissy’s headache started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago,” you continued, “I’ve been having them for five days. I don’t know how long I have. All I know is that Fred and Chrissy both died within 24 hours of their first vision, and I just saw that goddamn clock, so…looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.” A tear rolled down your cheek as you stumbled through your words, not ready for the inevitability that you were staring in the face.

“No, that’s not going to happen,” Steve spoke up, shaking his head aggressively. “I mean, it’s all just a coincidence, right? It has to be. It-it just has to be.” His voice began to falter as he looked between all of you, none of you sharing his optimism. No one responded, and he kicked the metallic front of the desk, muttering curse words under his breath. You went to stop him, but Robin held you back. He needed this. He needed the catharsis.

Each clang that rang out was like a knife to your chest, feeling the reverberation in your body as he kicked with all his might. He finally calmed down a bit, leaning over and panting as he placed two hands on the desk and stared as his feet while fuming.

Suddenly another clang rang out; however, this one couldn’t be attributed to Steve’s outburst. This one came from somewhere else in the building. You all jumped and Steve when saw the fear in your eyes, his jaw set and he spoke up.

“You guys stay here,” he muttered as he grabbed a floor lamp, yanking it aggressively to unplug it before heading out of the room. You all obviously didn’t listen, following close behind as you hesitantly made your way down the hall. Another clang sounded, this time closer, and you jumped, Robin grabbing your shoulders to steady you. Suddenly, you heard the distinctive sound of footsteps. Someone was coming for you.

The pace of them quickened as whatever was headed your direction began to break out into a clear and definite sprint. A figure suddenly turned the corner, and everyone broke out into a chorus of shrieks and screams as Steve geared up to swing the metal lamp.

“It’s me!” The figure screamed out and you realized it was only Lucas.

“What is wrong with you Sinclair?!” Steve shouted, his paternal side kicking in as he turned this instance into a lecture.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas panted, doubled over from running.

“I could’ve taken you out with this lamp!” Steve once again emphasized, shaking the lamp for effect.

“I’m sorry guys…I-I…just give me a second…I was biking…for eight miles. And-and…we’ve got…a code red,” he panted in response. You all looked at him expectantly before he continued. “Dustin, I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy and they’ve totally gone off the rails. They’re trying to capture Eddie and they think you know where he is. You’re in terrible danger!”

Your heart stopped in your chest, as you went to stand in front of Dustin wanting to further question Lucas. You needed to know every last damn detail if you were going to keep Dustin safe, and that was all you cared about right now. Dustin pushed back in front of you, glaring at you a bit before speaking up again. “That really sucks, but we have bigger problems than Jason right now,” he relayed to Lucas, looking back at you.

***

You had split up for the night…well kind of. Everyone else was spending the night at Nancy’s but Steve decided that the two of you needed time to talk so there you were, back in his BMW as you made your way to his house. You didn’t know what to say to him, and you both rode in silence, the air tense between you.

About halfway through the ride, he had removed one hand from the steering wheel, reaching blindly to grasp your hand in his. He needed reassurance that you were still here. He needed to find a way to believe that they would figure this out and you would still be here.

You went up to his room, quietly sitting on the bed as your eyes filled with tears again now that you were in an environment in which you could be more vulnerable. Steve stood at his dresser, getting a pair of pajama pants out as he broke the silence.

“How could you keep this from me, y/n?” He sounded hurt and you really couldn’t blame him. If the tables were turned you would have felt the same way, and you felt the need to justify your actions.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered. You were looking down at your hands, though you couldn’t see them that well as your vision blurred from the unshed tears.

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it,” Steve replied, his voice still small. “I…I just can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you Steve!” You cried out, your head snapping up to look at him.

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” he scoffed. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with you. That he shouldn’t be taking it out on you. But he felt betrayed, feeling as though the relationship you’d built was shattering before his eyes as he contemplated the secrets you’d kept.

“You knew I was struggling. Don’t even try and act like you didn’t; this shouldn’t be a complete shock,” you defended yourself, anger leaking into your tone as well.

“Yeah, I knew you were struggling, but not like this! This is kind of a bit more than just struggling, y/n. Why didn’t you fucking tell me you were seeing Ms. Kelley?”

“Steve, that doesn’t even matter, I don’t get why you’re so caught up on that one little detail! It’s nothing compared to all the other shit going on right now!” You yelled, exasperated that, despite everything, he couldn’t just let it go.

“‘It doesn’t matter’? Are you fucking serious, y/n? Of course it fucking matters! You didn’t come to me! You never tell me things! We don’t really fucking talk about it anymore—all the shit we went through, I mean,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair as you stared up at him from your spot on his bed. He still stood by his dressed, and the distance between you suddenly felt uncrossable. In this moment, it felt like you were strangers to one another. He took a deep breath and continued, “I-I…we used to talk about it; work through it together. It seems like ever since last summer, we don’t even fucking acknowledge it.”

You stared up at him from across the room, and he thought he could break at the look in your eyes. You were hurting. You had been hurting, and all he wanted to do was try and make it better, but you wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Steve,” your voice was even as you said it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about seeing Ms. Kelley?”

“Steve—“

“No, cut the bullshit, y/n. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Ms. Kelley? It’s a simple question; answer it,” he crossed his arms, refusing to move on until he got an adequate response. You were reaching your breaking point, and you didn’t think about the words before they exited your lips.

“Because you would have tried to help, and I don’t want your fucking help!” You blurted out. As soon as you saw the way that Steve’s face fell as you said it, you wished you could take it back. He took a deep breath and hung his head as he turned to leave the room. “Steve, wait….I-I didn’t mean it like that! Steve!”

You ran to him, grabbing at his wrist to try and get him to stay. He shook your hand away, turning around to look back at you. You saw the way tears were beginning to pool in his pretty brown eyes.

“Y/n…just….I just need you to leave me alone right now, okay?” He choked the words out. You were expecting him to be mad, to yell, to be angry. Instead his voice was small and sad, and you felt your heart jump to your throat. You didn’t listen, grabbing his wrist again as tears began to stream down your face. You decided that listening to him shout was easier to take than watching him cry knowing you caused it.

“Just yell at me! Steve, please. Just yell at me! Don’t leave, please baby!” You begged, pulling on his arm with each word that left your mouth. You were choking back sobs and slowly, he turned back towards you.

Something about him set off alarm bells in your head as you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Why would I stay for you?” The words felt like a knife to your heart as your brows furrowed, confused at his words.

“What?” You whispered, your hands dropping his wrist as a lump formed in your throat.

“I said, why would I stay for you? You’re a dirty fucking liar and the most self-centered person I fucking know. It doesn’t matter what I need, or what anyone else needs. I mean, you put the kids in danger all the fucking time! When are you going to learn that this Upside Down bullshit isn’t what’s scary. You are,” he spat, taking a step towards you. Your heart was racing and you took a step back. He had never acted like this before. He had never told you that he thought these things about you.

“I-I…I don’t understand,” you cried, continuing to scramble backwards as he approached you. You’d never been afraid of him before either, but you couldn’t help the fear clawing at your chest as he continued forward, slowly yet with an aggression that had you trembling as you quickened your steps backwards to evade his reach. His room was only so small, and you were running out of room.

“Y/n,” Steve laughed. It sounded foreign to your ears; it wasn’t the melodic tone you’d come to love and seek out. Instead it was sinister, laced in condescension and anger. “Did you really think I care whether or not I’m with you or some other bitch? Do you really think anyone cares about you? You’re just some misfit freak, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

You took a step back, jumping in fright as your back hit the wall. You had run out of room, and suddenly Steve grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your sides. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and turned your head to the side, hoping that it would all just go away.

“Look at me,” Steve’s voice rang out again, but this time it was distorted, your eyes fluttered open as you cried out, being met with the same piercing blue eyes that you had seen flash across your vision before you woke up from your trance in the school earlier. You heard a chime ring out; the same chime that echoed from the clock, and you remembered the way the pendulum had swung menacingly from side to side.

“Let go of me!” You gasped out. You wished you hadn’t opened your eyes, as you took in the sight of the figure in front of you. His skin was decrepit, a slightly translucent sheen apparent as the dim moonlight filtering through the window reflected off its surface.

“You think you can atone for everything that you destroyed?” The figure asked you. Your heart was racing, feeling his clawed hands grip your wrists tighter as you tried to wriggle free. “All you’ve ever done is hurt people, put people in danger, ruin lives.”

You thought back over the past two and a half years, feeling the guilt rise in your throat as you thought about Dustin. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to make sure he was staying out of danger.

Instead, time and time again you led him right to it.

“Just let me go!” You shrieked. You couldn’t budge from his grasp, small cries escaping your lips in defeat as you continued your desperate and futile attempts to break free.

“Your time is almost up, y/n,” his voice was a low growl as he leaned in, saying it quietly into your ear. Goosebumps erupted over your whole body as you squeezed your eyes shut again.

“Y/n! Please! Y/n!” Another voice suddenly filled your ears. It sounded far away at first, but it became clearer and you felt someone shaking your shoulders as your eyes snapped open to meet the familiar brown ones you knew and loved. Tears were streaming down Steve’s face and when he realized you finally come to, he pulled you in, crushing you in the tightest hug you’d ever received.

You began to break down, sobs racking your frame as you grabbed onto your boyfriend. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” you choked out between sobs, your tears forming a wet spot on his shirt as you cried into his shoulder.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. I’m here, baby, I’m real,” he tried to console you, but he was still a mess himself. He thought back over what he just witnessed and he felt guilt settle in his chest.

He had just told you that he needed a second to be alone. He needed time to clear his thoughts because he didn’t want to say anything in the heat of the moment that he would regret later. You had clung to his arm, protesting and trying to get him to stay when all of the sudden you retreated into yourself, going catatonic as your eyes rolled in the back of your head. He felt his heart sink halfway to hell when you wouldn’t respond. Your eyes were moving rapidly back and forth underneath your eyelids and regardless of what he did, you wouldn’t wake up. All he could think about was what Eddie had said about Chrissy…the way she levitated and her bones began to snap and how her eyes got pulled back into her skull.

He couldn’t watch that happen to you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered into your ear as he swayed with you from side to side. You could feel him still trembling and you thought back to what the figure—what Vecna, had said. All you ever brought on was hurt and destruction and chaos.

“I’m sorry!” You cried out, continuing to sob. At this, Steve immediately pulled away, looking at you quizzically.

“Why are you apologizing? Please don’t apologize, baby,” he begged.

“It’s just…I-I-I should’ve told you I was going to see Ms. Kelley! I was just afraid be-because I didn’t want you…to-to try and fix it because I knew that-that you would worry, and…and I didn’t want to put you through that stress,” you began, hiccuping through your words as you continued to cry. “Steve, I-I…I don’t think I have much time. I don’t want to waste what little we might have left being angry at each other, so can you please forgive me?”

Steve ignored your plea for forgiveness, instead focusing on the other aspect of your statement. “What do you mean you don’t have much time?” He asked hesitantly, afraid of what your answer would be.

“I saw Vecna,” you whispered, “he told me my time is almost up.”

“I’m not going to let him take you from me, y/n. I’m just not,” he shook his head aggressively as he stared at you wide eyed.

“Steve, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you—“ you began but he cut you off.

“Y/n, I don’t care that you don’t want me to worry about you; I’m going to regardless of whether you tell me to or not, and if you think that I’m going to let some Upside Down, inter dimensional, creepy ass motherfucker take you away from us, you are dead wrong,” he started, getting more and more emphatic and angry as he spoke. When he continued, his voice was softer. “I’m not letting anyone hurt my girl again, okay? We’re all going to figure this out and everything is going to be okay. We’re going to find Vecna and kill his ass, and everything is going to be okay…you are going to be okay.”

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You put your hands on the side of his face, trying to get him to settle, your heart hurting at his frantic speaking, a stark contrast to his usual more calm demeanor.

“Steve, but what if it’s not?” You asked, your voice a whisper.

“It has to be,” he whispered back. You could see the tears beginning to well in his eyes again, and you placed a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocated, deepening the kiss as his hand went to the nape of your neck. He kissed you like his life depended on it; like he would never get to kiss you again as he pushed you towards his bed, laying you down gently.

His lips moved across your jawline as he kissed your soft skin, placing gentle but fervent kisses on the spot just below your ear. His lips trailed down your neck as he listened to you breathe. You were whispering his name and he took a second to take it all in.

Here he was, with the love of his life, who was presumably about to die at any given moment. Yet you were still sitting like a masterpiece on his sheets, his name dripping from your lips like honey. You were everything he had ever wanted and he cursed himself for not doing a better job at protecting you.

“Steve?” You whispered breathily, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. He propped himself up better, looking down at you, and he felt his heart skip as he looked into your lust filled eyes.

“What is it baby?”

“I’m ready,” you whispered. Understanding what you meant, he leaned down and placed the sweetest and most gentle kiss to your lips.

Tomorrow wasn’t certain, so tonight, Steve was going to love you as if there was no tomorrow, making sure you knew exactly just how much you meant to him.

While you spent the night tangled up in Steve’s bedsheets as he placed hot kisses across every inch of your body, for the first time in a while, you felt at ease. You allowed yourself to revel in the bliss of that moment because, come tomorrow morning, you were going to have to start facing the reality of the situation.

And the reality of a sudden and gruesome death was a hard pill to swallow.

***

a/n: anyway, so shit’s gettin’ real. Reblog if you want to give me a free dose of serotonin while I’m muddling through the dumpster fire that is college :)

taglist:

@season4steve @sassyheroneckgiant @tangledinthegreatxscape @maeve-wileyy @palachannie @chaerfull @usaguisenpaisblog @emilieluckwood @sabrinadelreyy @mochminnie @xprloki @kitdjarin1 @kissmxcheek @daemonskitty @bethsvrse @aheadfullofsteverogers @quinnsadilla @chervbs

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHT: First-Date Jitters

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: It's time for your date with the beautiful stranger from the hospital, and you are beyond nervous. Still, you're already in too deep to pull out now, so, you jump into the cold water and learn how to swim.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, comfort, some first-date cliché behavior, mentions of domestic violence (in thought), foreshadowing (?), flirting, physical contact, suggestive language (slightly), Matt's charisma uniqueness nerve and talent

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: This flirty little shit won't leave my mind. Anyway, my plan was for this chapter to be one continuous chapter, but it got so long that I had to cut it into 2 parts (or this beast would have been 10k words). That’s why you’re getting a double update today. I tried not to put too much angst into this. It's still angsty, but there is a lot of comfort for the angst and the hurt to compensate for it, and I think that's beautiful. I don’t know about the writing though.

Read Chapter 8: First Date Jitters here on AO3

Many questions naturally come to mind when one is preparing for a date. How will you get there? Who will pay? What could you possibly talk about that has a high chance of boring neither of you? The question you find yourself grappling with the most though is, what the fuck are you supposed to wear?

After spending years trapped in a cage, your self-confidence took quite a hit. You used to feel somewhat satisfied with the way you looked, but John always had something to criticize. Your weight, your hair, your facial features—nothing was ever good enough for him. After breaking down your walls and making you believe that you were the best thing that ever happened to him, he knew how to manipulate you best. At least he looked at you. You were grasping at straws, holding onto the vision of a man who was never real, and you forgot your worth along the way. 

“Wear that dress you borrowed from me and never gave back,” Claire says on the other end of the line. 

You sigh. You have been staring at your closet for an hour now, and you haven’t come further than picking out what underwear to wear. With shaky fingers, you reach for the dress. You know exactly which one she meant. 

“Are you sure I should wear a dress?” you ask. “I mean, it’s kinda cold outside.”

“That’s why they invented tights and over-knee socks. Oh, and maybe wear those heart-shaped earrings I got you for your birthday. They look good on you.”

You scan the dress with careful eyes. You’ve barely slept after getting home, and now your head is pounding. Earlier, you sent Matt a text, confirming the time and place for the umpteenth time, but as half-past two is inching closer on the clock, the unease is starting to creep deeper into your bones. 

You promised Claire not to cancel, but that doesn’t take away the fear and the sheer agony you feel inside when you think about all the things that could go wrong. Alone the thought of facing Matt’s gorgeous smile in a different setting than the hospital sends a shiver down your spine, and it’s not fully pleasant. 

But no. You swore you wouldn’t give John what he wants, and he surely would be punching the air if he knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He would celebrate if he knew that you just can’t seem to get over what he did to you. Then again, if he knew where you are now, the only thing getting punched would be you. He might even kill you. God knows he’s capable of unspeakable things.

His name is too prominent in your mind: his face, his voice, his scent. You need to drown him out. You need to stop making everything about him. It isn’t healthy. And Claire was right when she told you that it’s a good thing another man—a good man, at that—is making you feel things you long couldn’t because you were too scared to allow yourself to feel even the slightest hint of affection. 

You have to honor your promise to yourself and see where this date might take you. Matt is gentle. He won’t mind if you’re a little nervous. Hell, he won’t even mind if you wear a pair of sweatpants instead of this stupid dress, but you can’t deny that you still want to put yourself together and appear in something other than a pair of medical scrubs.

The dress you borrowed from Claire is a good fit for your skin tone and body type, you can’t deny that. It has turned heads before. You wore it to one of the fundraising campaigns Metro General sometimes hosts—it was summer then, a lot warmer than it is now, and you were toying around with the kids that came with their parents in Central Park. You were in charge of the games that day. One of the firefighters complimented you, but he was respectful about it, and his partner even asked you for a drink, but you declined both of them. They weren’t your type, although they were nice. It’s a fond memory that momentarily eases your anxiety. 

Matt is nice, and he’s your type. You know he’s your type even after years of unlearning what your type even used to be. It’s not a coincidence that the two of you got along so well when you first met, and that he cared so much the other day when you got hurt. 

Fuck. You realize you’re going to need to cover your nose with concealer. Not because Matt would care—he surely wouldn’t—but you don’t want to be looked at weirdly by the barista of your favorite coffee shop. That would be embarrassing.

“Liv?” Claire’s voice breaks through your downward spiral. 

You snap out of it, throwing the dress on the bed. “Yeah, I’m here,” you mumble, working at your pajamas that you still haven’t changed out of. “I’m wearing the dress.” There is a certainty in your voice that surprises you. 

You want to wear this dress. You want to go out with Matt. And you want to turn his head, even if you can’t do it with your looks. Looks are hardly all that matters, anyway. You have to remind yourself that he sees your mind, hears your voice, and has a different view of your soul than others. That’s what matters. That is all that should matter. You just have to make sure that you smell good or he will probably be appalled, considering blindness comes with heightened senses. If only you knew how heightened they truly are. 

Your friend lets out a happy little, “HA!”

You shake your head, putting her on speaker, and changing out of your pajamas into the dress. You only have a handful of tights in your closet, and not a single pair of over-knee socks, but a pair of tights and your favorite boots should do the trick. 

“Trust me,” Claire says, “one look at you in that dress, you’re gonna turn that guy’s head.” She sniffles, and you wonder how much longer she is going to torture herself with that cat. 

“I’m not so sure my looks are going to matter much,” you say. 

“Most people say looks don’t matter to them, but unless you solely fall in love with another person’s mind, looks will always play a part in how we perceive someone.”

“No, I meant that quite literally.” You pull the dress over your head. “I’m only dressing up to feel good about myself ‘cause looks definitely don’t matter to him.”

“How can you be sure?” she retorts. 

You slip into a fresh pair of tights, some socks, and a pair of biking shorts underneath. “Did I not mention Matt’s blind?”

Silence follows your sentence. A pregnant pause. You said it so nonchalantly, you didn’t think anything of it. And why would you? It’s a part of him. It’s not unimportant—definitely not, considering that life works differently for him than it does for you—but it’s also not the only thing about him. 

“Blind?” Claire’s voice is slightly shaky when she asks.

You frown at your phone screen while slipping into your favorite boots. “Yes, blind,” you say. “Although we didn’t get around to discussing his condition. I mean, medically, there is probably nothing I haven’t seen or heard before. I just didn’t think of asking him, “Hey, how’d it happen? Is it complete blindness? Amaurosis? Congenital?” Even I know that it’s not appropriate to ask someone you just met about their medical history. It’s something he has to want to talk about, not the other way around. I don’t expect full disclosure from a stranger like I do from my patients. And we both know dating a patient would be highly unethical.”

“I—” she cuts herself off. 

One look at the time tells you that you’re already running late. If you want to catch your bus, you have to leave in the next five minutes. You slide the last of your heart-shaped earrings into your earlobe.

“Listen, Claire, if that’s all you have to say, I should go. I can’t miss my bus,” you say. 

Her behavior may strike you as odd, but your mind is currently preoccupied with other things. You can’t pay much mind to the tone of her voice or the pronunciation of her words, or there is a chance you might not make it to your coffee date after all because you will be stuck in another downward spiral of overthinking. 

She exhales. “I—okay, yeah. I’m sorry. It’s probably nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Go. Have fun. Just… be careful.”

The way she says it makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “I will.” Your eyebrows still furrowed in a frown. “I’ll call you later.”

The line clicks when you hang up, trying not to let the absurdity of the situation get to you. You have plans, and you have to stick to them. 

With a swift shake of your head, you touch up your hair and makeup, assuring that the discoloration of your bruised nose looks less severe than it is before you grab your coat, your bag, and your phone, and you make your way out. 

You’re not overdressed, but you still feel like you’re standing out of the crowd when you get on the bus. The bus driver pays no attention to you, and neither do the other passengers, but somehow all eyes are still on you. Maybe you should have gone for a pair of jeans instead? A longer dress? A shorter dress? Less cleavage? Maybe something a little less tight? A sweater would have worked nicely too, you’re sure. What if you get off at the next stop, hurry back to change, and arrive a little later than planned? 

Matt probably won’t be on time either. He wanted to meet up half an hour later. That sounds like the kind of guy who needs a little more time, someone who struggles to be on time. Or maybe he’s the complete opposite of the picture you painted of him in your mind, and Claire’s reaction has something to do with it. It makes no sense—it absolutely makes no fucking sense, and you should stop worrying about things that don’t make any fucking sense whatsoever, but you can’t. You are physically incapable of stopping the spiral on your own. 

Time stops when you overthink, and it’s only when more people start leaving the bus that you realize you have long missed the chance to get out, run back home, and change. You’re almost in the city, almost where your favorite coffee shop is located that you suggested to him and he agreed on, and there is no going back from here. 

You don’t know where to put your hands. They’re shaking. Your heart is beating out of your chest. The sweat in your pores is threatening to drip down your temples, it feels like, and you’re starting to worry whether or not he will be able to smell how nervous you are. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t swallow the lump in your throat because it has lodged itself between your esophagus and your larynx. It’s too much—too loud, too hot, too everything. You just want to turn around and run. You want to disappear into the ground, melt into a puddle, and stay there. 

When you look up toward the entrance of the coffee shop, he’s standing there. He’s on time. No, he’s early. The clock on your phone reads 2:28 pm. You wouldn’t have expected him to be so punctual. It scares you.

Your brain starts to secrete even more cortisol—should you run or should you fight? Fight might be the wrong word to use. It is more of a 'should you or should you not face a situation your inner demons don't want to face' dilemma.

The sudden wave of anxiety that washes over you mixes with a strange sizzling of excitement and a certain warmth that starts to build in your core. The feeling is much stranger than what you’re used to, and it makes you vibrate. Or at least it feels like you’re vibrating. Levitating. Dying. Maybe you’re having a heart attack.

Don’t be ridiculous, you think to yourself. You’re a doctor. You��re not having a heart attack. What you’re sure of though is that, if you start breathing even shallower, you will get a panic attack.

He looks good. Too good. His suit fits him perfectly. You wonder how much he spends to get his suits tailored so that he can breathe and move around freely, and still look fucking dashing whenever he sets foot outside. For someone who does mostly pro-bono work, he knows how to dress himself. 

Matt is standing away from the many people crossing the sidewalk. He’s supporting himself on his cane, his red round glasses framing his sharp features perfectly. He has the kind of cheeks you just want to squeeze, yet his jawline is sharp enough to cut yourself on it. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so his stubble is a lot more prominent. The locks on his head seem so soft, and he keeps the rest of him clean, too—you wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who has heightened senses due to the lack of one of the most crucial ones.

The way his muscles tense under his suit catches your attention. Your breath hitches again, and this time not because you’re nervous and worried out of your mind. His biceps are straining against the sleeves of his coat, and it seems like his chiseled chest is about to pop the buttons of his dress shirt, but it still fits perfectly enough to keep every sliver of skin hidden from the world. 

Taking a deep breath, you close the distance between you. “Matt?” your voice cracks when you call his name.

He tilts his head in your direction. It doesn’t even take him a full second, nor does he pretend that he has trouble making you out of the sea of people. He probably has done this quite a few times. You can’t blame him. He’s an attractive man. 

You wonder what would happen if he was yours. Women would still want him, and you would have to have faith. You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly jealous person, but the thought of having to compete makes your stomach churn. You feel so far out of his league that it doesn’t even cross your mind that you would be his as much as he would be yours, and it is no relationship if you feel like you have to compete with other women.

A part of you believes that he is the kind of man to pay undivided attention to the person he cares about, but who is to say that you are worth his attention? Who’s to say that he wouldn’t run at the first chance to be with someone less damaged, someone who’s beautiful in a different way, and someone who can give him peace instead of whatever mess you can offer him. 

But then he smiles at you, and your worries are momentarily forgotten. 

“Liv, hi,” he says. You shudder at the smooth sound of his voice. His hand reaches out, but he misses your arm. A slight frown finds its way onto his face as if he’s thinking to himself, ‘I’m usually better than this.’

You take a step closer. He finally gets a hold of your forearm. “I hope it’s you I’m touching and not some stranger with similarly soft forearms.”

Soft. He just called you soft. You have never been called that before. The giggle that escapes you makes you wonder where you left your brain this morning. 

The left side has turned itself off entirely, leaving the right side of your brain in charge. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. You’re already a mess. How are you supposed to survive the afternoon with him and only him? It feels like he’s staring right into your soul, which is impossible, but the glasses don’t give you insight into beautiful brown eyes, and that makes you wonder how he does it. How does he stare you down without actually staring you down?

You clear your throat. “No, it is me,” you answer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says again. The grin doesn’t leave his lips. He lets go of your arm, seemingly having oriented himself.

“Hi,” is all you can say. You miss his touch. It wasn’t even—or at least not mostly—because he wanted to touch you. He did it because there are so many people around you and he needed to know where exactly you stand. You can only imagine the anxiety that he’s feeling.

His smile turns into a smirk. “Hi.” He’s not making this easier on you. “How are you?” Matt finally puts you out of your misery.

What is the appropriate thing to answer? Good? Nervous? That you feel like you’re dying from a heart attack? Or that you miss his hand on your soft forearm?

“I’m–” you take a deep breath. “I’m good,” you say. “How’re you?”

He nods. “I’m alright, thank you.”

Your eyes flick down to the hand on his cane. He has his head tilted in your direction, his attention entirely on you. He adjusts his glasses. His smile turns into a softer expression of concern, and it makes your heart jump.

“You seem nervous,” he observes. 

“I guess you could say that,” you admit. You can’t even stop the words before they tumble out of your mouth. “I don’t usually do this. You know, go on dates.”

“Really? Oh. I kind of figured men were lining up to get even a second of your attention, or trying to, at least.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks again. “Oh, I—No, they don’t do that.” Your head is spinning. 

You always appear unapproachable, or so you’ve heard. You don’t know if it’s the way you look at people or the way you behave. Perhaps they get scared that they will burn themselves on your burning defenses. You wouldn’t put it past them. You have pushed what little advances people have made on you in the past two years away because you were scared of burning yourself, and you weren’t interested in trying to mend that. With Matt, that’s different.

If men were lining up to be with you, your first response would surely be to flee, and not because of your personal issues with the opposite sex. You would flee out of natural instinct.

Matt clears his throat. “I’m terrible at getting hints. If I’m making you uncomfortable or you think you made the wrong choice by coming here, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving,” he says.

He’s giving you a choice—an out. That alone makes the blood in your cheeks spread faster, and your palms start sweating. You don’t want to go. 

“No,” you quickly shake your head. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure?”

You reach out, boldly so, and take his hand in yours. “Yes. Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask. 

Matt swallows thickly. His Adam’s apple bops as he tries to get rid of the lump in his throat. His fingers twitch when you wrap your own around his and place them against your forearm again. If you look close enough, you might even see a soft sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

The silence persists for a few seconds. “No,” he answers then. “You simply have a way of, um...taking my breath away.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” He tightens his grip. His lips open, and he stammers for a moment before he finds his words again. “I find it refreshing. It’s not often I meet someone who can knock me off my feet, so…” Breaking off into a chuckle, Matt lowers his head to adjust his glasses once again.

The way he’s fidgeting with his fingers tells you that you’re not the only nervous one out of the two of you. Maybe the fact that you render him speechless affects him more than he lets on. He seems like the kind of guy who likes to be in control because he feels like he has to be or the world might end. You know that feeling all too well.

It would be so much easier if he wasn’t so charming, but if it were easy and he wasn’t so charming, you would still feel utterly alone in this life. New beginnings are supposed to feel better than an unhappy ending. New beginnings are supposed to offer a chance at happiness, and even though you are a little late with trying to find your way back to civilization after keeping yourself locked in a cage of someone else’s making for so long, there is a chance now. A chance that you have to take. 

The easy way out would be to turn around and forget you ever met him, but Matt deserves better, and so do you. The easy way out would hurt too much.

You lick your lips absentmindedly. He sucks in a sharp breath. You’re a lot more sensitive to the behavior of others than a normal person would be. Is he attracted to you? Do you turn him on? Those are questions that make your head spin worse than it has been ever since you laid eyes on him.

“I’m sorry,” you break the awkward silence, your voice breathless. “It seems like the feeling is mutual.”

Your confidence is starting to build, convincing you that you can do this. And maybe you can. You’re not leaving him cold, that much is sure when you take a moment to analyze his body language.

His thumb brushes over your forearm. He seems so much more experienced than you, and he keeps his composure in a way you can’t relate to. You are dying inside, and the blood is pumping in your cheeks while leaving the rest of your body cold. Except for your very core; you can feel the heat starting to spread through your core, shooting between your legs just from the way he touches you. 

You thought this would be an innocent coffee date—you were wrong. Your body is as desperate for a physical connection as your soul yearns for an emotional connection. It’s a strange combination of needs that hits you at once and with full force. And it is all directed at him. This guy you barely know but has turned your head every single time you have met him. 

You’re fucked.

Matt smirks, as though he knows something that you do not. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmurs. 

“The fact that you knocked me off my feet?” you ask dumbfounded. You’re glad he can’t see your face because that would be utterly embarrassing. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “that.”

You want to scream, 'God, you’re hot,' but you would rather not embarrass yourself in front of him like that. His smirk makes it hard to focus, but if you don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon on the sidewalk, staring at him while he holds onto your forearm, one of you has to start moving.

“Do you want to go inside?” you ask.

“Yeah. Lead the way,” he says. 

You gently slide his hand from your forearm into your own. You wish you could see his eyes right now. Are those beautiful hazel eyes with emerald specks in them sparkling? You saw how expressive they were when you patched him up. They were unfocused and pained, but they also reminded you of an array of stars. It’s probably unintentional, but his eyes give away how he’s feeling at any given time, and that, to you, is one of the most beautiful qualities he could possess because it means that he’s real. He can’t lie because his eyes would give them away. 

His glasses don’t make Matt hard to read, but they sure make you miss the universe you got to stare into a few days ago. It felt like a privilege.

He keeps his cane pressed tightly to his chest, using the tip to check the small radius around him while he holds on tightly to your hand, trusting you to guide him where he needs to go without putting him at risk. 

“Door,” you tell him as you make your way into the café. You hold it open, and he uses his cane to make sure he doesn’t accidentally bump into you or the doorframe. 

Just as you’re about to enter, a couple comes at you. You twirl around, placing a hand on his waist and pulling him a bit closer to you before someone can bump into him. He raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” he exclaims when the couple apologizes for not looking, and he tilts his way back in your direction, Your hands are still on his waist, standing closer to you than ever before. His cheeks flush. Got him. “Thank you,” he stammers, but not without letting out a chuckle that resembles a small giggle. 

Your heart melts, and you damn Matt Murdock for not only being a walking wet dream but for being so kindhearted and adorable. And why does he smell so good?

“No problem,” you answer breathlessly.

“It helps that one of us isn’t blind, huh?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s a big responsibility if you’re seeing for two, so I try to take it seriously.”

His giggle turns into a laugh that comes deep from his chest, but it still sounds like a soft symphony you might hear playing on a spring day. “Yeah,” Matt says, “You’re taking it very seriously.”

“I’d call myself your knight in shining armor, but I believe that comparison is outdated and wrong since you don’t need saving.”

“I wouldn't mind being saved by you.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a startled breath. “Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

He smirks. “I wouldn’t get anything out of making you blush, but I do enjoy hearing the smile in your voice whenever I compliment you. So, maybe that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh.”

“Your smile sounds nice. Beautiful. It’s how I, uh, see you. And you’re calm. I—the world is often too loud, you know, and your voice is a welcome distraction from all the, uh, noise. Helps me relax. If you know what I mean.”

If he keeps talking, you are sure that you will pull him closer by his waist and kiss him. You can’t remember the last time you have felt a need quite like this one. And you have never wanted to kiss another human being more than him. Why? Just because he’s nice to you? No. He’s not just nice to you. You probably would have run by now if he were just nice to you. 

Matt is genuine, which seems to be his personality trait, and it makes you feel somewhat important again. Like you’re worthy of whatever it is he’s giving you, not constant pain and suffering. It’s strange and new, and it is still terrifying in a way, but once you let it happen, it’s a lot more gentle on your soul.

“Fuck me,” you curse under your breath. “We haven’t even sat down yet.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“So, does that mean I can still buy you a coffee?”

“Now more than ever,” you blurt the first sentence that comes to mind. You look at him as if he is a rare species, and you’re painfully aware of that.

Can he read your mind? Whenever you look at him, it seems like he knows just what you’re going through. He tries to hide it, but it’s almost as if he’s already inside of you. Not in the way you want him to but in a way that makes you feel vulnerable, but you still would surrender all of you to him if he just asked. 

Your hands slip from his waist. 

“After you,” he says, grabbing a hold of your arm again.

“Right,” you mutter. “After me.”

The line isn’t long.  You get behind a few other people, Matt’s hand still tightly clasping your bicep. 

“I just realized that they don’t have a Braille option for the menu.” Your eyes dart around the room, but the only visible menu is the one hanging above the counter. 

You’ve been here more times than you can count, but you never actively paid attention to how accessible it all is—which is not at all. 

Matt chuckles beside you, his breath tickling your ear. “Read it to me,” he says. His voice is soft, quiet, and kept low so only you can hear him.

You shiver. Your lips suddenly feel drier than the desert. You won’t survive this day, you’re sure. He’s going to kill you.

“R-read it to you?” you stammer as if it is such an outlandish request. It isn’t. You just can’t process it properly, not when he’s so close to you and he smells like he does. 

He doesn’t have a strong, overwhelming scent. The cologne he’s wearing only has a slight whiff of sandalwood and nature, but it’s nothing too overwhelming. Of course, he must have a sensitive sense of smell as well. He probably uses scentless soap and shampoo, and the cologne he uses might even be the only scent he can stand. What you smell on him must be his natural scent. Clean, soft, warm—you’re obsessed with it. You’re addicted to it.

Matt nods again. “Yeah, read it to me,” he repeats.

“Okay–” you take a deep breath, and you begin to recite the options you already know by heart. Coffee, cold drinks, tea, lunch options, and snacks. 

He listens intently to what you have to say. “I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Did you decide that now or did you know that from the beginning?”

“I may have already known,” he says with a smirk.

“Then why did you ask me to read it to you?”

“I like listening to your voice.”

When you suck in a sharp breath this time, you manage to conceal it better. “That’s cheesy,” you retort, trying to match the tone of his voice but failing miserably. Flirting over the phone proves to be much easier than in person, especially with a man like him. 

“Is it still cheesy if it’s the truth?” Matt asks.

You look at him, staring at your reflection in his glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “The truth can be cheesy.”

“That’s true, but I made you smile. I’d consider my cheesiness successful.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t. Can’t deny it makes me feel good though.”

You exhale again, even more shaky than the last time. All you can see is yourself in his reflection. Before you can answer, the couple in front of you finishes their order and moves on to the other end of the counter, allowing you to step forward.

“Hi,” you say to the barista behind the counter. “Could I get two regular lattes and two muffins, please?”

Matt smirks beside you, not at all fazed by your ignorance of his antics. If anything, it spurs him on further, and he tightens his grip on your arm. Deep down, you know that he is doing it on purpose, but at the first sign of you being uncomfortable, there is no doubt in your mind that he will stop. But you’re not uncomfortable; you’re merely flustered beyond relief. To him, that’s a good sign because it means that you’re in this and not with one foot out the door—and you wouldn’t want to be, anyway, which is much scarier than the prospect of turning around and remaining alone for the rest of your life. 

A bit of fear goes a long way, but there are still walls that he has to break through. Walls you won’t let him through so easily, but you also know you can’t keep him at an arm’s length forever. Eventually, the truth will come out, and you’re not quite sure how to deal with that revelation before your date has even taken off.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred

[midnightmajick]

Get Your Freak On

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

Warnings: Smut, porn with (basically) no plot, literally takes place in a strip club so...

18+ only, Minors DNI

Word count: 1,691 words

Wrote this to "Get Ur Freak On" by Missy Elliott, I'll put the Spotify link below this.

It was 11pm, and Micheal Schmidt was in his own personal hell. Most guys would enjoy tonight, but Mike wasn’t most guys. If he had known this bachelor party were at a strip club, he probably wouldn’t have gone. Yeah, Mark was his best friend, but this was a line Mike wouldn’t willingly cross. He hated the idea of being there. He didn’t mind hookups, but full-on strip clubs were not his idea of fun. He sighed as he remembered he actually paid someone to watch Abby. Only to find out he would be spending the entire night here, where it reeked of sex.

All of his friends knew Mike wasn’t into this kind of thing either. No wonder they wouldn’t tell him where they were going until it was too late for him to weasel his way out of being there. So he sat in the corner, trying his best to ignore everyone and everything.

He was doing fine until you walked over to him. He wasn’t interested in you, but you found it strange how a man could be so cross at a place like this. “Hey there big boy, want me to cheer you up?” You asked in a sultry tone. Obviously this guy wasn’t happy to be here, and your boss would kill you if you didn’t try to fix it. It didn’t hurt that he was hot. Not in the typical fuck-boy way; in fact, he almost had a softer look to him. Well, despite the unwavering scowl on his face.

“No, I’m good thanks,” the man grumbled. This clearly wasn’t going to be easy. “Okay, but can you at least try not to look so angry? Between you and me, my boss isn’t exactly happy you’re sitting here in this kind of mood. He says it’s bad for business,” you reasoned with him. But you might as well have been grasping at straws. “Look, if I could leave, I would. It’s my best friend’s bachelor party; he and the rest of our friends tricked me into coming. I don’t want to be here. Nothing personal,” he growled.

“They tricked you into coming? That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. And I can’t go home cause that would be rude. Plus I already paid the babysitter.”

“You have a kid?”

“No, I take care of my sister. I just hope she doesn’t find out this is where I was, cause she’s fucking ten.”

“Oh, damn. I honestly don’t blame you for being pissed. I’d be mad too.”

“Really?” his scowl evaporated. Finally, someone that understood how fucked up this entire situation was. And actually cared enough to listen to how he felt. “Yeah, I’m sorry they pulled that on you, that’s just a dick move.”

“No kidding.”

A pause.

“I’m Mike.”

“Y/N,” you responded.

Mike smiled. Not a forced smile, but a genuine one. For the first time tonight, he had a reason to. Sure, he hated being here, but at least you weren’t too bad. You were definitely easy on the eyes. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was suddenly aware of the fact that you were barely wearing anything, and a blush covered his face.

Before he noticed what he was doing, Mike’s eyes looked you up and down lecherously. You immediately took notice of how he was gaping at you, and a knot instantly formed in your stomach. Damn, Mike was making you feel all kinds of things you didn’t normally feel when you were working.

Maybe it was those big doe eyes of his that looked up at you, now glazed over with want. Or his strong hands that you just wanted to have touch you all over. But you had a feeling that the real reason you felt this way is because you could tell he saw you as more than an object, but as a human being. Just like him.

“Like what you see Mike?” you teased. Immediately, Mike broke out of his trance and blinked, a bright red blush covering his face. Clearly he was embarassed, but you reassured him, “No, it’s okay, take it all in, hun.” His eyes instantly snapped up to yours, searching for any doubt or discomfort in your expression.

When he failed to find any, his hands slid up your thighs and onto your waist, instantly earning a sigh from you. “That’s it hun, go ahead, take what you want.” You didn’t have to tell him twice. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew you’d gladly give it to him. He guided you down onto his lap, and if it wasn’t clear before how much he needed you, it was now. You could feel his cock pressing against his jeans, begging for release. The release you would give to him. You dragged your barely-clothed cunt over his crotch, eliciting a groan from his lips instantly. His hands kneaded at your hips, and you let out a low moan.

“Feel good, Princess?” he growled lustfully. God, this was going to be good. “Mike...” is all you could manage as he continued to grab at you. He was ensnared in your web, but that was okay with him. He wanted, no, needed, you so bad that he didn’t care how desperate he came across.

“Wanna head somewhere more-fuuuck-private?” you asked, your gaze pleading with him to fuck you already as he grasped at your soft skin. He grinned devilishly, and you knew exactly where to take him. You snagged his hand and led him to the back of the club, where you opened the back door. “I know a place, follow me.”

A few minutes later, you had brought him to your apartment. Normally you wouldn’t have taken him here, but something was different about him. You needed somewhere private so he could take you, and none of the rooms in the club you worked in were available. That, and they were kind of gross anyway. At least, in your opinion.

As soon as he walked in, a wave of shyness washed over Mike. This was your apartment, he didn’t really feel as if he belonged here, and he needed to be respectful. You sensed his cocky attitude shift, and as you led him to your bedroom, you knew you had to do something to keep him from bolting. So you tackled him onto the bed. His eyes widened in surprise, he wasn’t expecting it, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Before you had a chance to start doing what you had planned to, he flipped you over, sandwiching you between his body and the bed. You instantly moaned, completely caught off guard. His body was pressed on top of yours, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

You were about to beg him to do something, anything, but you never got the chance. His lips sucked on your neck, evoking a whimper from you. “Mike, fuuuck...” you whined, the tone of your voice an indicator of your arousal. “Come on, be my good girl now...” he mumbled, lost in a world of ardor.

His hips began jutting up into yours, and you both groaned in response. As he snapped up against you, his hands fumbled around for the clasps on your top. After unhooking them, he tore the revealing garment off of your chest. He stared at you salaciously, practically drooling over himself. How had he gotten so lucky?

He clawed at your bottoms desperately, and once he had them off, his eyes were glued to your pussy and how wet you were for him. Without delay, you started yanking his clothes off as well. As soon as you pulled his boxers off, his cock sprang free of its restraints, leaking a bit of pre-cum at its tip. Fuck, he was huge. If you weren’t used to this kind of thing, you would have wondered if you could take him.

Before you had time to react, Mike shoved himself inside of your cunt. You squealed in arousal and surprise as he began to fuck into you like a madman. It was clear he hadn’t done this in a while, he was completely desperate to ravage you, but you weren’t complaining. Whines spilled from your lips and his name rolled off of your tongue along with a string of obscenities and moans about how good his dick felt inside of you.

He pounded into you with fervor, hips snapping up into you and filling you up. His hand snaked down to your clit, and he began to rub circles against the sensitive flesh. You moaned loudly, unable to control the volume of your voice. The feeling of his dick as it pistoned up into you with accuracy and precision was incredible. He was hitting your G-spot over and over, and as his hand continually grazed over your clit, you knew you were done for. It wouldn’t be long now.

As you came, a guttural cry echoed throughout your apartment. Mike continued fucking into you, chasing his own release. He finally erupted, his breath hitching as you felt his cum paint your insides white. “Damn... That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” you panted. Your hair clung to your face from the layer of sweat that covered your body, which gave a slight sheen to your skin. “Me too,” Mike agreed.

“By the way, today was my last day. Glad it wasn’t yesterday,” you mused aloud. “I’m really glad too,” Mike replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. That’s when you realized. That he felt the same way you did. You had a feeling there was a connection before everything got so... sexual, but you weren’t sure if it was just you wanting it to be true so bad you believed it, or if it was actually real.

But now, based on that little display of affection, that little kiss he gave you a few moments ago, you knew. You were swept away inside your mind, but before you had a chance to continue your train of thought, Mike interrupted you. “By the way, could I have your number?”

[afairmaiden]

The Others (Part 4)

For the Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge). A continuation of The Others, immediately following part 3.

Thursday morning I walked into the kitchen and saw Sarah holding a knife.

I had woken up early—or so I thought—feeling surprisingly well-rested given how long it had taken me to fall asleep. For a long time, I had simply sat on the edge of the bed and tried to wrap my mind around what had just happened, and failing that, remembered the food Ellen had brought earlier. There were fried potatoes again, and a slice of apple pie. I ate in darkness, remembering the candles in the drawer, but not daring to light them, and feeling that, in any case, darkness was the safer option. My headache had returned, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I dropped the necklace in my backpack, then found my pajama pants and a first aid pouch with some pain reliever. Then I lay awake for what seemed like hours, trying to decide on the best course of action.

Stick to the objective, I imagined Gina saying. But what was the objective? Would I be able to escape, let alone make my way back to civilization? Would it even be worth trying to get the kids out as well? Strange as they were, they seemed nice enough, and it felt wrong to simply leave them in such a place, though I couldn’t see any help for it.

Suddenly it occurred to me that this might all be a test. We’d always known there would be one, before we became full Lightbringers, and now—there was a moment of brilliant clarity. Of course I was being watched; they were always watching. And of course I wouldn’t be able to rely on my powers. Could I prove myself worthy without them? Could I stay calm in the face of chaos and confusion? Could I open the eyes of the blind with only my words? I was grasping at straws now, but it was enough. The idea sent a thrill through me, followed by a wave of relief. At last I felt myself start to relax and soon drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to the sun streaming in through the window. The house was quiet, and for a moment it all seemed so normal that I wondered if I hadn’t dreamed up the events of the previous night. Then I tried to move and instantly felt sore all over, almost like I had a bad sunburn on top of my already aching muscles, and found that the headache I thought was gone had come back with a vengeance.

I took some more pain reliever and tried to meditate with little success, then settled for lying still and taking deep, calming breaths. Finally, the pain subsided enough that I could get up and start looking through the clothes Ellen had brought. There were two long skirts, in reddish-brown and gray, three button-up shirts, in faded yellow, pink, and white, a large apron, long socks, caps in various colors and styles, and a number of smaller items I assumed to be undergarments. I chose the white shirt with the brown skirt, then brushed my hair as well as I could and tied it back, embarrassed as I felt how greasy it was, before making my way to the kitchen, where the first thing I saw was a child with a knife.

There was a moment of panic, but I tried to sound nonchalant as I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to start a fire.”

She didn’t look up. She was crouched in front of what I realized was an old-fashioned wood stove, the door open, a small pile of crumpled paper and broken twigs inside. In her other hand I saw what looked like a metal rod. She held it close to the pile and quickly ran the knife down its edge a few times, sending out showers of sparks. A few moments later, I saw a small flame.

I quickly looked around to see if the others were safe. David and Elizabeth were sitting at the table reading. The cat was perched on a shelf above them, glaring down at me. James was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Out getting more wood. Aunt Ellen isn’t home. She had to leave early this morning to go to the Coopers’ and probably won’t be home ’til late. We’ve already done our morning chores and had breakfast.”

She kept her eyes on the fire as she added more sticks. David and Elizabeth smiled and said good morning as I sat down at the table, but immediately went back to their books. I couldn’t help noticing that they seemed less open than the day before, as though they were now as nervous of me as I was of them. I felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought that we were playing on level ground for a change, then realized this was wrong. I told myself that I didn’t want to scare children, and I certainly wasn’t afraid of them. I was here to help them, and their aunt had given me the perfect opportunity. Although the more I thought about that, the more I felt anger rising up within me, and for once I wasn’t afraid of it. Of course I would never hurt them, but she couldn’t have known that. It was irresponsible, neglectful even, to leave them in my care.

Before I could get too worked up, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on light thoughts—tolerance, empathy, compassion—and as I repeated to myself that I was going to help them, I felt my mood start to lift, as fear and anger were replaced with a sense of calm, collected benevolence and magnanimity that the Lightbringers were known for.

The feeling lasted only a few seconds before James came in and dropped an armload of wood by the stove.

“I guess that should be enough for now,” he said, then looked at me. “Good morning.” And then, “Oh! What happened to your eyes?”

I suddenly felt self-conscious as they all looked at me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why, are they red?”

They nodded.

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” asked Elizabeth.

“A little,” I answered, hoping they wouldn’t press further.

Fortunately, they seemed to accept this, only suggesting that I drink more water and try to rest later. I considered asking how they had slept and whether anything unusual had happened the night before, but decided not to press my luck. Now it occurred to me that they had clearly been up for some time.

“What time is it?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized it was a stupid question since they probably wouldn’t have a clock, so it came as a surprise when Sarah looked out the window and promptly answered, “About ten-thirty. We were just about to make lunch.”

“We were going to make chili,” added David, casting a somewhat dejected glance at a pot on the counter, “but we forgot how long the beans have to cook for, so that’ll have to wait until dinner.”

I looked at the pot, and then to the stove. It seemed dangerous, as well as wasteful to use so much firewood for one meal.

“Maybe we could just eat them plain,” I suggested, but Elizabeth shook her head.

“Uncooked beans are poison,” she informed me very seriously. “They have to soak overnight and then come to a full boil for at least half an hour before they’re safe.”

I tried to contain my shock as I mentally added food poisoning to the long and growing list of dangers outside the city.

“Oh. Well, you know,” I said, “we never had to worry about that in the city. There you can just order whatever you want from a machine and have it come out fully cooked in a minute, just like magic.”

The children looked politely interested, but not particularly impressed.

“We know,” said Elizabeth.

“You do? How?”

“The others told us.”

I couldn’t help staring as I tried to understand what she had just said. I waited, but she did not elaborate.

“Well, we’ll just have to figure something else out,” said Sarah, setting the pot on the stove. “We still have some bread, and jam, and we might have enough eggs for French toast.”

As they began discussing this, I heard the sound of something approaching outside, and the next minute, the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Before anyone could move toward it, I stood up.

“I’ll get it,” I told them, ready to act as the responsible adult, even as my heart started racing at the thought of meeting more people.

I opened the door to find a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties, dressed all in black and holding a large wooden crate. Behind him stood a horse-drawn cart that looked like something out of a history book. He was, of course, shining with the same light as the others, a fact that was no less irritating today than the day before, but which I was now determined to ignore. Still, this came as less of a surprise than the fact that he looked strangely familiar. He seemed surprised to see me as well, and held my gaze a little too long.

“Ah, excuse me,” he said finally, “but is Miss Hall at home?”

“She left early for the Coopers’,” said James, suddenly appearing behind me.

“Already? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” the man asked, then, without waiting for an answer, glanced back at me and added, “You all managing alright on your own?”

“We’re okay,” James said. “We were just talking about having some lunch.”

“Well, maybe this will help. Eggs, milk, and butter,” he said, setting the crate in the doorway, “as well as some of your aunt’s books I’ve been meaning to return. Tell her thank you for me.” He hesitated a moment longer, then gave a quick smile and a nod and said, “Well, guess I’ll see you all Sunday.”

“What’s happening Sunday?” I asked James once the door was closed.

“Church,” he answered. Then after a moment, “You are going, aren’t you? Everyone’s going to be there.”

I froze. It was a trap and I knew it, but in that moment, my desire not to offend them overrode every other instinct. I was just about to say of course, I’d love to come, when he seemed to remember something.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to.”

With that, he turned and hurried to put the books away, leaving me standing in the hall in growing confusion. By the time I returned to the kitchen, I found Sarah already cutting bread, while David and Elizabeth took dishes and utensils out of the cabinets and drawers. James set out a few ingredients and put the rest away before going back outside. He returned a few minutes later with a small brown paper package which he set on the counter, then started setting the table.

I felt like I should do something, but since I didn’t know anything about cooking, I contented myself with supervising as they worked.

At last, the meal, such as it was, was ready, French toast with butter and three kinds of jam. The children gathered around the table, and as I had observed the previous day, didn’t immediately sit down, but remained standing a minute as they repeated the words of an evidently familiar prayer. It was strange, and might have been almost amusing to hear them address their god as though he were actually present and listening, if there wasn’t the smallest fear in the back of my mind that it might actually be true. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought as they spoke, their light seemed to glow a little more brightly. Fortunately, the moment passed quickly.

“What’s your aunt doing at the Coopers’?” I asked once we had all sat down.

“She’s a midwife,” said Sarah.

“A what?”

“She helps deliver babies.”

“Oh.”

I said nothing, but felt my heart race as I considered the implications. Of course they would have babies. Where else would the children come from? What was more, apparently they were born with enough regularity to justify employing someone just to deliver them. I remembered Ellen’s words from the previous day; they had lived here for two hundred years and somehow not only survived, but actually grown in population. They probably had no concept of birth control, let alone genetic testing or prenatal screening, and I shuddered to think how much needless suffering and death there must be as a result. Of course there was death in the city too, but with rare exceptions, it was by design, something that was carefully managed, planned, chosen. The idea of leaving life and death up to mere chance seemed almost as incomprehensible as leaving them up to God, and for all their apparent light, the idea of anyone choosing this sort of life seemed to be another undeniable proof of deep mental and moral darkness.

I gasped as I realized another thing.

“We should be quarantined.”

The children looked at me in confusion.

“She shouldn’t have gone,” I explained. “It isn’t safe. You don’t know—I could be carrying something—frankly, it’s reckless and irresponsible—” I realized, too late, that it was probably inappropriate to be telling them all this—it wasn’t their fault, after all—but they needed to understand the dangers. They seemed shockingly unbothered.

“We knew you weren’t sick,” Sarah said with a shrug.

“But you didn’t. Not really. See, there are these tiny organisms that are too small to see—”

“We know what germs are,” James said flatly.

I realized I’d better quit while I was ahead, and bring it up with Ellen later. I recalled that she’d also mentioned the children’s mother had died. I wondered what had happened to her, and if there might be a discreet way to raise the subject sometime. At the moment, however, I decided on another question.

“What other jobs are there around here?”

They immediately began listing off every occupation they could think of. I learned to my surprise that while most everyone had some sort of garden, most of their food, as well as their clothing, came from animals—cows, sheep, goats, pigs, rabbits, turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese, and quails—and raising animals was apparently considered a full-time job. There were a few normal jobs—doctor, nurse, mechanic—but most were related to the manufacture of some sort of product—carpenter, blacksmith, potter, stonemason, glassblower, leatherworker, and at least three different jobs related to the manufacture of clothing. There was also the butcher, the brewer, the beekeeper, the bookbinder, and people who made paper and ink and soap. Their father and uncle, I learned, were away—they couldn’t say exactly where—getting salt and fish. The list seemed to go on and on, but finally, they came to an end.

“I feel like we’re forgetting someone, though,” James said thoughtfully, finishing off his toast.

They all thought for a moment.

“Is there a leader?” I asked.

There was another moment of silence before Elizabeth shouted out, “Oh! We forgot about the pastor!”

“That’s it!” said James. “I think that’s everyone.”

“He’s not exactly in charge,” David explained, “not the same way as a governor or a president. He can’t make up laws or anything like that. But he is responsible for the church here.”

I wondered exactly what that entailed, but before I could ask any more questions, Sarah announced that the beans were ready. Now that everyone had finished eating, David and Elizabeth cleared the table while James went to the counter and began dicing up the other ingredients, an onion and bacon from the package he had brought in earlier. In a few minutes, he fried them up and added them to the pot, along with a small jar of tomato sauce, a jar of corn, and some peppers.

Before long, the dishes were done and the children began discussing what they would do next.

“I’m making more lights,” David said.

James nodded. “Good idea. I want to see if I can’t split and stack the rest of the wood Jordan dropped off last week.”

“I don’t know,” said Sarah, looking at her sister, “but I was thinking we could surprise Aunt Ellen by doing the laundry.”

I listened in silence, feeling somewhat uneasy as it occurred to me that I didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next or how to make myself useful. I was absently running my fingers through my hair when Sarah suddenly looked at me.

“Oh! Do you want to wash your hair?” she asked. “You could have a bath too, if you like, but we’d need to get more water.”

If I had known how much effort it would take, I might have said no, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get clean after nearly a week of not bathing. And so Sarah went to light a fire in the wash house, while I followed the others out to the well, where they grabbed buckets and started hauling water. As we ran back and forth over and over again, I quickly grew tired and increasingly irritated as their seemingly boundless energy and undaunted cheerfulness began to grate on me. Again I wondered what sort of life this was, and how they ever managed to do anything when such simple tasks took so long. It was more than half an hour before everything was ready.

There was a large wooden tub, and above it, a simple shower, and Sarah gave me a bar of soap, shampoo, and towels. The arrangement was undoubtedly primitive, but nice all the same. The room was quiet and fairly dark, the only light streaming in through some high, narrow windows. I didn’t realize just how tense and sore my muscles were until I sank into the warm water, and then I just sat there for I don’t know how long, until the water started to cool. Then I bathed quickly and washed my hair once, then twice before rinsing off. The shampoo felt strange, and didn’t lather up like normal shampoo, but it seemed to do the job.

When I stepped outside, it was clear that some time had passed as the shadows were starting to grow longer, and though the woods now appeared bright and almost welcoming, they were beginning to feel a little too close for comfort. I guessed it was around two, and wondered how long it would be until Ellen came home. Before I could think much more about it, I saw James coming from the side of the house, looking tired and dirty, but grinning widely.

“Wood’s done!” he announced, stopping by the makeshift sink to wash his hands and face.

I followed him inside, where we found David at the table, pouring a thick liquid into a long, narrow container filled with rushes, Sarah putting wet clothes through some sort of wringer, and Elizabeth mopping the floor.

“Well, I guess we have managed pretty well on our own today,” James said as they finished up what they were doing. “What do you suppose we should do next?”

“We could always get a head start on tomorrow’s lessons,” Sarah suggested, then laughed as the others all made faces. “Alright then, how about a game?”

The others agreed. James and Elizabeth immediately left the room while Sarah and David finished putting their things away.

“Where are they going?” I asked.

“The living room,” said Sarah. “It faces west, so there’s more light in the afternoon.”

I couldn’t see that the kitchen looked any darker now than it had a few hours earlier, but I said nothing as I followed them to the living room, where the others were seated on a rug in front of an open fireplace, looking though the contents of a basket. To my right I saw a large window overlooking the road and a field, in front of which sat a couch and two large chairs around a small table.

“What sort of games do you play?” I asked, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

“We have checkers, chess, dominoes, cards,” said James, pointing to different boxes. “There’s also Bible Bee and finish-the-hymn and answer-the-question-as. Or we could read a story.”

“What did you do for fun in the city?” asked Elizabeth, looking up at me.

My mind momentarily went blank as I racked my brain for activities that would appeal to children, figuring the honest answer of scroll the socials and sleep probably wouldn’t cut it. The most exciting thing I could think of was the displays, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to explain that to them yet. Fortunately, I quickly snapped out of it and jumped into tour guide mode.

“There’s lots of fun stuff to do in the city,” I said. “There are shops and restaurants and museums where you can learn about anything you want, and every building has its own gym and a pool where you can go swimming, and just outside the city there’s a nature preserve with a park people can visit to see all the plants and animals.”

“Were there any libraries?” asked Sarah.

“Well, we don’t really have many print books,” I explained. “They take up a lot of space, and they can get lost or damaged. But we have digital libraries you can access using a phone or computer, and you can borrow any book you like, as well as movies and music.”

“Any book?” David asked skeptically.

I hesitated a moment as the conversation from the previous day came back to me, but then I remembered—

“As a matter of fact, we do have Bibles.”—Kept strictly as historical artifacts, but no need to tell them that.—“We even have churches.”

Not that I knew anything about them, but they did exist.

The children looked unconvinced.

“We’ve heard,” said Sarah. “Mr. Walther said they all chose to change with the times, and hardly anyone goes there now, and the ones that do don’t read.”

I was spared from having to answer when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something moving outside and turned to see a hooded figure coming down the road. David followed my gaze and looked out the window.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It’s Nan!”

“Who?”

“Our great-grandmother.”

Before I could say anything else, they all ran out into the hall. I rose to follow them but stood frozen where I was, listening as I heard the door open and all of them talking at once, then shuffled forward and looked out to find them gathered around a woman in a long, dark green cloak carrying a covered basket.

She was old, there was no doubt about that. Her gray hair peeked out from a ruffled cap, and she made no effort to hide her wrinkles, but despite her great age, she stood tall and straight and seemed to be in full possession of her faculties, and her light was clear and strong. It struck me, from her manner and the way the children addressed her, that she must be a very important person.

“What’s the matter?” James asked her. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” she answered, “but I was hoping to speak with your aunt.”

Now David noticed my approach and gave me with a bright smile before turning back to the woman and taking her hand.

“Nan, this is our friend from the city, Miss Bree.” Then turning to me, he said, “This is our great-grandmother, Mrs. Eleanor Hall.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said awkwardly.

“Welcome,” she said. She looked me over with an inscrutable expression which quickly turned to concern. “What are you doing up? Come, sit down, sit down.”

She ushered us into the living room and had us all sit down again before asking, “Have you eaten yet?”

“We made French toast for lunch,” said Sarah, “and there’s chili on the stove for dinner. Would you like some tea?”

“I would, thank you. Tea will go nicely with this apple bread from your Aunt Rachel,” she said as she uncovered her basket.

As Sarah left the room, she turned to me. “Now, how are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t notice my nervousness.

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but seemed satisfied for the moment.

“Good,” she said with a brisk nod. “You seem to be settling in well.”

I didn’t know what to say, but fortunately she didn’t seem to expect a reply.

“We got our chores and lessons done,” David told her, “and we were just talking about playing a game.”

“Excellent,” she said. “And what have you decided on?”

They began going over their options again. I tried to listen but found myself unable to concentrate any longer, as though a sort of wall had fallen around me, leaving everything outside in a muffled haze. It occurred to me that whatever force was blocking me from connecting was now interfering with basic cognitive functions as well, and I felt almost certain it had something to do with this new visitor.

The haze lifted slightly after a few minutes, when Sarah returned with the tea and the bread was sliced and distributed, and soon they decided on a game that involved building a tower of long wooden blocks, then removing them one by one and placing them on top without causing the whole thing to collapse. It was almost absurdly simple, and I doubted such a game could have held the interest of any child in the city, but it was clearly one of their favorites. In between turns, I found myself continuing to drift in and out of focus, as the conversation generally focused on happenings in the town, and I wondered that they seemed to enjoy each other’s company so much. It was strange—everything was strange, I really did need to find another word to describe things—especially considering I hardly felt comfortable interacting with people my own age half the time. I wondered if this was just how families were here.

Now that things had settled down slightly, I found myself growing bored and wishing I had my phone. I’d barely thought of it in months. The tech had seemed almost laughably obsolete. But now I would have given anything…

Still, it was something of a relief to be able to just sit and watch without having to join in too much. They played for a couple hours, until the sun hovered over the horizon. From time to time, they would glance out the window toward the road. Still, Ellen did not return.

They had just taken a break so Mrs. Hall could start a fire in the hearth and light the lamps, and Sarah could check on the chili and make some fresh tea, when at last we heard the sound of horses. This time James was the first to look out the window.

“It’s Pastor Hansen and Dr. MacDonald,” he said. “What could they want?”

“Oh! You don’t think something’s happened, do you?” Elizabeth asked, looking worriedly from her brother to Mrs. Hall.

“Don’t fret, dear,” said the old woman, patting her hair, “I know what it’s about.”

She stood and went out into the hall, and a minute later we heard her open the door and greet the visitors with, “You can come in, but she isn’t here.”

There were a few more words exchanged that I couldn’t quite catch, and then, “Well, there’s no sense in running out at once. Will you stay a few minutes for some tea?”

The next moment, she returned with two men. The children quickly rose to greet them, and I followed their example a half-second later. I was once more introduced as their friend from the city, though I was almost certain that the introductions were entirely for my sake, as they undoubtedly already knew who I was.

“Well now,” Mrs. Hall said to the children, “it’s almost time for supper. Why don’t you all go on and set the table, and we’ll be along shortly.”

They nodded and ran off, and Mrs. Hall invited the three of us to sit down and talk a while.

“So,” began the doctor, once the tea was poured, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” I repeated, trying to smile as I kept my eyes fixed on the cup in my hands, grateful for the fact that we weren’t sitting directly across from each other as the combined light of him, the pastor, and Mrs. Hall was now nearly blinding, as they sat facing the window, fully illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. I felt a migraine coming on.

It must have shown, because he refused to drop the subject. He asked a few more questions about how I’d been sleeping and what I had eaten before coming to the question I’d been dreading for the past two days.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I–I remember—I don’t know,” I stammered. Fortunately, I was holding it together, but just barely, and mentally kicking myself for not having an answer prepared, and wondering exactly how much they already knew.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, then a moment of silence before the pastor spoke.

“We understand this is difficult for you to talk about,” he said in a low voice, “and you don’t have to tell us if you’d rather not. But you should know that you’re not alone here.”

Before he could say another word, I jumped as I heard a sound outside, and the next moment we heard the door open and Ellen call, “I’m home.”

I thought there was something unusual in her tone. The others seemed to notice too, as the doctor and pastor looked at each other and Mrs. Hall was up faster than I would have thought possible for someone of her age.

“What is it? Is Anna—?”

There was something like a gasp, followed by a long pause, and then—

“Anna is fine. She had a healthy baby girl a little after one. But I’m afraid we’ve had quite an eventful afternoon.”

Ellen came in looking more upset than I would have thought possible for one of them, though upon seeing us all gathered, she seemed to collect herself a little. It was somewhat alarming to see her so unsettled, and now the rest of them as well, but almost comforting in a way, to have proof that they were only human. Even so, their lights continued to shine as brightly as ever, not dimmed in the slightest by this new disturbance. I most definitely had a migraine now, and took the opportunity to quietly excuse myself from the room.

“Well now, what’s happened?” I heard the pastor ask.

“Julia Thompson.”

“It seems that Mrs. Thompson has been rather busy lately,” Mrs. Hall said dryly. “What exactly did she do now?”

I didn’t hear any more as I practically stumbled into the hall, now half-deaf and almost completely blind, and feeling like I would be sick. I just barely made it back to my room before collapsing onto the floor and curling up in a ball, willing my hands to stop shaking and my breathing to return to normal.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. I might have even passed out. Then suddenly, it was over. The attack seemed to pass just as quickly as it had come on. The nausea subsided, my hearing and vision returned, and I found myself standing, once more, just outside the living room, where everyone, including the children, now gathered.

“I have a question,” I heard Elizabeth say.

“Yes, what is it?” Ellen asked.

“Has Aunt Julia gone mad?” she asked seriously.

I risked a peek into the room and saw that for a moment, Ellen almost looked as if she might laugh. There was a long pause before she finally asked, “What makes you think that?”

“Well—I mean—I don’t know—”

She looked helplessly to her sister, who sighed and spoke up.

“It’s because yesterday at the quilting party, she was saying things that sounded just crazy. I mean, we all know what she’s like,” she glanced to her siblings, who all nodded in solemn agreement, “but whenever we were near her, she started going on and on about a stolen ring, and jewels, and how you and Father…”

The adults all exchanged glances. Ellen seemed to grow a bit pale, while Mrs. Hall turned quite red.

“There aren’t really any jewels, are there?” Elizabeth asked.

“As a matter of fact, there are,” Ellen said, her voice somewhat strained. “Some family heirlooms that had been in your aunt’s family since before the town was even established, some of which, by all rights, should have gone to your cousin when she comes of age. But you remember your uncle had that accident a few years back that left him unable to work all summer, and since your aunt was too proud to accept charity, as she called it, she insisted on selling them for food. Needless to say, your uncle was not pleased when he found out, but he felt better once your father told him we had them and would keep them for your cousin. As for the ring—”

Her voice faltered, and she looked to Mrs. Hall.

“Don’t even think of giving it to her,” she exclaimed vehemently. “She has no right—”

“I know, I know, but…oh, I am tired.”

Now the pastor spoke, his voice low and even. “Mrs. Hall is right. The ring is yours by right and by law, there’s no question of that. And even if there was, she would be the last person with a claim to it. But now,” he looked to the girls, “public slander is a very serious charge. Do you know if anyone else heard Mrs. Thompsons’ accusations?”

“I’m sure everyone did,” Sarah said. “She was hardly trying to keep her voice down. And Maggie Shaw said to her face that it was an awful shame to speak such nonsense, and she didn’t believe a word of it. You can ask Mrs. Hansen about it, or Cecily, or Joanna. They all heard her.”

The pastor nodded. “I’ll do that.” Then, to Ellen, “I have to apologize. I see I’ve been quite negligent in my duties. I might have guessed something like this would happen—”

“You’re hardly the only one,” the doctor interjected.

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Hall. “No doubt we’ve all let far too much go for far too long, and it’s high time something was done about it.”

With that, it seemed a decision had been made, and in short time, the pastor, the doctor, and Mrs. Hall had taken their leave and gone out into the night. Ellen once again told the children to run along to the kitchen and that she would be along in a minute. For some time she simply stood in the hall, her eyes closed, an unreadable expression on her face. When she finally looked up, she seemed to have regained some of her old energy.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm alright," I lied.

"Good," she said briskly. "We've had a long summer, but they say the first frost will be here any day now. There are a few times in the year when we need all hands on deck, and this is one of them."

I found out what she meant the next morning, when I was awoken before sunrise by a loud knocking at my door. Ellen entered without waiting for a response and threw a jacket and gloves onto my bed.

"Get dressed quickly and put these on. We're heading out to the west field."

The field was about a fifteen minute walk away, and I learned we would be spending the morning picking fruit.

"It's late enough in the season that a good deal of it has been brought in already, but we can't afford to let anything go to waste," Ellen explained.

A handful of others were already there. A few acknowledged our arrival, but fortunately no one seemed to want to talk much. The one exception seemed to be when the pastor and his family arrived a few minutes after us, and he greeted everyone with a shout of, "This is the day that the Lord has made!"

And everyone responded in unison, "Let us rejoice and be glad in it!"

"The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof!"

"The world, and they that dwell therein!"

I grabbed a basket and a ladder and moved to the very edge of the field, where hardly anyone else was yet.

A couple hours later, I had filled what seemed like dozens of baskets full of apples, pears, peaches, and nectarines, as well as some odd bumpy red berries I couldn't identify, and still the empty baskets kept coming. By now the field was filled with workers, and every single one, as far as I could tell, had the same unearthly glow about them. I stayed on the very outskirts of the field and kept my back to them as much as I could, and when I had finally gathered all the fruit there was, I slipped behind a large tree and simply waited until it was time to leave.

As the trees grew bare, the others also slowed down a bit, taking longer breaks and talking more. One group in particular was walking about and stopped directly in front of my hiding spot.

"Has anyone seen Mrs. Thompson?" I heard one woman ask.

"I don't expect we'll be seeing much of her anymore," said another.

"Did you hear there's going to be a trial?" exclaimed a third.

"Yes, though I can't see much point in that. We all know what happened."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!"

"All the same, these things must be done properly. Matthew 18 and all that."

"I don't expect she will change, though."

"Can't say I do either. But we can hope."

"And pray."

"And pray."

Listening to them talk, I couldn't help feeling sorry for her, whoever she was, and thinking they were taking things a bit far, over what likely as not had been only a few careless words.

The signal to leave finally came a little before noon. The rest of the day and most of the next were spent in cleaning, sorting, peeling, dicing, cooking, baking, drying, and canning. No more was said of Mrs. Thompson, but a good deal was said about Mr. Campbell's prognostications for the coming winter, the state of the Longs' herds compared to the Johnsons', and whether we'd need to buy more blankets. Finally, on Saturday evening, the temperature dropped, and we looked out to see frost covering the window panes. Winter had arrived.

***

Sunday morning, I woke to an empty house. It was strange. The night before, I had excused myself from their nightly gathering as usual, but as I lay alone in the darkness, I toyed with the idea of joining them for church after all. My mind kept going back to James’ invitation, followed by his sudden change of mind. The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed and the more my curiosity grew, until I was nearly ready to go out and tell them that I would be there, whether they wanted me or not. All the same, it was something a relief to find that the decision had been take out of my hands, and I now resolved to make the most of my time alone.

It didn’t take long to realize, however, that this would not be the nice, relaxing break I’d been hoping for. After a week of busyness and chatter, the silence felt unnerving. I continued to feel as though I was being watched, found myself jumping at the slightest noise, and nearly screamed when I opened the door and felt the cat slip in past my feet.

I found breakfast—an omelet, pickles, and something like hash browns—waiting on the table, ate quickly and washed up as well as I could, and was just looking at the books in the living room when I was startled by a knock at the door. I froze and instinctively ducked behind the couch as the thought of meeting any more people, especially alone, set my heart racing. There followed a long enough silence that I began to hope I might have just been imagining things again, when suddenly there came another knock. I took a couple of deep breaths and finally forced myself to peek outside the window, and in an instant, any apprehension I had felt evaporated, leaving only the most profound confusion.

There was a woman, early thirties, blonde, average height, utterly normal except for how completely out of place she looked here. In the first place, she was wearing pants. That alone seemed so striking that it took a moment to register that I could look at her without wincing.

She caught my eye and waved nervously. I waved back, then hurried to let her in.

“So, you must be our latest guest,” she said warmly, offering me her hand. “Julia Thompson.”

“Bree. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And it was. Though I might have hoped she was someone from the city come to track me down, the knowledge that the were normal people around here after all was a relief beyond words. And the fact that she was now at the center of the town's gossip made perfect sense.

“Well,” she began, “I suppose you’ve heard all about the little incident a few days ago.”

“I…did hear something about a ring.”

She grimaced. “It was all just a terrible misunderstanding, but I do feel bad about it. I was just coming over to see Ellen and apologize for the whole thing, but”—she peered past me with a look of mild disappointment—“I guess she’s not at home?”

I shook my head. “But, as long as you’re here, would you like to come inside?”

I realized as I said it that it might not have been proper to invite guests into someone else’s home, but I was aching for some company. Maybe she was too, because she smiled brightly and followed me into the kitchen.

It was fortunate there was still a small fire in the stove, and the kettle was still hot. I found some cups and the tea without trouble and laid a few things out on the table. For a moment we simply sat in silence.

“So, how are you finding the place?” she said at last.

“It’s…certainly been interesting,” I offered diplomatically.

She laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Nothing like the city, I’m sure.”

“No.”

She laughed again. “Imagine coming from the city and waking up at the Halls���. I heard they don’t even have water these days. I think I would just die of shock.”

I stared.

“You mean…it’s not all…”—I waved a hand around vaguely—“like this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, like I said, it’s absolutely nothing to the city, but we are somewhat civilized. I told my husband before we got married, I refused to live in a house where I had to draw water, and he made sure we had a working pump and decent plumbing. But some people just prefer to live in the past.”

“I guess so.”

I couldn’t help staring at her clothes. Upon closer inspection, they might have been handmade, but they looked a good deal more normal than what I was wearing.

“It’s not a religious thing, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, eyeing my long gray skirt, “though some people might like to say it is. The truth is, back when the town was founded, they only had one seamstress, and I guess it must have gotten to be too much for her, because one day she pitched a fit and declared that if people wanted pants, they could make them themselves. She finally relented a bit for the men, but the ladies just had to make do until a new seamstress came along. These days, well—”

She took a sip of tea.

“Well, you know how small towns are.”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

“People will look for any excuse to gossip, and eventually you decide, well, if I’m never going to fit in, I might as well give them something to talk about.”

The visit lasted about half an hour longer before she finally looked out and announced that she would have to run along and catch Ellen some other time.

I saw Ellen and the children coming down the road ten minutes later, and with them was a younger woman dressed all in black. I cleared away what remained of the tea and decided I would tell them about my visitor another time.

I heard the door open, and the next minute, Ellen popped her head into the kitchen and whispered, "Bree? Someone here to see you."

I followed her into the hall and came face to face with the woman in black. I felt her staring at me. I kept my eyes fixed on her dress until my eyes could adjust a little to the light. There was a long moment before she spoke.

“Bree? Sam told me it was you, but I couldn’t believe it.”

Her voice sounded vaguely familiar. As I met her eyes, it was all I could do not to scream. It was Jess.

[part 6]

[kazumasdiary]

that 2-3 cutscene, part ii: ryunosuke

so! ryunosuke! your friend's back! 

. . . bit of a double edged sword there, huh.

when kazuma comes back, ryunosuke looks so happy. that’s the first thing that hit me, with this scene- when he says “i knew you wouldn't die so easily,” he’s just so genuinely glad to have his friend back, but i think he’s also a little bit relieved.

because all of this started when kazuma died on the ss burya. everything before that, ryunosuke could arguably have come back from: after the first case he could have just gone back to being an english major, and even after crossing the ocean to get to great britain, theoretically he could have still been a english major and gone back to japan when kazuma did. but changing his entire career path, being a lawyer, getting involved in an entire legal system’s worth of issues that he was not part of before- all that happened because kazuma died on that ship, and someone had to carry his dream forward.

and we know ryunosuke has made a place for himself. he’s found his footing and become a lawyer in his own right. he's now on this path and intends to stay on it. but the fact still remains that kazuma died, and it turned ryunosuke’s whole life upside down.

but now kazuma is back. and i can't help but think that ryunosuke sees the thing that upended his life, now undone, and thinks for a second that, maybe, finally, the world can stop shifting under his feet.

the whole time ryunosuke has been in london, he's been trying to do what kazuma would have done, to be what kazuma would have been, because kazuma would have done this right. he took kazuma’s place, and the armband that marks him a lawyer still has kazuma’s name: he doesn't move to give that back, even when kazuma regains his memories, and at this point it is more his than kazuma’s but that, too, is another thing he’s taken. 

when kazuma’s first talking to susato, right after the line “it was an honour”, ryunosuke isn’t looking at them, and he doesn’t look up until both kazuma and susato look over to him. he doesn't seem afraid- he steps over with a smile as soon as he realizes they’re both looking towards him- and this is, to be fair, a lot to make of one line-of-sight detail. but maybe on some level, some part of ryunosuke does think, “i have intruded enough on what was yours. this is not my place.”

because it was always supposed to be kazuma. but kazuma is here, now. he’s back where he should have been- surely that means everything will be okay.

and then, of course, it's not, because kazuma takes his sword, cuts a wax statue in half, and then just leaves. and i think ryunosuke in this moment, more than anyone else, is just lost- susato has been left before and barok had enough context to at least see something like this coming, but ryunosuke has neither and so he's just left trying to understand why. he’s grasping at straws- he’s the one who picks up kazuma’s mask, afterwards, and the conversation he and susato have about it at the beginning of the next case is devastating:

Ryunosuke: But he has his memory back now, doesn't he? And I can't help feeling he might turn around and tell me coldly to wear it myself...

Susato: But...isn't he your best friend?

he got his friend back, finally- and then it turns out that he doesn’t know his friend at all, and he certainly doesn’t know how to interact with him anymore. susato says, “isn't he your best friend” and ryunosuke doesn't know how to answer, because, well, he was, but now? ryunosuke doesn’t know what kazuma wants from him, or if kazuma even wants to see him anymore, and kazuma certainly isn’t around to explain. things make, if anything, less sense than they did after kazuma died- except now kazuma is back, and the reason things don't make sense isn't because the universe is unfair, it's because the person you thought was your friend won't tell you anything.

ryunosuke saw kazuma returned in that courtroom, and i can't help but think that for a moment, he saw his friend's face and thought that things just might be alright, for once. and then just like that, kazuma was gone again, and that little bit of hope turns out to have been another lie.

(note: credit to @ifidogaysomyself for a lot of the basis of these thoughts.)

| susato | barok | kazuma |

[jule1122]

Malex Fic - Thanks that was fun

I decided to try the 2023 Year of the OTP Event and of course I am late on the first month.  In my defense this is the longest Malex fic I’ve written.  For January, I choose the mission fic prompt. 

This is canon divergent fic that takes place at the same time as S1. Alex and Michael were never together in high school.  Michael didn't take the blame for the murders so while the cover up still happened, Isobel believes she killed Rosa, Kate and Jasmine.  She isn't married to Noah and is just starting to date him.  There are reference to canon genocide and past Miluca (although it happens before Malex in this universe).

The mission is a honeypot mission where Michael is sent in to find out what Alex knows about his father.  Guess who falls in love?

Title is from the Barenaked Ladies song of the same name.

Thanks that was fun on AO3

“Alex Manes is back in town,” Isobel corners Michael between the bathrooms at the Wild Pony.

“I know,” he replies with a roll of his eyes.  “It was kind of hard to miss with the whole parade and all.”

“I found out he’s looking for someone to do some maintenance around his house, and you need to get the job.”

“Why? I’m not that hard up for cash.”  He kind of is, but he doesn’t want to admit that to Isobel.  Also, seeing Alex for the first time since graduation brought back memories of the crush he’d had on him in high school.  He tried flirting a few times back then, but Alex never responded.  When Alex enlisted the spring before graduation, Michael had backed off.  Then everything happened with Isobel, and staging an accident to cover up the murders and helping Isobel deal with what she had done had driven any thoughts of Alex right out of his head.  It wasn’t a time he wanted to remember.

“Look, we all know his father’s up to something,” Isobel reminds him.

Michael nods because Jesse Manes is suspicious as hell-his career in the Air Force which somehow never takes him out of Roswell, the strange way he speaks about the rumors surrounding the 1947 crash and the way he throws his weight around raises a lot of red flags.  He’s been worse the last few years, lurking around and asking questions.

“Well, he and Alex weren’t exactly buddy-buddy during the whole planning process and parade, but there was some weird tension between them.  I think Alex knows what his father’s up to, and this is our best chance to find out.  You,” Isobel points to him and smiles in a way that makes Michael very nervous, “are going to our honeypot.”

“Come on, Iz, you can’t be serious,” Michael groans.

“Well, it can’t be me,” Isobel waves a hand up and down her body.  “I am definitely not his type.  And Max is too uptight to explore his options so that leaves you, my ruggedly handsome, bisexual brother.”

“What makes you think Alex Manes is my type?” Michael protests, grasping at straws.

“Please,” Isobel snorts.  “I saw the way you stared at his ass in high school, trust me it’s only gotten better with age.”

“It’s still a bad idea.  Can’t you just see what he knows,” Michael gestures to Isobel’s head.  Her face falls, and he immediately feels like an dick.

“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Isobel whispers, looking away from Michael.

“I know,” Michael takes her hand and squeezes it in reassurance.  Isobel used to use her powers for silly, harmless things-getting an A on paper she never turned in, making her parents forget she was grounded.  But as the years went on and Max still haunted the Crashdown, hoping Liz would come visit, the guilt of sending Liz away became a heavier and heavier burden.

And finding out someone’s secrets isn’t as easy as pushing them into doing something.  Isobel wouldn’t be able to just persuade them to tell her what she wants to know, she’d have to take them into the mindscape.  They might not be able to lie, but she would be just as vulnerable.  It’s why they agreed she would never try it on Jesse Manes. 

“Last resort, okay,” Isobel squeezes his hand back before dropping it.  “Let’s try it the human way first.”

“Fine, but I am warning you ahead of time this plan is doomed to failure.  Alex Manes is not going to fall for me and confess all his father’s deep dark secrets.”

“You're not a nerdy teenager who doesn’t know how to flirt anymore, Michael.  Everyone wants a piece of the sexy handyman in the cowboy hat.  Just wear your jeans low, bend over a lot and find excuses to take off your shirt.  Like this,” Isobel plucks the beer bottles from Michael’s hand and slowly rolls it across her forehead and fans herself.  “Sure is hot in here,” she says in a falsely deep voice.  She tilts her head back and takes a slow sip from the bottle.  She lets a little beer trickle from her mouth and chases it slowly with her tongue before winking at Michael.

“Never do that again.  I’m scarred for life,” Michael grabs his beer back and immediately throws it away.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t seen those same pornos.  Alex will be putty in your hands.  Dammit,” Isobel looks at her watch, then quickly smooths her hair and straightens her clothes.  “I’ve got to run, or I’ll be late for my date.”

“Be safe,” Michael calls out as she hurries away.

Isobel blows him a kiss, “Love you, too.”

Michael sighs and shakes his head.  Isobel isn’t going to let this go so he might as well get started.  He walks out of the hallway to the bar and catches Maria’s eye.  It’s a quiet night so it’s not long before she comes over, his favorite beer already in her hand.

“Hey, DeLuca,” he stops her before she can walk away.

She eyes him warily, and he doesn’t blame her.  They had a thing a few years ago and while it didn’t end badly, they never quite found their footing with each other-settling for less than friends but more than exes. 

“Guerin,” she takes a step back in his direction.

“You’re still friends with Alex Manes, right,” he asks as casually as he can.

“Why,” Maria crosses her arms and stares at him.

“Stop trying to read me, it’s nothing bad,” he gives his best innocent smile.  “I heard he was looking for someone to do some work around his house, and I was hoping you’d put in a good word for me.”

“Give me one good reason.”

He drops the innocent act, knowing he can be honest with Maria about this even if he wasn’t with Isobel. “Business has been slow at Sanders so I could really use the money.  You know I’ll do a good job.”

“Fine,” she softens her stance slightly.  “But,” she leans across the bar so they are face to face, “if you screw him over, I’ll mount your balls above the bar for everyone to see.”

“Fair,” Michael swallows audibly knowing it’s not an idle threat.

“He’ll be here tomorrow night so come early because he’ll leave before it gets crowded.  I’ll let him know you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Maria, really,” Michael stands up to leave.

“Don’t make me regret this, Guerin,” Maria turns to another customer before he can respond.

Michael waits until he catches her eye, nodding and tipping his hat, before heading out, heart heavy.  He hopes whatever he gets from Alex is worth it because if this goes the way he thinks it will, Maria will never speak to him again.

Michael shows up at the Pony the next night in his cleanest jeans and with his shirt buttoned most of the way up.  He keeps the hat because this isn’t actually a job interview.  Alex Manes is easy to spot-he’s sitting at a table not far from the bar, turning a beer bottle in his hands.

He’s alone, and Michael takes a deep breath before approaching him.  “Manes,” he says, stopping to stand in front of the table.

Alex looks up from the bottle. “Guerin,” he replies, almost a question.

Michael hadn’t really thought this through.  It’s not like they were friends, he doesn’t have a real reason to approach Alex.  Not sure what to say, he just stands there awkwardly watching Alex.

Alex’s mouth twists in annoyance.  “If you’re going to thank me for my service, don’t.”

“Fuck, no,” Michael can’t hold back a brief laugh.  That’s the last thing he would ever do.

Instead of being offended, Alex seems to relax a bit at Michael’s reaction.  “So what do you want?”

Alex’s eyes flick up and down as he looks Michael over, and maybe Isobel knew what she was talking about when she picked Michael to be the honeypot.  He’s tempted to look back, flirt just enough to get Alex to follow him into the bathroom, but that won’t accomplish anything except scratching an itch.  

Michael takes a step back and squares his shoulders.  “Heard you were looking for a handyman.  Thought I’d throw my hat in the ring, metaphorically of course.” Michael runs his hand along the rim of his hat and winks at Alex.  A little flirting can’t hurt.

Alex looks toward the bar where Maria is watching them.  “Maria told me you’ve done some of the repairs at the bar.  Said you do good work.”

Michael shrugs and sends Maria a little wave.  He wasn’t sure she would follow through on recommending him to Alex.  Maria rolls her eyes at Michael and goes back to drying glasses.

“Give me your email,” Alex pulls Michael’s attention back.  “I’ll send you the list of what I need done, and you can give me a quote.”

Michael gives Alex his information then excuses himself, figuring it’s best not to push just yet.  He heads to the bar for his own drink.  Maria’s in the back so he chats with the bartender for a while, and when he looks back Alex is gone.

The email is waiting in his inbox when he gets up the next morning.  It looks like Alex sent it around 3 am so he’s either way more of a partier than Michael thought or an insomniac.  He reads over the list between cars at Sanders.  He can easily do everything on the list, and there is enough there to keep him busy for a good month.  If Michael bid the way he wanted to, the job would be nice money, enough to carry him through the winter.

But the goal isn’t to make money, it’s to make sure Alex hires him so he sends it back with a ridiculously low price.  It will cover materials, barely, but he won’t make any money and if anything goes wrong, he might end up in the red when it’s all done.

Michael waits until the end of the day to check his email.  Alex’s response isn’t at all what he was expecting.

“I don’t need you pity.  I can afford to pay for the work.  Send me a real quote so you are paid fairly instead of losing money.  If you can’t do that, I’m hiring Simmons and Sons.”

Michael makes a face.  Simmons and Sons are complete assholes who overcharge for substandard work.  But they’re big names in Roswell so they get all the city contracts and no one is willing to complain about them.  Old man Simmons was good friends with Jim Valenti, is still close with the mayor, the Longs and probably Alex’s dad.  He never hesitates to abuse those connections.  His sons are a little older than Michael, and he remembers how Jim Valenti always looked the other way when they were caught speeding through town drunk or selling weed.  Michelle’s not as soft, but the major still bails them out any trouble they find themselves in.   Even if Michael didn’t have an ulterior motive, he wouldn’t want to subject Alex to them.

It doesn't take long to come up with a realistic bid, one that will give him some financial breathing room as well as getting him closer to Alex.  Before he calls it a night Alex accepts his bid.  He reluctantly texts Isobel to let her know their plan is in motion.  He already feels guilty for taking advantage of Alex like this, but he knows their safety has to be his priority.  They can’t protect themselves if they don’t know how much of a threat Jesse Mane-and possibly his son-are.

Michael and Alex spend the next few days emailing back and forth to work out the details.  Alex will provide any materials related to the accessibility upgrades, and Michael will purchase everything else.  Alex sends him several documents outlining exactly what needs to be done in terms of accessibility-primarily to the bathrooms and entryways.  Alex also lets him know what tools he has at the house so Michael knows what he needs to bring with him. They also decide on a work schedule-Michael will work a few evenings a week once he’s done at the junkyard and Saturday afternoons. Although Alex assures him he can change that if needed since Alex works from home.

A few days before he is planning to start, the money needed for the initial supplies is deposited into his back account.  Michael knows Iz would be pissed if she knew Alex had his bank account information, but it’s not like he uses an “extraterrestrials only” branch of Roswell’s First Federated Credit Union.  He notices Alex also pays him the first half of his labor charges which is ahead of the schedule they set up.

Michael’s nervous when he finally knocks on Alex’s door.  He lives in a quiet neighborhood, not as fancy as the Evans, but nicer than anywhere Michael can imagine ending up.  Alex opens the door and waves him in.  He doesn’t say much beyond an initial hello, and Michael finds himself standing awkwardly in the living room when Alex sits back down in front of a laptop.

“So I thought I’d start in the second bath, get that up and running before I start the demo on the master,” Michael says, hoping for some directions from Alex as to what he wants.

“That’s fine,” Alex looks up with a frown, like he’s surprised Michael is asking.  “Whatever you think is best.  The bars are in the bathroom if that’s what you want to do first.”

“Well since your new shower installation isn’t here yet, and it will probably take a few weeks to get the master bath done once I start on it, I thought you’d appreciate having a functionally accessible bathroom in the meantime.”

“Sure,” Alex shrugged before turning his attention to the computer.  “Whatever you think.”

“Whatever I think,” Michael mumbles under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom.  He’s more used to people micromanaging him, and following him around to make sure he doesn’t steal anything rather than basically telling him to do what he wants.  For some reason, he feels dismissed rather than trusted.

It takes a few hours to get the bars mounted.  The ones for the toilet are easy, but since this is a small bathroom, the shower is a small corner unit and getting the grab bars in the recommended formation proves to be a bit of a challenge.

When he’s done, he finds Alex right where he left him.  “Hey, you want to check out the bathroom before I go?”

“Is something wrong?” Alex doesn’t look up from what he’s typing.

“No,” Michael replies, bristling slightly.  “I followed the schematics you gave me, but I want to make sure the height and spacing work for you before I go.  That way I can adjust it now if you need me to.”

When Alex gets up, Michael notices he’s using a metal crutch that fits near his elbow.  It’s the first physical reminder he’s seen that there’s a reason Alex needs grab bars in his bathroom.  Alex walks away without a word.  Michael doesn’t follow him, he thinks they would both be uncomfortable watching Alex check the placement of the bars.

Michael knows he made the right call when Alex comes back and thanks him without meeting his eyes.  “Everything’s perfect, you did a good job.”

“I aim to please,” Michael tips his hat just to make Alex relax and smile.  “See you tomorrow.” When Alex nods, he gives a quick wave and heads out.

He’s almost back to the airstream when Isobel calls.

“Wel, how did it go?” she asks impatiently.

“He hasn’t fired me yet”

“Michael be serious,” she scolds him.  “Did you find anything out?”

“Iz, I was only there for a few hours.  Did you think he would confess his father’s a serial killer because I unclogged his drain?”

“A girl can dream,” Isobel sighs.  “Just be charming or at least sexy.  Pants too tight, shirt unbuttoned or, even better, shirt off.”

“Goodbye, Isobel,” Michael hangs up the phone before she can say anything else.

Alex doesn’t exactly give him a chance to show off.  He doesn’t even open the door for Michael the next day, just yells for him to come in.  He never budges from his computer the whole time Michael is there, and gives him an absent minded thanks when Michael leaves.

Michael spends Saturday working in the kitchen replacing the oven and range top.  It’s not difficult work, but it’s time consuming and awkward.  Once he’s wrangled the oven into place and hooked it up, he heads to the garage to bring in the new range top.  

“You want a beer?” Alex asks when he comes back into the kitchen.

“Uh, sure,” Michael tries not to act surprised.  He opens the fridge, gets a beer for himself and hands Alex one as well.

“Thanks,” Alex accepts the bottle with a small smile.  “Maria told me to be nice to you.”

Michael laughs because that sounds like Maria. “So you and Maria?” he asks, hoping to get Alex talking.

Alex raises a brow at him, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“She told you about me?” Michael preens a little.  “We had a good thing for a while, then we didn’t.  No harm no foul, we just wanted different things.”

“What did you want?” Alex asks with a slight edge to his voice.

“Someone to come home to, a picket fence, maybe a dog or two,” Michael shrugs.  “And Maria. . .”

“Maria’s too independent for that,” Alex fills in.

“Too independent, the bar and her mom need her too much for her to put that kind of energy into a relationship.  Timing was off for us, but that happens.”

“And here I thought you were the love them and leave them type.”

Michael groans because some rumors insist on following him.  “It’s all consensual and everyone knows the deal up front.  There’s nothing wrong with two adults having a good time together.  Just because I’m looking for my soulmate doesn’t mean I can’t have fun along the way.”

“Soulmate, seriously,” Alex snorts.

“Yeah,” Michael can’t help being a romantic at heart.  “You know the person the cosmos designed for you, the perfect fit, the one destined to be in your life.  I know it’s unlikely, but I can hope.  I take it you don’t believe in soulmates?”

“I’d feel sorry for anyone stuck with me,” Alex looks down at his bottle and frowns.

Michael takes a drink and tries to decide how to redirect the conversation.  “What about Liz Ortecho, you still talk to her much?”

Alex shakes his head.  Michael names a few other classmates, but gets the same response.

“I pretty much cut off all ties with Roswell once I left for basic,” Alex explains.  “I sent Maria a few postcards, but that was it.  We hadn’t really talked in years until she found out I was hurt and showed up at the rehab center.  Then she basically demanded I stay in touch,” Alex smiles at the memory.

“She’s a force of nature when she wants to be,” Michael says fondly.  He tosses his empty beer bottle in the recycling and decides it best to end this on a good night.  “Well, I should get back to it, thanks for the beer.”

Alex nods and turns back to his computer.

The next few times he’s there, Alex offers Michael a beer before he leaves.  Michael keeps the conversations light and short so he doesn’t raise Alex’s suspicions.  He finds he likes talking to Alex.  Once he understands Alex’s sense of humor he realizes what a sarcastic asshole he is, and Michael loves that.  He’s also smart-smart enough to keep up with Michael when he goes off on a tangent.  But Isobel has been bugging him about making progress so he carefully broaches the topic of Jesse Manes.

“Kind of surprised I haven’t seen your family around now that you’re back in town,” Michael says casually, not looking directly at Alex,

“My brothers are all still active military.  None of them are stationed nearby,” Alex explains.

“What about your dad? He still lives in Roswell.”

“My father’s the last person you’ll ever see here,” Alex snorts.  “Taking a medical discharge confirmed once and for all that I’m a coward and not worth his time.”

“I’m sorry,” it comes out almost like a question because Alex doesn’t seem at all bothered.

“I’m not,” Alex dismissed his concern.  “I would be happy to never see him again.”

Michael fiddles with his beer bottle, not sure where to go from there.  He remembers Jesse acting like a proud father at the parade and what Isobel said about their being tension between him and Alex.  Maybe all that pride was an act.

“Sorry,” Alex grimaces when the silence drags on.  “Didn’t mean to be a downer.”

“Probably my fault,” Michael shrugs.  “Isobel always says I’m terrible at conversation.”

“Isobel Evans?”  Alex looks up sharply.  “You’re still close with her, and Max too?”

“Yeah,” Michael rubs the back of his neck.  Normally he’d make a crude joke, lean into the assumption that he’s slept with Isobel or Max or both of them.  But if he wants Alex to open up to him, he’s going to have to show he trusts him.  “They’re my family, or at least as close as I get to one.  Not a lot of people know this, but we were found together in the desert as kids, lived in a group home together until they were adopted.  Then we lost touch for a long time.”

“I’m sorry you were separated.”

“It sucked,” Michael admits.  “But we found our way back to each other.  And I’m glad they had a family growing up, that they had it easier than I did.”

Alex nods, and Michael decides he’s had enough honesty for one night.  “Anyway, now I’m the one dragging us down.  It’s late so I’m going to head out.  See you tomorrow.”

The next day, Michael brings a six pack in with him.  Alex gives him a puzzled look when he passes him on his way to the kitchen.

“Can’t mooch off you forever,” Michael explains as he puts the beer in the fridge.  “Should be cold by the time I’m done.”

He spends the next few hours working on the master bath.  The shower won’t be in for a few weeks, but he needs to update the plumping and replace the tile.  When he reaches a good stopping point, he grabs two beers and joins Alex at the table.  Michael rocks back in his chair while Alex shuts down his lap top.

“So if your not here for your family,”

“Definitely not,” Alex interjects.

“Why did you come back?”

“What do you mean?”  Alex asks.

“No one comes back to Roswell voluntarily.  There has to be a reason you're here.”  When Alex doesn’t respond, Michael narrows his eyes and hums.  “So the first choice is usually to repair a broken relationship with a parent or sibling, but you ruled that out.  How about wealthy relative you never met left you a huge inheritance on the condition you live in Roswell for a year and marry.”

Alex just shakes his head.

Michael sighs dramatically.  “Then it must be for love.  You found out your ex is getting married and you want to win them back.  You always regretted the breakup so you’ve come to sweep them off their feet.”

Alex looks at Michael like he’s lost his mind.  “I was the gay, emo kid in a cowboy town.  How many exes do you think I have?”  Alex holds up his hand before Michael can respond.  “And if you say Kyle Valenti, you’re fired.”

“God, no,” Michael laughs.  “Not that douche.  Can you believe he’s a doctor?”

“Kyle always wanted to be the best at everything,” Alex says, looking a little wistful.

Michael remembers that Alex and Valenti used to be friends before Valenti became a raging dick.  His chest hurts remembering how Valenti had taunted Alex at Prom, how he pushed him around at school.  “You weren’t the only one,” Michael says, hoping it will be some kind of comfort.  “The only queer kid in Roswell, I mean.  Bisexual,” he points to himself.  “And Emily Rathburn fell in love with some girl in college.  They got married last year.”

“That’s nice, I guess,” Alex frowns a little.  “I still felt like the only one then, still felt alone.”

Michael nods, because he gets it.  Even after he found Isobel and Max, he felt alone.  All three of them were aliens, but they had a place here that Michael didn’t.  He was the one who longed to go home, wherever that was.  “Well,” he says, deciding to change the subject.  “Since you shot down all my rom com reasons for you to be in Roswell, why did you come back?”

“Had some loose ends to tie up.  There’s a company nearby that hires a lot of veterans with my skill set so being here is a way to get my foot in the door.”

There’s a weight to his words that makes Michael nervous, reminds of why he’s here.  But he decides not to push tonight.  “Hope it works out for you,” he says as he makes his way to the door.

The next time Michael walks into Alex’s, the house is quiet.  Alex isn’t at the table, his lap is closed and most of the lights are off.  “Alex?” he calls.  The door was unlocked so he assumes Alex is home, but Michael has never had to look for him.

“In here,” Alex calls.

Michael follows his voice to the living room where he finds Alex slumped in the corner of the couch.  He looks-Michael can’t actually say he looks bad, he’s too handsome for that-but he’s pale and drawn.  It’s also the first time he’s seen Alex without his prosthetic.  Alex always wears jeans when Michael is here so it’s easy to forget what happened to him.  But now Michael can see where the sweatpants he’s wearing are tied off-highlighting the empty space where the remainder of his right leg used to be.

“Are you ok?” Michael asks as he comes to stand in front of the couch.  Up close he can see lines of tension on Alex’s face.

“Rough PT session,” Alex waves away his concern.  “I’ll be fine.”

“You want a beer?”  Michael asks, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Thanks, but I can’t with the meds I took.”

Michael nods even though he’s out of Alex’s line of sight.  He rummages through the cupboards and doesn’t find any tea, but he does find a crumpled packet of hot chocolate.  He makes it with warm milk so it will hopefully taste better than the watery versions they used to serve at school functions.  When he goes back to the living room, Alex has his head tipped back against the couch and his eyes closed.  Michael sets the mug down gently on the table, not wanting to disturb Alex if he’s asleep.

But Alex cracks an eye open.  When he spots Michael, he picks up the mug, smiling when he smells what’s in it.  “Thanks, I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was a kid.”

“Thought you could use something warm.” Michael was going to say comforting, but that sounded too personal.  “I better leave you to it and get to work.”

Michael planned to work on the patio, but he’s reluctant to leave Alex alone so he decides to paint the spare room instead.  Painting is quiet work and it makes the silence in the house all the more noticeable.  When Michael’s working inside, he’s usually close enough to Alex that he can usually hear him typing on his laptop or at least hear the quiet music Alex always has playing in the background.  He barely manages to get the primer on before he gives in and goes out to check on Alex.

He finds Alex sprawled out on the couch, sleeping.  He doesn’t look particularly comfortable,and there’s a part of him that wants to carry him to bed.  Instead, Michael settles for gently moving his left leg which was dangling toward the floor back on to the couch.  Alex doesn’t stir or react at all to Michael’s touch, just keeps sleeping.

Michael’s debating if he should get Alex a blanket when a text from Isobel comes in.  Suddenly he remembers why he’s there.  It’s not to fuss over Alex, but to find out what his father is up to and if Alex is involved.  With Alex as deeply asleep as he is, it’s Michael's best chance to look for evidence.  He forces himself to walk away, ignoring the pang of regret he feels when he sees the mug of hot chocolate is empty.

Two hours later, Michael’s had enough.  He knows what brand of underwear Alex likes, that he has surprisingly expensive taste in shower gel and his homeowner’s insurance is due in two weeks.  Michael also knows how many medals and commendations he has from the Air Force, he knows Alex has exactly one picture of his mother, and if he dies, Maria DeLuca gets his pension and the rest of his assets are to be sold or liquidated and divided between four different charities.

Michael shouldn’t know any of these things, and he wishes he could erase them from his memory.  He stops on his way out to put Alex’s empty mug in the dishwasher.  Even though it feels wrong after what he’s just done, he covers Alex with the blanket from the armchair, whispering “sorry” before he leaves.

Guilt sits heavy in his stomach as he drives to the Wild Pony to meet Max and Isobel.  “So I searched Alex Manes house tonight,” he begins as soon as they sit down.

“Breaking and entering,” Max says in an angry whisper.  “Are you kidding me.”

“I was there to work on his house so no breaking involved.” Michael throws his hands up, not sure why Max is questioning him.

He sees Max wince and knows Isobel probably kicked him under the table.

“Sorry,” Max says sheepishly.  “I forgot about that.”

“Seriously?” Michael rolls his eyes.  “No wonder Iz picked me.”

“Boys, enough,” Isobel scolds them before turning to Michael. “What did you find?”

“Not a damn thing,” Michael replied.  He doesn’t tell them about the replica of Roswell’s gazebo packed away carefully in a box he found on the top shelf of Alex’s closet or the journals filled with song lyrics he couldn’t bring himself to read.  “Alex keeps saying he and Jesse hate each other, and I guess it’s true.  There isn’t a single thing in the house that mentions him or anything about aliens either.”

“He’s not going to leave that kind of stuff out in the open.  Are you sure you looked hard enough?” Isobel questions.

“Personal lockpick, remember,” Michael points to his head.  “I went through every drawer, every safe, the garage and his car.  Nothing,” he repeats.

“So now what?” Isobel slumps back against the booth.

“I finish the job, make some money and you find some other way to figure out what Jesse Manes is up to.”

“So helpful, Michael,” Isobel complains.

“Hey, I did my part.  It’s not my fault Alex doesn't know anything,” Michael protests.  Part of him feels like the words are untrue, just because it looks like Alex isn’t involved, he could still know something.  But everything he did tonight feels like a betrayal, and he’s ready to be done.

They argue a bit longer about the best way to spy on Jesse Manes without getting caught.  By the time Michael leaves, they still haven’t come up with any real options.

A little before noon the next day, Michael yells to Sanders that he is taking a break.  He swings by the Crashdown before making his way to Alex’s house.  Michael knocks on the door, something he hasn’t done in weeks, but Alex isn’t expecting him.

When Alex opens the door, he thrusts the bag at him.  “I brought you lunch,” he explains.  “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Alex ducks his head.  “Come in.”

Michael follows him into the house.  Alex sets the bag on the table before turning back to Michael.  “Thanks.”  He steps closer, frames Michael’s face with his hands and kisses him softly.  “Thank you for lunch and last night.  It’s been a long time since someone took care of me.”  When Michael doesn’t pull away, he kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue teasing Michael’s mouth open.

The look in Alex’s eyes when they pull apart fills Michael with equal parts hope and guilt so he does his best to deflect.  “You thank all your friends,” he almost says ‘employees’ but he knows that wouldn’t  be accurate when talking about what they are doing now, “this way?”

“Only the ones I want to fuck,” Alex says with a wicked smile.

“That what we’re doing here, Alex?”  Michael asks.

“I’m not your soulmate, Michael.  I know the deal.  Just two adults having fun, right.”

It’s less than Michael wants, but more than he deserves so he’ll take it.  Michael surges forward, taking control of the kiss and backing Alex up against the wall.  Once he has Alex pinned, Michael drops to his knees.  He makes quick work of Alex’s pants, pushing them down to mid thigh.

Alex is already starting to get hard, and Michael smiles, licking his lips in anticipation.  He grabs Alex’s ass to pull him closer.  “God, your ass,” he groans when his fingers dig into the muscles there.  Michael is tempted to spin Alex around, worship his ass with his eyes and mouth, but Alex’s dick is right here.

Michael takes him in his mouth, loving the way Alex immediately starts to get harder.  He doesn’t bother with finesse, just takes Alex as deep as he can. It’s sloppy and fast and Michael loves it, not bothering to wipe away the mix of spit and precome that slips out of his mouth.  Alex buries his hands in Michael’s hair, tugging just hard enough to sting as he thrusts into Michael’s mouth.  

When Michael strokes his fingers down the crease of Alex’s ass, he comes with a muffled shout.  His fingers tighten even more in Michael’s hair, and Michael’s cock throbs in response.  He lets Alex’s cock slide out of his mouth.  Michael rocks back on his heels and licks Alex clean until Alex whimpers and pushes his head away.  Before he stands, he pulls Alex’s pants back up, because no one likes to stand around with their pants down once they’re soft and spent, but doesn’t bother to fasten them.

Alex reaches for him, pressing his thumb against Michael’s swollen lips.  When his cock brushes against Alex’s leg, he can’t help but whine.

“I can’t” Alex gestures between the floor and his leg.

“Don’t care,” Michael mumbles.  “Your hand is more than enough.”

Alex looks at him for a moment before nodding.  He licks his palm while holding Michael’s gaze then sucks each finger slowly into his mouth.  It’s a little mean and a lot sexy, and Michael knows he’s screwed in more ways than one.

Michael has his pants down before Alex gets to his thumb.  Alex’s hand is cool in contrast to the heated skin of his dick, and he moans loudly when Alex wraps his hand around him.  He doesn’t tease, and Michael’s grateful as Alex jerks him off, strokes sure and steady.  It’s over quicker than he’d like, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind, kissing him deeply before he’s even caught his breath.

Michael licks the come off Alex’s palm, repeating Alex’s earlier action.  Alex’s eye’s darken, and Michael can’t help preening a little under the intensity of his attention.  “I should probably get back before Sanders starts to miss me,’ Michael says reluctantly, cleaning himself up as best he can with his shirttails before refastening his pants.

Alex doesn’t respond, just slumps against the wall and watches him leave.

“See you tomorrow,” Michael calls on his way out, getting a lazy wave from Alex in response.

Michael’s not sure what to expect when he shows up the next day.  Alex gives him a quiet “hey” when he walks by, but never looks up from his laptop screen.   Michael tips his hat in acknowledgement and heads straight to the patio.

Maybe he wasn’t expecting Alex to greet him with a kiss, but he was hoping to get some indication from Alex as to where they stand.  If that was it, if Alex just wants to pretend nothing happened, Michael won’t be the one to bring it up.

He spends the next few hours outside, taking his frustration and confusion out on the last of the concrete that needs torn out.  The work is physical enough to keep him focused so can’t think about how Alex felt in his mouth and how much he wants to feel that again and again.

The sun has set by the time he’s done, and once he stops working the night air makes him shiver when it hits him.  He heads into the house-sweaty, dirty and exhausted.  He hopes to get out without attracting Alex’s attention. All Michael wants to do is go home, shower and sleep.  He can’t face awkward small talk with Alex over beers tonight.

He’s washing his hands at the sink in the kitchen when Alex comes up behind him.  Michael feels Alex breath on his neck before his lips find the spot beneath his ear.  Michael shudders and tries to shrug Alex away.  “I’m sweaty and gross,” he explains.

“Don’t care,” Alex says as he continues licks a line along the side of Michael’s neck.  “I like the way you smell.  Like the ground after it rains.  It’s sexy.”

“You think so?”  Michael turns in Alex’s arms, shaking his hands dry as best he can.  

Alex takes his hat off and sets it on the counter.  He twirls one of the curls he freed on his finger and tugs Michael closer.  “Let me show you.”

He leads Michael into the living room, pushing him gently onto the couch.  Alex shoves Michael’s shirt up to his armpits, leaving Michael to struggle out of it while he nuzzles and mouths at Michael’s chest.  It’s all teeth and tongue, and Michael’s hips buck up when Alex bites one of his nipples.

“Pants,” Alex demands.

Michael kicks his shoes off and tries to concentrate, but Alex is licking and sucking along his collarbone and that’s all he can focus on.  He gets as far as unbuckling his belt before Alex takes over, pulling his pants off and tossing them aside.

As Alex makes his way down his body, Michael spreads his legs as wide as he can, dropping one leg off the couch, to give Alex more room.  Michael sighs in anticipation when Alex pushes him further up the couch and settles between his legs.

Alex rests his head on Michael’s thigh, pressing his face into the crease of his groin.  For a moment he just stays there, breathing into Michael’s skin.  Then he turns his attention to Michael’s balls, licking around them and sucking on them while one his hands plays with the wiry curls above Michael’s dick.

“Come on, man,” Michael pleads.

Alex looks up and smiles.  “You want something?”

“Your mouth on my dick would be ideal right now.”

Alex shrugs like it’s no big deal then sucks Michael down almost to the root.  Michael can’t help but thrust up, harder than he means to.  But Alex doesn’t hold him still, just rides it out.  Then he slides his hand under Michael’s ass, encouraging him to set the pace.

Michael likes to think he gives a good blowjob, but Alex is on another level.  Once again it's over quicker than he’s like it to be.  But once he’s done, he barely gets a hand on Alex’s dick before Alex is coming all over his stomach so Michael calls it even.

Alex watches from the couch while Michael gathers his clothes.  His jeans are already pulled up and zipped although the button is undone, and Michael still hasn’t found his own pants.  “I really need to get you naked,” he says without thinking.

“Next time,” Alex answers with a smirk.

His hand is on the door when Alex calls him back.

“Hey, you forgot this,” he walks out of the kitchen holding Michael’s hat.  When he gets to Michael, he plops it on his head before kissing him.  Before Michael can respond, he reaches around Michael to open the door and nudges him out.

They settle into a routine after that.  Michael shows and does whatever work he has scheduled for the day, and then they fuck.  It’s been a long time since Michael had sex with the same person more than once, and he forgot how fun it can be.  They get off grinding against each other on the couch like teenagers one night, and the next day Michael jerks Alex off while fucking his thighs.  There’s an enthusiastic, but perhaps ill advised round of sixty-nine in Alex’s bed.  Somehow Michael almost gets hit in the head by Alex’s prosthetic, but when he comes seeing stars, it’s from Alex’s mouth not a concussion so he’s not complaining.  

Michael knows they have an expiration date.  There’s not much left to do at the house, and once he doesn’t have an excuse to be at Alex’s house, they’ll go their separate ways.  Alex has given no indication he’d make an effort to see Michael and considering Michael, Max and Isobel are still trying to figure out what Alex’s father is up to, ending this before that happens is a good idea.

Still coming home, smiling and satisfied after Alex fucked him against the kitchen table, he’s unprepared for Isobel to blow the whole thing up.  She’s pacing outside his airstream when he pulls up.

“Liz Ortecho is back in town,” she says as soon as he’s out of the truck and close enough to hear her.

It’s an eerily familiar way to start a conversion, but he’s pretty sure she isn’t going to ask him to honeypot Liz Ortecho.  “So,” he replies.

“Max was with her at the Crashdown last week when Wyatt Long and his pals shot it up.  They hit Liz, and Max saved her.”

“He what!” Michael shouts. “Last week?  Why am I just finding out now?”

“He just told me.”

“I assume she knows.”

“Kind of hard to hide the sparkly, glowing handprint.”  Isobel holds up her own hand as if Michael doesn’t know what she means.

“That’s just great,” Michael throws up his hands.  “All these years of telling us to be careful, and as soon as Liz waltzes back into town, Max throws it all away.”

“It’s worse than that,” Isobel winces.

“He didn’t tell her about Rosa, did he?”  Now Michael is pacing.  “Wouldn’t that be the icing on the fucking cake.  After everything we did to protect you, Max tells Liz not only did we kill her sister, we framed her for Kate and Jasmine’s deaths.”

“No, he didn’t tell her about that,” Isobel rushes to assure him.  “But the reason he finally told me about Liz is that Jesse Manes showed up at the station today.  He was asking the Sheriff about where Jim Valenti’s old files were stored.  Said he needed them to clear up some Air Force case.”

“Shit,” Michael swears.

“I followed him from the station, and he met up with Kyle Valenti.  I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but I definitely heard ‘handprint’ and ‘Alex.’”

“You don’t know,” Michael starts.

“Alex knows something, Michael.  Something big or at least more than we know.  I have to find out what it is,” Isobel squares her shoulders.

“No,” Michael objects too fast.  “I’ll get him to tell me.  You don’t need to get into his head.”

Isobel narrows her eyes and stares at him.  “Oh my god, you slept with him.”

“Wasn’t that kind of the point,” Michael says defensively.

“Not now, not after you said he was a dead end.  If you’re sleeping with him now,” Isobel cocks her head.  “Oh, Michael, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Michael shuffles his feet and looks away.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’s over as soon as I finish his house so we might as well get something out of it.”

“It does matter,” Isobel looks at him with something too close to pity.  “You don’t have to do this.  If there’s a chance for you and Alex,”

“There isn’t,” he cuts her off.  “And even if there were, this is more important.  Protecting our secret, protecting our family is always going to be the first priority.  I won’t risk that for Alex Manes, no matter how good the sex is.”

“So the sex is good, huh,” Isobel teases, willingly going along with his need to change the topic from his impending broken heart..

“It’s fucking epic,” Michael gloats just a bit.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, but you’re not alone.”  Isobel stands up straighter.  “I’m going to cozy up to Kyle Valenti, see if I can figure out what he knows.”

“Eww,” Michael makes a face.  “What about the lawyer you’ve been seeing?”

“No real sparks there.  I’ll just throw the lawyer over for a doctor.  Mom will still be thrilled.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Michael says, resigned to Isobel doing what she wants.

“I will,” she promises, giving him a hug before leaving.

The next time Michael is at Alex’s he finishes the shower, the last of the renovations to the master bath..  It’s good work, something to be proud of.  It’s also the last big project he has at the house.  There’s a few days of work left in finishing up the patio, but that’s it.  Time is ticking on both his time with Alex and his opportunity to get answers.

Once the bathroom’s clean, he heads to the kitchen to find Alex.  “Shower’s done.  You should try it out,” he suggests.

“You going to join me?” Alex asks as he stands up from the table.

“Thought you liked me all sweaty?” Michael asks.

“I do,” Alex looks him up and down, leering just a bit.  “Just don’t leave, ok?” he reaches out and grips Michael’s wrist.

“I won’t,” Michael promises.  Then to change the mood, he adds with a wink, “Want to see how much you enjoy all my hard work.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but lets go of Michael and disappears into the bedroom.  Once he hears the water running, he strips and waits for Alex in his bed.  When Alex comes out of the bathroom, he looks like one of Michael’s fantasies come to life.  Steam billows around him, his skin is flushed and slightly damp, his hair slicked back from his forehead.

Once he makes his way to the bed, Alex sets his crutches aside and kisses Michael.  “The shower head is a little fancier than I remember.”

“Thought you deserved an upgrade,” Michael shrugs.  “You like it?”

“The massage setting was amazing,” Alex tells him, stretching out next to him and kissing his neck.

“I may have also adjusted your water pressure,” Michael admits.

“Thank you,” Alex whispers into his skin.  “I think you deserve a reward.”

Michael’s not going to pass that up so he thinks about what he wants.  “Turn over for me,” he finally tells Alex.

Alex looks up at Michael and studies his face, trying to determine how serious he is.  When Michael holds his gaze, he smiles and turns over.

Once Alex is on his stomach, Michael moves to sit between his legs and pushes a pillow under his hips.  He takes a moment to just look because Alex’s ass is as magnificent as he always thought it would be.  He settles into a more comfortable position and parts Alex’s cheeks.  “Can I?” he asks, making sure his breath hits Alex’s hole so Alex knows what he wants.

“Please,” Alex replies, already shifting to get closer to Michael.

Michael doesn’t hesitate, just presses his tongue against Alex’s hole.  When Alex shudders and moans, he licks a stripe along the crease of his ass before returning to push inside him.  They’ve never done this before, and Michael wishes they had, wishes they’d done this everyday because Alex loves it.

Alex is never still, he alternates between grinding against the pillow and pushing his ass closer to Michael’s face.  And the noises he makes are indescribable.

“God, you were made for this,” Michael says in awe when he takes a break.  

Alex whines at the loss of his tongue, and Michael gives his ass a playful smack before diving back in.  Michael drags it out as long as he can, but sooner than he’d like Alex is coming into his own fist with Michael’s tongue buried as deep as he can get it in Alex’s hole.

It’s tempting when Alex’s is spent, sprawled face down on the mattress to fuck him right then while he’s still slick and open.  But he wants to take his time, wants to make Alex come again so he eases the pillow from under Alex’s hips and tosses it on the floor before urging Alex to turn over.

Alex stretches and gives Michael a blissed out smile before reaching lazily towards Michael’s cock.  “Want some help with that?”

“Not yet,” Michael swats his hand away because if Alex touches him it will be over before it starts.  “Going to get you hard again first.”

“Ambitious,” Alex teases.

“Just watch me,” Michael promises, then proceeds to devote himself to Alex’s pleasure.  He uses everything he’s learned about Alex’s body over the last few weeks-the places he likes to be kissed and stroked, the  places he wants Michael to use his teeth and press deep into his skin.  Michael knows how to make Alex bite his lip and shiver, how to make him arch his back and buck his hips.  He makes him moan and curse, plead and demand, and that’s just the beginning.

When Alex is hard and weeping again, he uses his fingers to stretch him, getting him more open then he already was.  He ignores Alex’s insistence that he’s ready as long as he can and when Michael finally pushes inside, it’s overwhelming.

Michael fucks him slowly, almost slower than he can stand.  But it’s worth it to watch Alex come apart beneath him, to watch the sweat bead on his body, to watch him become more restless the closer he gets until he grabs his own dick and strokes himself to orgasm in time with Michael’s thrusts.

Watching Alex, feeling him tighten around him, pushes Michael over the edge.  His own release washes over him, his rhythm stutters until he finally stills inside Alex.  Michael collapses next to Alex on the bed, pulling out of him reluctantly.  Alex gives him a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss before closing his eyes.

By the time Michael gets back from the bathroom with a washcloth, Alex is asleep.  He cleans him gently before returning to bed.  It’s tempting to fall asleep as well, but Michael doesn’t want to waste the time he has left with Alex.  He settles close to him and watches him, pretending while he can that this is something he can have.

When Alex starts to stir, Michael watches the way his eyes flutter before finally opening.  He turns toward Michael smiling when he sees him still there.  “It’s nice waking up to you,” he says in a way that lets Michael know he isn’t quite awake enough to filter what he says.

Michael’s heart shatters because he knows this is the time to ask.  He brushes the hair off Alex’s forehead and kisses him softly before going in for the kill.  “If you hate your father so much, why did you follow in his footsteps?”  Michael aims for casual and misses badly.

“Is that what you think I did?”  Alex laughs harshly and pushes the heels of hands into his eyes.  Then he turns to face Michael, all the softness, all the sleepy haziness is gone from his eyes.  “My father has secrets, Michael, dangerous ones.  Joining the Air Force was the best way to find out what they were.”

Michael makes a noise of inquiry, hoping Alex will keep talking.

“Being a legacy recruit in the Air Force, especially with a family like mine, opens doors.  People talk, around you, to you, assuming you joined for the same reason they did, to carry on your family’s legacy.  I took advantage of every opportunity the Air Force gave me, for the exact opposite reason, to destroy my family’s legacy.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Some of it, most of it.  Got closer enough for this,” Alex gestures at his leg.

Michael stiffens at the insinuation.  “You think your father,” he can’t even finish the thought.

“I can’t prove it. Yet,” Alex amends.  “Friendly fire happens, more often than people think, but this wasn’t a normal accident.  And he did a piss poor job at hiding how disappointed he was that I survived.”

“Jesus,” Michael swears under his breath.  If Jesse Manes was willing to kill his own kid, he’s way more dangerous than they thought.

“When I left the Air Force, he wrote me off as a coward.  He thinks he scared me off, that I came home to hide out and lick my wounds.”

“So why are you here,” Michael asks, echoing his question from weeks ago.

“To finish what I started,” Alex answers.  He leans back, putting space between them that wasn’t there before. “Any other questions?”

Michael swallows hard because this isn’t his lover asking, this is the Air Force captain Michael likes to pretend Alex never was.  He should push, find out just how much Alex is willing to tell him, but he sees the betrayal hiding behind the hardness in Alex’s eyes, and he can’t.  “I should get going,” he says instead.

Alex nods and shifts so he is sitting against the headboard no longer touching Michael at all.  He watches Micheal get dressed, watches as he walks out, without saying another word.

When Michael gets back to his truck, he pounds his fists against the steering wheel before taking a deep breath and driving away.  He knows he hurt Alex, knows he ruined any slim chance they had at being something, and he still doesn’t have solid answers because he was too chicken shit twist the knife in Alex’s back.  Michael’s tempted to drive straight to the Wild Pony and hand his balls over to Maria right then.

The next time he goes to Alex’s, the door is open, but Alex isn’t waiting for him.  Instead he finds a note on the table explaining that Alex had some errands to run, and Michael should lock up when he’s done.

“Errands,” Michael snorts.  He can’t blame Alex for wanting to avoid him.

After a few hours working on the patio, Michael’s ready to call it a night.  There’s almost nothing left to do, and being here without Alex is uncomfortable.  

Alex is missing again the next night, not even bothering to with a note this time.  Michael drags out what little he has to finish, hoping Alex will show up before he’s done. He’s making some final adjustments to the gate when Isobel calls.

“Why is Alex Manes at the Wild Pony getting drunk and looking like he plans to stay that way?”

“Cause I fucked up Iz,” Michael sighs.  “He knows I want something from him, something to do with his father.”

“Did he tell you?” Isobel asks, a hint of hope in her voice.

“No, and why would he?  He doesn’t trust me, but he knows.  He’s not involved.” Michael hastens to add.  “I think he’s been investigating his father for a long time.  So whatever Jesse’s up to, Alex knows what it is.”

“So I guess it’s my turn,” Isobel signs, hope turned to resignation.

“Not tonight,” Michael interjects.  “Not when he’s been drinking.”  He doesn’t want to think about what it means that he’s as worried about Alex as he is Isobel when he thinks about Isobel forcing him into a mindscape.

“Not tonight, but soon,” Isobel warns. “Now that Liz knows, we have to figure out who our enemies are before she turns on us.”

Michael hopes that won’t happen, that somehow Max can keep Liz on their side, but he knows Isobel is right.  “Just give me a day or two to say goodbye.”

“Michael,” Isobel says sadly. “I’m sorry I made you do this.”

Even though she can’t see him, Michael shrugs.  What’s done is done.  “So how’s it going with Valenti?” he asks, ready to change the subject.

“Pointless,” Isobel huffs out a frustrated breath.  “He’s as hopelessly hung up on Liz Ortecho as Max.  I don’t know what they see in her.  She’s.”

“Brilliant and gorgeous,” Michael interrupts.  

“A self-righteous know-it-all,” Isobel continues as if Michael hadn’t spoken.  “Looks like my date is here.  Talk to you later.”

“Bye Iz, be careful,” Michael reminds her before hanging up.

Now that he knows Alex won’t be coming home, Michael quickly finishes the rest of his work.  When he’s done, he’s tempted to leave Alex a note.  Instead he leaves a copy of the itemized job list Alex originally sent him-with every item checked off-on the table.  He locks up when he leaves, the click of the lock audible in the silence around him.

When Michael wakes up the next morning, there is a notification of a deposit in his bank account-almost twice what they agreed on.  Michael tosses his phone aside with a sigh, it’s not like Alex can’t afford it, which is something Michael shouldn’t know, but he’s seen Alex’s bank statements.  He’ll deal with it later.

It’s dark by the time Michael works up the courage to go to Alex’s.  He rings the doorbell for the first time since this all started.  When Alex opens the door on crutches, prosthetic off, guilt twists in Michael’s stomach.  He shouldn’t get to see Alex like this-relaxed and vulnerable-anymore.  

“I have something for you.  Can you meet me out back?” Michael asks.

Alex just nods and shuts the door.  By the time Michael stops by the truck and makes it to the patio, Alex is waiting for him.   

Michael sets the firepit in the middle of the brick he laid.  “I made that for you,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Thought it would look nice out here.”

“Thanks,” Alex sounds confused by the gesture.  But he smiles as he studies the polished metal and the constellations Michael had punched out.  

“You overpaid me,” Michael blurts out.

“You did good work, and it’s still less than I would have paid Simmons,”  Alex explains.

“Yeah, well thanks.”  Michael turns to go.

“Michael,” Alex’s voice stops him.  “Did you get what you wanted out of this?”

“A paycheck and a good fuck? Yeah no complaints on either one.”  Not prepared to be put on the spot, Michael reverts to sarcasm.

Alex looks frustrated, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s going to let him walk away.  

“That’s not why you took this job.”

“What makes you say that?” Michael stays on the defensive.

“Maybe the third time you asked about my father.  Or maybe it was when you searched my house.”  Now Alex is the one relying on sarcasm.

Michael doesn’t say anything.  He should have had an excuse ready, should have been prepared, but he never expected Alex to confront him.

“I know who you are Michael,” Alex continues.  “Or should I say I know what you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael denies, but he knows his panic is showing.

“Come on,” Alex opens the french doors-the ones Michael installed-and gestures for Michael to follow.  “We should have this conversation inside.”

Michael wants to run, wants to get in his truck and drive as far away from Roswell as he can.  But if Alex really knows the truth, running won’t help.  He needs to find out exactly what Alex knows.

“Can you grab a few beers from the fridge,” Alex calls out from the living room.

“Sure,” Michael says faintly.  He takes it as a good sign.  Alex wouldn’t offer him a beer if he was planning to ship him off somewhere to be experimented on.

Once they are both seated,-Alex on the couch, Michael on the chair closest to the door-Alex looks at him and sighs.  “I know you and Max and Isobel Evans are aliens.  I’ve known since high school.”

“How,” Michael breathes, too shocked to hear someone-Alex-say it out loud to deny it.

“It’s a long story,” Alex picks up his beer bottle, fiddles with it then sets it back down.  “Before my mom left, she used to take us to the Reservation every weekend. She would go see this woman named Louise.  She was old, seemed ancient to me, was in a wheelchair and didn’t speak.  But she was a healer.  My brothers were always running around, playing with the other kids, but I wanted to stay with my mom so I spent a lot of time with Louise. She used to tell me stories, in my head.”

“In your head?” Michael says skeptically.

“Like I said she didn’t talk.  I asked my mom how she could do that and how she could help people because she wasn’t Native.  My mother told me her powers were special, that they didn’t come from the earth.”

“You think she was an alien?”  Michael tries to sound more skeptical than hopeful.

“Not then, but yes I believe she was an alien. The stories she told me were all about another planet, a war and people fleeing.  I used to think she was just telling her own version of Star Wars, but now,” Alex shrugs.

Michael wants to ask for detail, wants to know everything she told Alex in hopes of finding himself in the stories.  But he knows this isn’t the time so he remains silent.

“One day my mom was on the phone and she said ‘the children have come’ and then she told me Louise had died.  One story Louise told me more than once was about the three sleeping children who were destined to save her world and how her job was to be their guardian until they woke up.”

Shivers run down Michael’s spine.  It seems like too much to believe, but she had to have been talking about the three of them.

“My mom left soon after that, and I forgot about Louise and her stories.  My main focus was avoiding my father.  He was always cruel, but once he figured out I was gay he became more and more violent.  I used to hide out in this shed behind the house that my grandfather built.  When I was about fourteen or fifteen, I was looking for a place to hide stuff from my dad.  I pulled up one of the floorboards and found a skeleton.”

“There was a body buried under your family shed?”  Michael doesn’t understand what this has to do with him.

“It was my father’s uncle, Tripp.  My father always talked about what a hero he was, how he died fighting for his country.  But it turns out my grandfather killed him because he was in love with an alien.”

“Louise?”

“No, another woman named Nora.  There was a journal buried with them.  It said Tripp and my grandfather were at the original crash in 1947.  Tripp helped Nora and Louise escape along with three children held in some sort of stasis pods.  They hid in Roswell for a year, and Tripp and Nora fell in love.  They were going to take the children and run, but my grandfather found out and raided the farm they were staying on.  He captured Nora and shot Louise.  Tripp got Louise to the Reservation, but he couldn’t save Nora.”

“What happened to her?”  Michael was almost afraid to find out.  

“There was a prison built by the military after the crash for the survivors.  My grandfather ran it along with the Valentis.  She was taken there.  My grandfather suspected Tripp wasn’t loyal so he kept him away.  Because he and my father were close, Tripp tried to get him on his side before my grandfather corrupted him. Tripp was trying to convince my father that the aliens weren’t a threat and get his help in freeing Nora and the other prisoners.  My grandfather found out, and I assume that’s when he killed him.”

“I didn’t find the journal when I,” Michael gestures to the room.  He’s not sure he believes Alex.

“I don’t keep it in Roswell.  I have a safety deposit box my father can’t find.”

“Even if all that is true and great uncle Tripp wasn’t some sort of Grant Green crackpot, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Tripp said if they didn’t take the children out of the pods, they would open in fifty years.  Louise died fifty years after the crash.  It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

“And the pieces led you to me?”  Michael’s have a hard enough time connecting the dots in Alex’s story.�� He can’t see how Alex figured out the truth on his own.

“Not a first,” Alex shakes his head.  “You know I don’t think I even knew Max and Isobel were adopted.  But once I started investigating and found the article about the children found in the desert I recognized them.”

“So being adopted makes them aliens,” Michael snaps, crossing his arms.  His instinct is always to protect Max and Isobel.

Alex gives him a look that lets him know he realizes Michael is deflecting.  “Once I started paying attention, I saw how the lights flickered around Max, how Isobel always got her way.  You were a bit harder.  But I remembered you were in foster care, and I saw how close you were to Max and Isobel so I figured you might be the third child.  I followed you around for a while and saw you moving things without touching them.”

Michael’s breath speeds up as he realizes how easy it was for Alex to discover their secret.  The illusion of safety they’d clung to all these years was fading.  “Did you, did you tell anyone?”

“No, never” Alex reaches across the distance between them and briefly touches his hand.  “And once I figured out what my father was doing, I altered all the records on the three of you.  It would be virtually impossible to connect any of you to the three kids found in the desert.”

“So why did you hire me?  Why bring me into your house believing all this?”  Maybe Michael wasn’t the only one with an agenda.  What if Alex’s job was a trap all along?

“You may find this hard to believe, but you being an alien isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when I see you.  Maybe I’ve known long enough to forget most of the time,” Alex seemed unconcerned.  “Maria recommended you, and I figured if she trusted you, so could I.”

Michael shifts uncomfortably when Alex mentions trust.

“And like I said outside,” Alex continues, “I didn’t realize right away that you had other reasons for wanting this job.”

Michael realizes it’s his turn to explain.  “We’ve thought your father might know about us for a while, but we didn’t know how to find out without tipping him off.  When you came back to town, Isobel saw an opportunity.  It seemed safer to try and get information from you rather than your father.  Then she found out you needed someone to work on the house, and asked me to do it.”

“She asked you to seduce me,” Alex says flatly.

“Not like that,” Michael tells him hastily.  He doesn’t want Alex to think sex was part of the plan, but he knows how it must look.  “She just wanted me to get close to you, try and figure out what you knew.”

“And what did you find out,” Alex’s tone is cold.  Michael can feel him pulling away, can feel the doubts about every interaction creeping in.

“Nothing more than you told me,” Michael admits.  

He can see Alex running through their conversations in his head.  He looks at Michael then sighs, “I wasn’t joking when I told you my father’s secrets were dangerous.  But if anyone deserves to know them, it’s you.”

“Are you sure?”  Michael shouldn’t ask, getting Alex to tell him the truth about Jesse has always been the goal, but he can’t help but want Alex to have a choice.

“The prison I mentioned earlier became a family project,” Alex continues, ignoring Michael’s question.  “My father took it over from my grandfather.  It was as horrible as you can imagine-experiments, torture, isolation.  It’s a miracle any of the aliens survived at all let alone for as long as they did.  Working there was its own kind of evil.  It turned my father into the worst kind of zealot-one who truly believes what he’s doing is right, that he is standing between humanity and our destruction.  That prison consumed him.”

“Is it still there?” Michael’s afraid of the answer.  He longs to discover more of his species, but not if it means they’re still being imprisoned and tortured..

Alex shakes his head.  “Several years ago, the Air Force pulled the funding and told my father to end the project.  He didn’t, instead he funded it with his own money.  But eventually he was caught.  He should have been court martialed but the Air Force couldn’t risk a trial.  Instead they destroyed the prison with all the remaining prisoners, all records and research inside of it.”

Michael can feel the blood drain from his face.  It’s a horrible end to a horrible fate, and his last hopes of finding a family are destroyed with it.  “Are you sure?” he can’t help but ask.

“I've seen the footage.  When I got back to Roswell, I visited the site.  There were no survivors.  I’m sorry.”

Michael nods, lips pressed tightly together.  There is nothing left to say.

“They made my father watch, but they should have left him in the prison to burn along with it.  Let that be the legacy he always dreamed of,” Alex says bitterly.

Michael can’t help but laugh although it’s humorless.  

“So that’s it?”  Michael says.  One stroke of a bureaucrats pen, and his whole species is gone. The secret they uncovered is nothing more than a story now, all the players dead.  Michael wished he’d told Isobel no, that he’d never learned this truth.

“It should have been.  I think my father would have given up after everything was destroyed, but he knows there are other aliens in Roswell.”

“You said,” Michael stands up, fear propelling him to his feet.

“Not you, not Max or Isobel,” Alex reassures him, holding up his hand to keep Michael there.

“How?”  Michael asks, sitting back down.  “If there was another alien, wouldn’t we know?”

“I don’t know,” Alex admits.  “Nothing in all the records I’ve hacked indicated there were other survivors or how they could still be alive.  But no one knew about Louise either.  What I do know is over the last few years over a dozen people have been murdered-homeless people, vagrants, prostitutes.   All the bodies have a glowing handprint on them.”

“Shit,” Michael buries his face in his hands. “If you know there is an alien murderer out there, why risk letting me get close to you?”

“The handprint is too big to be yours or Isobel’s, and it doesn’t match Max’s,” Alex says matter of factly.  “My father and Jim Valenti covered up the murders for years.  Now he has my brother Flint helping, insisting the murders are part of a military investigation and claiming the bodies.  He won’t stop until he figures out who it is.”

“Liz Ortecho knows,” Michael blurts out.  “At least about Max which means she knows about Isobel, I don’t know how much he’s actually told her.  But she may have told Kyle Valenti who has been talking to your father.”

Alex’s face goes blank for a second.  “Well, that changes things. My plan was to find out who this alien is before my father does and figure out how to stop them without resorting to genocidal prisons.  But if he suspects any of you are aliens, he’ll assume you are involved in the murders, and I don’t know how quickly he will act.”

The theoretical danger of discovery Michael always feared was becoming very real.  “I can’t let him hurt Max or Isobel.”

“He won’t,” Alex says with certainty.  “I know what kind of monster my father is and exactly what he is capable of.  I won’t let him hurt anyone else, including you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Michael shakes his head.

“This is what I’ve been working toward for years. It’s why I joined the Air Force.  Not because I ever wanted to be in the military, but because I wanted to learn how to defeat him, how to take everything from him without him ever seeing me coming.  I’ve kept your identity from him for years, that’s not going to change.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”  Michael won’t trust his family’s safety to anyone else.  He’s been alone his whole life, he doesn't know how to rely on someone else to watch out for him.  

“You’re not asking.  I’m doing this for me.  I’m going to take my father down, and I’ll protect your secret while I do it.  You don’t owe me anything.  You don’t need to pretend,” Alex gestures between them.

“Alex,” Michael gets up and moves to sit next to him on the couch.  Alex flinches, but waves Michael to the cushion next to him.  “What happened between us wasn’t part of any plan.  I wanted everything we did together, I wanted you.”

“And now?” Alex asks cautiously.

“I don’t know,” Michael looks down at his hands.  “Even though what I felt was-is-real, it was built on a lie.  I came here under false pretenses, I tried to manipulate you.  I searched your house,” Michael forces himself to look back up.  “And because of that, I know things about you-things that helped me fall in love with you-that aren’t mine to know.  Maybe things you would never want me to know, but I do.  How do we move past that?”

“I’ve been hiding my whole life,” Alex says quietly.  “From my father, my brothers, my friends, everyone I ever served with.  When enough of the people who are supposed to love and support you turn away, you have to believe the problem is you.”

“Alex,” Michael can’t help but interrupt, taking his hand.  He knows that kind of pain and doubt.  It had taken years of Max and Isobel refusing to be pushed away, and building relationships with people like Sanders and Maria for Michael to realize he could be loved.  “It’s not you.”

“Maybe not, but that’s how I’ve lived my life.  Keeping anything I valued, anything that made me different hidden.  I’d like to think I would have learned to share those parts of me with you, but I don’t know how long it would have taken.  It’s comforting to realize you know most of my secrets, and you haven’t run away.  I’ve always been too afraid of letting someone know me to have a relationship.  But I’m not afraid to be with you.”

Michael lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  He was prepared for anger, for Alex to say the betrayal was too big to come back from.  Alex’s acceptance feels unearned, but Michael is grateful they still have a chance.

Because Alex still looks nervous and uncertain, Michael squeezes his hand and leans forward for a kiss.  Alex meets his lips eagerly, his free hand coming up to tangle in Michael’s hair.  It’s easy to get lost in the kiss, to push forward for more.  But Alex pulls back, stroking Michael’s hair a few times before dropping his hand.

“You’re not the only one with an advantage,” Alex says.  When Michael just looks at him, he continues.  “Have you ever told anyone that you are an alien?”

“No,”  Michael’s blood runs cold just thinking about it.  It’s the number one rule drilled into his head-by Max, by his own fear of the consequences-no one can know.  No matter how much he’d cared about Maria, he never considered telling her, never wanted to.

“I didn’t think so.  And you didn’t choose to tell me either.  And I can tell you again and again that you can trust me with this secret, that I won’t use it against you, but you are the one who has to be willing to believe me.”

Michael should be scared, but he’s not.  Alex has known for over a decade.  If Alex wanted to turn him in or hurt him, he’d had years to do it.  But that brings up other questions.  “Is that why you’re with me?”

“I don’t have ‘fuck an alien’ on my bucket list if that is what you are asking.”  They both laugh.  

“I don’t know what I’m asking,” Michael admits.  “I’ve never been with anyone who knows what I am so I guess I’m wondering how it affects your feelings for me.”

“I don’t think it does.  I won’t say it doesn’t matter because it’s part of who you are, and you matter.  You being an alien isn’t something we can just ignore, but it’s not what I think of first when I think of you.  It matters in that it’s one of the things that makes you the man I’m attracted to, the man I’m falling in love with.”

“I like the sound of that,” Michael admits.  “You falling in love with me.”

This time it’s Alex who makes the first move, pulling Michael into the circle of his arms.  He kisses Michael’s forehead and wraps his arm around him.  Michael turns to nuzzle into his neck then surprises them both by yawning.

“Sorry,” Michael apologizes and rubs his eyes.  “Now what?”

Alex looks at the table where their untouched beers are sweating into the coasters beneath them.  “How about we get some fresh beers and sit by the firepit you built me.  We can forget all this serious stuff for the night and talk about normal things.”

“Normal things?”  Michael asks with a laugh.

“I don’t know,” Alex shrugs.  “Music, movies, work.  I’m sure you have a million questions about what I told you, and I have questions to, but”

“We aren’t going to solve the problem of your father or how whatever Liz and Kyle might know complicates that in one night,” Michael finishes.

“And we deserve a night to be together without secrets or hidden agendas.  To start figuring out who we are together,” Alex adds.

“That sounds nice,” Michael admits.  “But I don’t know how much I have in me.”  He yawns again.

“So we’ll talk for a bit then see if that fancy shower you built me really is big enough for two, and you can stay here if you want.”

Michael definitely wants, and the way he kisses Alex leaves no doubt to his interest.  “And tomorrow?” he asks almost breathlessly once the kiss ends.

“Tomorrow, we figure out how to destroy my father,” Alex holds out his hand, “together.”

Michael laces their fingers together.  “Together sounds perfect.”

[saber-slutt]

Writing practice: Obi-wan confessions - pt 2

☆ Idk guys sometimes I lie and say I’m gonna post smut next but then I don’t because I’m like “hm I should split this up into the lead-in and actual smut”

☆ anyways enjoy! WARNINGS: None, this time. I’m like 99% it’s Gn!reader

☆ it’s writing practice so this SUCKS but that’s why we practice

☆link to pt 1 (if u want it’s not necessary at all to read) https://www.tumblr.com/saber-slutt/721080873884221440/writing-practice-obi-wan-confessions-pt-1

You dropped your kettle as the words left his mouth. He was waiting for you to say something. Neither of you knew what exactly. He sat cross-legged on your bed facing you, while you stood across your dorm at your mini stove. Obi-wan kept staring right at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. After what seemed to be an eternity of strained silence, you found a singular word, “What?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Obi-wan breathed out, clasping and rubbing his hands around his mouth.

“Seriously, what?” you replied. Your stomach dropped. You couldn’t understand, let alone believe what you were hearing. Love? Love? He was being insane.

“Satine and I had a disagreement, and-”

“You came here to tell me you love me?” you said quizzically. A part of you was reeling now. Your heart raced, and you felt a tiny bit nauseous. This part of you had always wanted to hear these words, since the day you met him. But, another part of you was pissed. Obviously, he was upset from his fight with Satine, and was grasping at straws to make himself feel better, and that the fight was okay because he was ‘actually in love with you’. Love. He was playing with your feelings. And you didn’t know which was worse, that he did not notice or he did not care. “Obi-wan, you need to leave. I get that you're upset, but you don’t know what you're talking about. This fight’ll blow over, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow,”

“Please, hear me out.”

“No, not right now. Not tonight,” you said, gesturing to the door.

“We fought because of you!”

You choked, “What?!”

Obi-wan looked at you, deeply, before gesturing you to sit beside him. You did so, tentatively. He began, “That came out wrong. I was talking about you, with her, and she claimed that I can’t go a measly night without mentioning you. It evolved from there, I’ll spare you the details, but it ended with her suggesting that if I need you so much, I should be here with you. Permanently.”

“Oh.”

“She meant it spitefully, but she’s right,” he said, moving his hand to hold yours on top of your thigh.

Your heart zoomed and your hands were clammy. You stammered for a moment, “Sorry, I’m just trying to, you know, understand what’s going on.”

“That’s okay.”

“But, we’re, y’know, Jedi,” while it was true you were worried about that fact, you were more scared that this was actually happening, that he might feel the same as you knew deep down you did. “We can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“I believe I’m my best self when we’re together. And that makes me a good Jedi,” he reasoned.

“Even so, you were just in love with Satine. How do I know you actually like me, and I’m not some rebound you want to use to deal with heartbreak?”

Obi-wan sighed, “I would never use you. I think I liked her because of our past, and the memory, but it truly wasn’t the same. When I found out that you liked me, it almost killed me not to say anything. I also wanted to protect you, we both know what would happen if the Council found out we were in a relationship. So I went to Satine. In a way, if I was with Satine, I thought it would sate the feelings I had for you.”

“And you just figured this all out?” you whispered.

“More like came to terms with it.”

“Wait, so, you knew I liked you? How? I didn’t show it, did I??”

Obi-wan laughed breathlessly, “No, darling. Anakin heavily hinted at it.”

“I am going to kill him! He said he wouldn’t say anything!” you groaned.

Obi-wan scoffed, “Yeah, king-of-subtlety Anakin Skywalker hid it very well.”

“I hate him,” you giggled.

“I don’t,” Obi-wan moved to hold you cheek, and leaned in for a kiss.

[greenbottle-kisser]

Happy Halloween have this fic I wrote a while back about vampirism.

Don’t look at me. Anyways this is about bloodsucking this is your one blood warning.

Vampirism

What the hell is wrong with me? This is about neck biting expect blood.

“What the hell did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do nuthin’!”

Paintmy rubbed his face, only daring to peek through his fingers to look back at Murfy’s newest mess. Dark claws had grown out of his hands, bright red slits replaced his pupils, and, most importantly, his grin was sporting a brand new set of big, sharp, scary looking chompers. Paintmy had no time to be scared, though. Only irritated.

“Oh it’s nuthin’ you fucking clown?” He repeated, exaggerating the greenbottle’s northern accent to add to the angry mockery. “Nuthin’ my fat ass, look at you! Your dipshit self got turned into a meat-hungry beast! How are you gonna survive this without starving, or eating someone you’re gonna regret!?”

“Easy,” Murfy mumbled, trying to keep the tone light, “just eat everyone I don’t like.”

“HEY-”

“I’m joking! I’m joking, geez, you’re really high strung about it, sweetcheeks.” He rolled his eyes, but flashed another smile, a hand on Paintmy’s shoulder. “But I do have a plan! It’s actually what I’m here for.” The larger fae stood silent, processing what the hell Murfy meant. Eyes darting between his face and the hand, it finally clicked in the fairy’s mind, and he gasped.

“You’re gonna turn me into filet mignon!?”

“No!” Murfy exclaimed incredulously.

“You’re gonna turn me into filet mignon!!!” Paintmy backed away from the fly’s grasp as he continued, heartbroken, if also a tad over dramatic. “I’m gonna become a steak on your plate, and you’re gonna break Stitchy’s heart!!! Are you even going to cook me properly!? Are you gonna leave me RAW you cretin!?”

“I ain’t eating ya, this isn’t that kind of fanfic!” Murfy finally covered Paintmy’s mouth, taking a breath as the oil paint fae finally quieted down. He continued: “It’s not much, but a bit of that red gold wouldn’t leave me starvin’ either. Just let me suck some of your blood, alright?” He finally moved his clawed hand away, dragging it to his partner’s cheek. “I promise you, cross my heart, or stake it? Cross it. I’m not gonna kill ya, or eat ya, or anything of the sorts. You’ll be feeling a little woozy, but I’ll help you out after. That sounds like a plan?”

Paintmy looked at the floor, at the curl on his forehead, at the hand, everywhere and anything as he thought over the suggestion. Can people survive getting bloodsucked? How much is he taking? Are his teeth like… straws? It might hurt, but maybe it wouldn’t be that different to the other circumstances where Murfy had found a need to bite him. The fairy’s face heated up at the thought, but he gulped it down and nodded.

“Great!” Murfy beamed, giving Paintmy a final look of the teeth going to his jugular before the greenbottle flew behind him. “You’re the best, Paints.” Palms a little sweaty, the fly carefully unbuttoned the neck of the fairy’s apron, revealing the skin of his neck, unblemished and unbroken. He has seen more than just Paintmy’s bare neck, but the circumstances had made him incredibly nervous. He knew he had to be careful, otherwise it could mean disaster. He needed to steel his resolve, he already promised he wouldn’t kill Paints! Holding the top of the apron to the side with his left hand, he planted his right hand just under the taller fae’s shoulder, and carefully sunk his brand new canines in.

Paintmy hissed when the points pressed against his skin, flinching hard as they began breaking skin. He tried to close the space between his neck and shoulder, but Murfy squeezed onto his shoulder harder to force it in place. When he growled, the fly found himself hesitating again, relenting on the burning pressure on the taller fairy’s jugular just a bit to whisper an apology. Paintmy only shook his head.

“Just finish the job, man.”

Murfy didn’t go slow. Wanting to get the painful part over with, he bit down hard, hard enough to finally puncture right into an artery, and let blood seep through to the surface. As soon as he tasted metal, he let go, instead closing his lips around the wound to begin drinking; he groaned as soon as he could feel it pooling in his mouth, a gnawing thirst he had been ignoring finally satiated. The fly would’ve never thought he’d find blood as refreshing as water, but at the moment he was lapping every drop coming out of Paintmy’s neck like it was precious ambrosia.

The initial searing pain had left Paintmy holding back tears, only releasing them when the cooling relief of a wet tongue ran through the wounds. The fae found himself sighing, any alarm over being injured being drowned out by the more familiar and welcome feeling of Murfy sucking on his neck, his teeth barely in the picture anymore. He concentrated on it, even reveled in it, feeling in heaven as the greenbottle left a love bite right over the regular bite, bruised and red and adored. When he pulled away, only to leave a kiss as an apology, Paintmy moaned at the separation. He wanted more, more of Murfy’s mouth, but he knew it would leave him more light headed than he already was, for better or worse. Murfy leaned back in joy, happily rubbing the sides of his mouth clean of any escaped blood.

“Ahh,” He sighs, a big toothy smile on his face, “that hit the spot! I felt like I was gonna wither away, and I was even eating raw meat, man! Thanks a bunch, toots.” He tried to lock eyes with Paintmy, but the fairy quickly turned away to hide his reddening face, not daring to say a word, just in case it came out too needy. He settles for a shaky thumbs up. Murfy grins more mischievously, speaking in a hushed tone. “This doesn’t gotta be the last time. And it doesn’t just gotta be yer pretty neck.” The fairy couldn’t anymore, practically gasping out his soul in embarrassment. Murfy could only cackle at his partner acting so timidly out of nowhere, leaving another kiss on his cheek.

“However,” he began to muse, “I hope vampirism doesn’t spread through biting. I’m still not sure if vamps can feed off each other.”

…

“WHAT-”

[wastefulreverie]

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," Maddie admitted.

Lancer sighed. "Me neither. That's what I was hoping you could explain." What she'd seen on the screen was impossible.

"The cameras must have glitched. With all the ectoplasm in the air, it must have fried the wiring or something. It wouldn't be the first time."

Even that explanation was grasping at straws, but it was all she could fathom.

"Dr. Fenton, they're your cameras. The ghost-proof ones you designed and installed."

Drat.

He was right. These were the cameras she and Jack had created after the old Casper High cameras died.

She was all out of answers.

"Have you talked to him yet?"

Lancer paled. "I thought it was best I consult you first, given the known risk of overshadowing. But even that doesn't seem right."

It didn't. When a ghost overshadowed its host, it had limited use of the ghost's powers. Nothing that could change the nature or form of the person it was inhabiting.

Hand shaking, Maddie reached for the mouse again and reset the video. She needed to see this again to understand more.

The camera looked down on one of the main hallways of Casper High. It was vacant save for her son Danny and his friend Tucker. Both were standing against a row of lockers, talking. Tucker was waving around one of his devices and Danny looked a little more than disinterested. Even though there was no sounds, Maddie didn't have to guess that this was another one of his new tech toys.

And then a girl with black hair and a checkered skirt entered the frame—Sam Manson. She wore a purple backpack with four arms on either side like a spider and boots that stopped just below her knee. She pulled something from her backpack as she approached and threw it in the direction of the boys.

Danny reacted faster than Maddie would have thought possible. Rather than stepping out of the line of fire, his body stretched and morphed before her eyes. His torso rippled, clothes moving with it, and there was a gaping hole where his chest and left shoulder should be. Whatever Sam had thrown—a small book—hit the locker behind him and fell to the floor.

Beside him Tucker jumped in terror. Not because of Danny's body turning in on itself, but from the sound of the book hitting the wall. Tucker then said something that as Maddie tried to read his lips, she couldn't sound out.

Then, Danny seemed to let go of his transformation. His body rippled once more and his torso was as it should be. He said something to Sam, who clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

The video clip ended there.

None of it made sense.

She turned back to Lancer. "What happened after this?"

"The three of them talked for a few minutes at your son's locker. Then they walked off. I followed them through the other cameras we have, but there was nothing out of the ordinary until they left the building."

"Sam and Tucker didn't even react. I wouldn't call that 'out of the ordinary.' Whatever happened there they know what it is."

Lancer's brow furrowed. "So you think it's best to speak with Ms. Manson and Mr. Foley first?"

"Could we do that?"

"I can call them from their classes now, if that's what you think the best course of action is."

"No." She shook her head. "I want to talk to them eventually, but first I think I should concur with my husband about this. Could you email this to me?"

"Dr. Fenton, I really don't think it would do either of us any good to create copies of this footage. If this got into the hands of a third-party like the GIW, we might not be able to protect your son."

"I suppose that's true." She bit her lip. That posed a problem because Jack was home with a ghost bug and couldn't leave quarantine. "Alright. Call in Sam and Tucker. I want to hear them out."

Lancer left her in his office alone. Minutes later, her son's friends names were called over the intercom.

Now all she had to do was wait.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(another section from the forever unpublished raising harry AU)

Every day seemed to start the same.

With breakfast, which wasn’t the worst way to start, and it seemed that having a teenager in the house with him was exactly what Sirius needed to remember to leave his bedroom and make breakfast at all. 

Harry woke up early, to Sirius’s surprise, despite what the books he had been gradually combing through said about circadian rhythm and teenagers. Every morning without fail, Sirius would get up and start preparing breakfast, only to have Harry walk through the kitchen, dressed in his oversized, worse-for-wear clothes, shortly after. 

And every day, Sirius would ask do you want to do something?

It became a sort of script, a routine in itself because Harry always shook his head, or if Sirius was lucky the words “no thank you” would appear and dance around the kitchen for the moment.

Sirius had memories of when Harry was a baby, always making noise, always babbling. How Sirius would hold him as he slept, and even then, Harry would let out contented sighs to let Sirius know he was there, alive, happy. Only now, when Harry had more words, Sirius scarcely heard them. 

Then again, Sirius didn’t talk as much as he used to either, his mind running wild with uncertainty wanting to say the right thing, and do the right thing, and asking too many questions that it occurred to Sirius briefly Harry might not know how to answer, only to realize he hadn’t actually spoken any of these thoughts out loud.

Two minds.

One kitchen table.

Not a minute of conversation. 

--

“We can do anything you like, you know.”

“I know, I’m okay, I promise.”

-

“We could go down to the seaside, the water should be the perfect temperature.”

“I don’t have trunks, I don’t think…but I’m alright here.”

-

“You don’t have to just read or stay in your room, Harry. The deck is nice.”

“I’m okay, Sirius, you don’t need to worry about me.”

-

Pulling teeth.

Grasping straws.

Emptying out his pockets, shaking his satchel upside down watching as crumpled receipts and loose coins and hard candies and an extra scarf made its way into the bin, and nothing was left at the bottom. Harry wouldn’t sit outside with Sirius, preferring to flip through magazines or read quietly in the sitting room, occasionally getting up and leaving after Sirius sat down. Harry would make himself scarce, as if trying to disappear in a home that was carved expressly for him. Meals, seemed to be the only time they had with one another, and those went by quickly, Sirius noticing how fast Harry ate his food, how he seemed to guard it with one of his arms, in comparison to Sirius, who ate painfully slow these days. A bite at a time. 

Andy,

I might be rubbish at this whole godfather thing. Does the invitation for dinner still stand?

Sirius.

Sirius,

Less than a week? I’m impressed you snuffed it up with Harry that quickly. Some things never change, love.

The invitation is always there--does Harry like roast chicken? Come for the afternoon. 

Andy

“How do you feel about roast chicken?” Sirius asked as he put down his fork, swallowing a bite of his dinner. Harry picked his head up in mild confusion, looking at his plate that was not full of chicken, and it wasn’t the time of day to be asking about food preferences.

“Er, I like it?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

“An answer. I’m…this is really good, Sirius. I don’t need a special meal or anything,” Harry assured him, picking up another forkful of rice and putting it into his mouth as if to make a point; prove to Sirius that he meant what he said.

“My cousin wrote me this afternoon. Would you mind if we went to her house for dinner tomorrow night? Maybe for the day?”

“You have a cousin?”

Sirius nodded, smiling, “I have a lot of cousins, this one just happens to be the only decent one. Her names Andromeda.”

“Where…where does she live?”

“London, with her husband. She has a daughter but she’s moved out in her own flat. She might come along for dinner.”

Harrys eyebrows were still knitted together, “Does….she…does she know I’m with you?”

It was almost too similar, the innocuous question. Because Sirius had asked the same one countless times of the Potters when he was sixteen and then seventeen, even into eighteen, and they would be invited over to friends homes or dinners hosted by Potions lab associations for Mr. Potter. Because Sirius was never sure when they received an invitation if it was for three, or four.

It’s alright  if they didn’t know, I can stay here I promise, Mrs. Potter.

“Harry, I wrote her to tell her I had a godson before I even had a house to live in,” he said slowly, “She very much knows and is very happy to have you over.”

“You told people?”

Sirius laughed softly, “When your Dad told me your Mum was pregnant, we went up and down the streets of Diagon Alley and told everyone we passed. Muggle cafes, shops--she wanted to be the one to tell all our friends she was pregnant and actually made James and I wait outside in the hall while she did it. He was terrible at keeping secrets, and I was so excited.”

“Really?”

“Still am excited.”

“...You didn’t walk down the streets telling people again, did you?”

“No, but I could. Would you like that?”

Harry smiled a little looking down at his plate, “No, that’s okay. I’m…alright without all of that.”

“Dinner though? She is a far better cook than I am.

“You’re brilliant.”

“So you can imagine what her chicken will taste like.”

“We can go,” Harry nodded. “What’s…she like?”

“The funniest person you will ever meet,” Sirius picked up a bite of chicken on his plate, “I can bore you with some decent stories from my childhood…”

“I’ve had so much excitement, I think I could stand being bored…” Harry responded and Sirius laughed. “...Will…can I hear one?”

[cigvrettedvet]

harley & brady.

              beyond fucked up. “welcome to my life,” she responded, shrugging her shoulders. her and her family could be described that way… beyond fucked up. she wasn’t sure which sister was worse. she should’ve warned harley to stay away, or not put herself in this situation. brady should’ve grown up a bit since the two of them were together, but she hadn’t. selfishly, she enjoyed this… the sort of attention that she only wanted from one person. but having to keep it hidden? it wasn’t fair to the brunette. and yet… “well, i’m talking now. see? therapy. totally helps,” she responded, almost trying to make a joke out of the situation. to not have to take anything they were talking about seriously. chewing on the inside of her cheek, the blonde was trying to figure out how to get herself out of talking about the truth. push her buttons more. make her hate her again. “look, you should totally just forget i said anything. it’s not like it changes anything, right? like… there’s probably a bunch of gay chicks around here that’ll, like, totally dig you. but i’ve got my sorority sisters, and i’m pretty sure i’m going to have to start doing stuff for my parents when i graduate. like, be in the public eye, or whatever.”

              her head cants to the side, a weak chuckle leaving her lips at brady’s attempt of a joke. if she wasn’t so sad, maybe she might have been able to appreciate it more. but the fact that brady was being honest with her for the first time in years meant everything to harley. she wanted more of this brady, the one she had fallen for back in school. “how do you expect me to forget that?” harley’s eyes widen from disbelief. “i can’t. and i don’t want them, i want you.” maybe harley’s a sucker for punishment since brady was essentially offering her a way out. a chance to be free and not be a dirty little secret all over again. “and i think you want me too. otherwise you wouldn’t be here, still talking to me.” harley’s grasping at straws at this point, doing everything to make brady choose her. it was a lot to ask for but harley’s feelings for brady had yet to go away, even if she thought they had.

[muffindaddystyles]

18, 19, and 40 please?🥺 maybe some smut if possible💕

19. “Take a breath honey, yes princess just like that.”

18. “Squeeze my hand if you could hear me baby.”

40. “I love you, pet. So much of it, come back, please??”

A/N: Girliessss, theysss and themsss. Sorry for being inactive :(( Missed you all so much!! Here's a blurb from mafia!h x soft subby.

Y/N had never been this bratty. She had her occasional time-outs where Harry refused to touch her for days till she broke through her ice and begged him with a drool-y sweet mouth and honeyed puppy eyes.

She knows the drill and loves the adrenaline that seeps to her toes when Harry glowers at her across the room with bolting dark intensity -- his hook of thumb in a demand to have her in his lap is enough to excite her, the punishments makes her insides shrill and makes her fall in love with her daddy more and the best part of all of it's that she wants to cherish again and again’s how adorably caring he’s once fucking her raw.

At the moment though. She isn’t being a brat on purpose. They came for a dinner (with one of the Harry's business people) and it’s all business talk, rich dicks everywhere, hush hush voices that Y/N despises and the piqued ogle of the wife on her that makes her squirmy in her seat.

She zones out into her own lil bubble for a second, imagining herself back in their cosy home comfy in Harry’s humungous overly worn hoodie, snuggling him and smooching him, pecking all those softish spots where he has runs his fingers through the night and she wants to have a delicious pizza all to herself because the food here’s the amount of worm and leaf of spinach on a worm.

She didn’t even realise that she was slipping into her subby state until she was getting all fussy about her surrounds and plucked her lipstick out smudging the crimson tip against a tissue and slides it atop Harry’s thigh from under the table,

Daddy, home?

His flicker of gaze alters from the little needy note towards his girl who’s being choosy in eating her veggies and rolling them around in boredom.

Her head perks up cutesly at the feeling of his attention on her and he suckles his wine layered lip upon the sight of her doe-blown out pupils and glossy eyes indicating him like a train's horn that she’s submerging into her submissiveness at dangerous rate when she goes all squeamish and pink cheeks at the mere touch of his knuckles against her elbow.

“Daddy, please.” She whispers into his ear impatiently squeezing his knee. About to write another note to him to stay persistent but her lipstick breaks and she flinches when it rolls under the lady’s shoe leaving a bright stain on floor.

“Behave.” Was all he muttered gruffly before throwing a nonchalant dismissive glance her way and that was the last straw for her.

It’s been hours!! All she wanted was to get home and cuddle! Is that too much too ask!?

That’s why she acted like a grump and didn’t even bid them goodbyes, waited at the lobby for him eagerly and couldn’t help but to sway with her hands clasped back and grin at the greedy thought that once he steps outside she will leap on him like an affection starved kitten.

Her wish remains a wish nevertheless when Harry passes by her with a stoic face and snaps his fingers at her, the single gesture’s enough to bead tension on her forehead.

“In the car. Right now.” He glares her sternly plucking his black leather glove to reveal his jewelled pretty hand as he reaches for the handle of the backseat door.

Y/N has decided that today she’s gonna hold her grounds and be as naughty as she possibly could to get her kisses of the day.

Sheepishly she slips inside and gives him a toothy smile whilst trying to scramble up towards to reach within the sweet distance for his lips.

The trinkets of her shiny dress makes a noise as Harry splays his calloused palm up her silken thigh, glides it all the way up her hip and keeps his grip on her to stop her from moving.

“What?” She pouts knocking her nose against his's in attempt to plant her lips atop his’s, all grabby hands for him, “You’re not havin’ any of me kisses.” He tuts, eyes dark and murky.

“But why!!?” She whines trying to cup his cheeks and just squish them awful good but he gives her a pointed look and doubles back, away from her.

“You know why, little one.” At that she gives him a nasty narrow squint of her peepers and mutters grouchily, “I hate you.”

“What did ye' just say?” He pushes her closer with one tug that elicits tiny gasp from her, his lip thin in annoyance, “I said I hate you!” She huffs crossing her arms and it makes her breast appear more plump.

In all reality, she’s too stubborn to tell him that she’s feeling terribly needy.

“Say tha’ again, I dare you.” Harry demands with tinge of surprise in his growl and she hisses in frustration adjusting the loose heavy shoulder of her dress, “I said, I hate you and this dress, ‘s so itchy. just w’na go home —-,” Her blabbing fades into a squeaky gasp upon the sharp sting of Harry’s hand against her bottom.

“What happened Sugar? Did cat caught ye’ tongue?” He grits wrapping his warm hand around her throat wanting to choke the battiness out of her, but rather it turns her into a melty puddle of a softie.

“Over my lap.” He says firmly.

“No.”

He doesn’t give her time and positions her himself horizontally on his thighs, elbows pressed into seat and raises her bum with the support of his knee, pinching her cheek teasingly to warn her.

He tries not to coo as she looks ethereal in the glittery dress that's now bunched in Harry’s fist atop her spine to expose her itty bittys and she mewls prettily when Harry spanks her asscheek watching it jiggle then does it again and again, on her last count she’s dripping down her thighs stickily.

“What a filthy little brat,” He groans adam apple bobbing from the vigour of heat spreading in his body as he inspects her wet holes with middle finger making her squirmy and whiny from his feathery touches, “Proper soaked just from gettin' spanked.” He traces the lace delicates of her panties and presses his thumb against her bundle of nerves to feel the throb from his touch.

He pulls her back up and squishes her cheeks to pucker her rosy lips, pecks it heartily, “Knows why you’re gettin’ punished baby?” His tone gentler now. Realising that she shouldn’t slip too deep before they reach home.

She snuggles into the crook of his neck and hums, guiding his hand to her sore bum to make him rub the burn he left on her ass.

“Uhmm. ‘cos didn’t behave nice, acted bad ...” Her voice slurry from desire and yearn. If it wouldn’t be for his grasp on her waist she’d have gotten off on his meaty thigh long gone, “And?” He arches his brow sceptically drawing soothing circles on her flesh.

“And that I said, I hate daddy ‘n the dress he gifted me ....” His heart thumps a bit from the statement but the rational part in him assures him that she was just bumbled about him being too distant from her.

“And what do bad girls get?”

“Punished.” She mumbles into his throat and he nods, kisses her hair and cups the nape of her neck to give it a tender squeeze.

How much she acts like a spoiled brat sometimes; he still always makes sure she’s in her comfort zone and knows why she’s getting treated that way.

“I love you, baby sweets. But .... it doesn’t mean you’d not get your punishment.” She was about to protest and throw a tantrum but the car comes to an halt right infront of the large dark doors of mansion.

Tranquil air fills with her giggly shrieks when Harry gets outside and throws her over his shoulder with an ease, his grin wicked as she squeals out “No's" grabbing onto one of the door-frames in the hallway but it’s all vain since he’s way stronger than her little grip.

Once in their room, he’s flipping her into heaps of pillows and catches her calf when she tries to crawl away in hurry.

Her eyes widen and she looks down with a pout upon hearing the rip of her dress, “Liked it.” She mummers sadly.

“Thought it was too itchy,” Harry shrugs pushing her up towards the bedhead and ducks down to speck soft kisses against her collarbones, mouth foaming at the sight of her tits spilling out of her lingerie.

“No! Was just —.. fuck ...” She keens out a moan bucking her core to grind against his thigh when he nooks his knuckle between her sloppy pussy lips and twists her panties pushing them up scruffily into her mound feeling the flutter of her clitoris, the sheer fabric of it giving the right amount of friction to get her to an orgasm.

Her wet gasps and moans fogs into Harry’s mouth as he kisses her with unyielding roughness, hot bubbles popping in her belly ready to spread the nice feeling inside her, holding her down when he knows what he’s gonna do next will turn her into batshit crazy.

He pulls back. Both. His hand and his mouth away from her.

She blinks, with a lazy smile first then the realization dawns upon her and she’s grappling for his sides but he takes her wrists and pins them down.

“Daddy no!” She growls a whine and he just sits on his heels and admires the mess he created out of her, flustered and sheened in sweat, all soft and pudging to litter her skin with marks and bites, his cock warming up in his pants, “Please daddy I want you.” The whites of her eyes enviable and glassy from the frustrated tears that are collecting at her waterline.

Though, Harry stays adamant because those innocent coy eyes are her best weapon and ties her wrists to the bedpost without saying a word to her.

“You brought this on y'self, baby.” He tugs the bound to make sure it’s not too tight and moves back to get rid of his pants, his prick bloated and throbbing from ridges, slaps against his lower belly it’s head coated with precum.

“Now you’re g'na watch me jerk myself off and cover ye' pretty tummy with my cum, might lick it off from you.” She shivers at his words. Toes curling as she silently pleads with a parted mouth and barely open eyelids.

His nostrils flares, howling groan slipping through his lips as he spits in his palm and wraps it around his fat girth slicking his fist up and all the way down to give some relief to his balls.

He dips down and sucks onto her lower lip, “Knows your safe word right?” He asks shoulders jolting when he slops the bulbous crown of his prick against her clit in slow circles.

“Yes, yellow.” She breathes out delicately hoping he slips into her soon but Harry has other plans as he squeezes himself more, swiping the dollops of white thickness from the crown of his prick and brings his thumb to stuff her mouth shut with that.

“What a greedy kitten.” He tuts in mock when she eagerly swirls her tongue around his thumb creating soft sucking noises, she gags around his digit, eyeballs rolling to her skull when Harry slides her damp panties away and strokes his cock against her drippy hole.

“Hmm. Feels good.” He husks pushing into her, but not stuffing her full and that makes her whimper. She glides her feet around his spine to push him into her and her squishy sloppy walls tries to swallow him whole.

Everything just feels too hot and overwhelming. Him fondling his shaft from where he isn’t soaked into her warmth and her tiny whines and whimpers as he teases and edges her.

“Daddy ‘m sorry!” She squeaks out breathlessly clamping down onto him, “I bet you’re.” He moans out, that one sweaty curl dangling and tickling her forehead.

“That’s the most prettiest sound I’ve heard.” At his praise she just turns into a puddle and wiggles for more.

“You’re g'na make me cum.” He kisses his teeth and she digs her feet into his back not knowing if she’s allowed to come too and not having a voice to ask for his permission.

She gulps. Eyelids fluttering. Her cheeks blushy and peachy, listening to his deep moans that whirls within the pit of his chest as he fills her pussy with warm ribbons of cum that sticks to her already soppy walls and then pulls out to empty himself on her tummy as he promised.

Moments later the room echoes with her treacly yearning whimpers and blubbers of Harry’s name as he licks her juices off and the his own cum that oozes out of her whenever he pushes his middle finger inside her cunt.

..

“No!” That’s why they’ve discussed it before hand, her safe word. Harry knows his baby girl and that she gives up too early, gets too overwhelmed before she could actually enjoy the good part all of it although she has a potential to be more bearing than that.

They’ve lost the count of her orgasms.

The overestimation thingy.

Harry thinks it could be the best punishment for her.

She cramps her thighs around his wrist to make him stop but he spreads them wider apart, “You could gimme another one princess, knows y’could.” He curls his fingers to caress that spongey button inside her that makes her writhe like a leaf and it definitely did.

“Shit.” Eventually she gives into him basking in the pleasure of it -- sinking down on his fingers and grinds her clit against his knuckles, her cum from her previous orgasms glistening on his skin.

“Fuck already squirting.” She didn’t realize that, too floaty in her subspace and the ecstasy until she feels his fingers rubbing inside her again.

“Daddy no, no, no ... too sensitive!” She cries out cramming her legs around his waist and pushes his chest away with her knees but Harry keeps pummelling them deeper, scissoring them and adding two more, her thighs shakes terribly a burn spreads in her limbs as the sensational craving envelopes her once again.

“Yes, yes, yes. Don’t stop, please!” She shouts out whimperishly making Harry smile and he smooches a kiss to her forehead, pressing his chest flushed to hers and cradles her jaw to make her look at him, “Cum fo’ me. You’re me good fuckin' girl – g'na come right?” She bobs her head quickly fresh tears gliding down her cheeks and Harry wipes them away immediately.

She’s flying high like a kite. Wanting him all. His hands. His touch. His cock. His cum anything she could get out of him.

His love. His attention. His constant assurances and praises, affection, tenderness and his kisses and loads ‘n loads of tiny kisses She’s always needy for that.

“’M your good girl!” She sobs out in high pitch grappling onto restraints and Harry feels this dire urge to protect his little one at all costs, “Yes you’re.” He coos brushing her hair away from her eyes and let her hide her face into his neck as she turns stiff like an arrow and creampies around his fingers, lips smushed against his cheek.

“Take a breath, honey. Yes princess just like that.” He massages her shoulder and pecks it to calm her down upon feeling her heartbeat go wild after she comes.

She shakes in his arms whilst Harry showers her in kisses lining himself against her entrance and sheathes into her in a slick, their moans melting as he buries himself deep till her belly and cum spurts out from her cunt with his each hard thrust and it drips down her bum and onto already splotched sheets.

White dots wafts past her eyelids, arms shaking and lip wobbling as she feels it hit like a train. Getting pooled into utter bliss of many orgasms, feeling a rupturing dose of euphoria cocooning her.

She feels like she’s on paradise and somebody’s calling her through the white noise but she’s unable to respond all she could do’s blabber nonsense while trying to stop squirming.

Then she gets familiar to that gentle voice, the cosiness of that hand holding onto her free ones now and the softness of those lips against her forehead.

“Squeeze my hand if you could hear me baby.” He gets anxious a little bit when she stays droopy and unresponsive like a sunflower at nights.

A huge grin adorns his after climax blissed out features when she obeys him and gives a lil squish to his palm, “There y’go baby sugar. Y'alright honey?” He kisses the tip of her nose when she just blinks up at him weepily.

“Daddy.” Her voice scratchy and awfully feeble from all of the screaming and moaning.

“No daddy. ‘S just Harry, I love you pet. So much of it come back to me, please?” He almost pleads corking his mind to think what would bring her back from her fragile state since she has never slipped past from him this deep ever.

She whines at the hollowness she feels in her tummy when he pulls out catefully from her with a squelching noise and hisses even when the sheets rustles against her folds, “So sensitive.” Harry murmurs trailing honeyed kisses into the softest flesh of her thighs.

“Yes daddy, but want you!” Harry’s brows shoots up into shock and he slips his forearm under her to hug her tight, “’M right her bubba.” She cuddles into him and yawns fumbling with his sides listening to his pacific breathing.

“Guess we gotta give this little one a sleepy bath.” He mutters into her hair, nails scratching soothingly up her neck and twirling her downsy baby curls.

“I love you.” She rasps out rubbing the sleepiness in her eyes with the back of her hand, “I love you too -- would you like if I lit up some candles in the bathroom? Y’favourite ones?” He thinks it might help her get out of her subby state.

“No. Just you.” She pouts battling the sleepiness away and clings to him when he walks them to bathroom and sits them into the cold tub, he wrapped her around him in a way she doesn’t come in contact with the coldness of it as they wait for it fill with bubbling water (Y/N was too sensitive and clingy that he knew if he’d away parted away she’d have cried endlessly.)

No words were exchanged as she almost slept on his chest and drooled all over him.

“Cutie.” Harry giggles softly pecking her parted snoring lips and cleans himself and her gently.

Gets his most worn out clothes, the one that could tell another person in a beat that she belongs to him from the smell alone.

She slings her thigh around his waist and smashes her face under his chin, canoodling into him with a little tired purr.

He was petting her head and running his hand over her back that when she mumbled into her sleep, rubbing her cheek up and down his chest, Harry stopped and ducked down to kiss her forehead feeling love bursting through his insides.

“I love you, Harry.” Was what she mumbled. He's just too much in love with his soft little button.

[autumn-sweet-fae]

Hi there i love ur submas au so much, and I had a Thought! So both cynthia and akari/ingo arrive at celestic town at some point in time or the other… and you said if they’re then when Cynthia is they would run

But what if they don’t know she’s there?

Maybe this takes place a few/many days after the Solaceon village incident, and cynthia decided to drop by and see Cogita. While there, akari and ingo, tired and scared and desperate for any form of help, go looking for help b/c from Volo’s words and her own experience it seems like cogita might be immortal and they’re grasping at straws for some sort of ally and a good night’s rest. Cynthia is, like, making tea in the kitchen when Cogita comes in with ingo and Akari, and she wants to fight them and get the pokemon back, but Cogita slips into the kitchen to get them some proper food and tells her to calm down, wait, and stay hidden. Cynthia complied (or maybe she stays hidden out of her own volition)

With a little bit of talking and prompting on cogita’z part, she manages to get akari talking about what happened - from the research lab trying to kidnap their Pokemon and slandering their names to Sneasler’s eggs (which i’m assuming most people don’t know about at this point? Maybe?? I don’t know if the egg incident has happened yet or not) right down the incident with Cynthia at Solaceon town, where akari asks if cynthia is volo

All while within earshot of Cynthia, holding a tray of tea and feeling both simultaneously more confused than before and yet feeling like she solved a puzzle. At this point, she already had a suspicion somethinf Wasn’t Right but now she is sure. When they finally leave, Cynthia steps out and asks Cogita what that was about, and Cogita tells her about warden ingo and the girl who saved hisui - Akari, both of them whom disappeared/gone home soon after the pokédex had been completed

This is a really cool and thought out idea!!

However I’m not sure how much of Cogita I’m going to include in the fic yet. Also I have quite a bit more planned after the Solaceon encounter so having Cynthia figure it out so early in the story wouldn’t work out.

Thank you so much for sending me this! I do love the idea of Cogita hanging out with her decedents. It’s a bitter sweet concept for an immortal to stay in contact with their relatives even after her immediate children and grandchildren have long past. I could see her being the inspiration for Cynthia’s love of myth and legend!